Stop Being Mean To Me!
I can still hear Papa Kemp's infamous words now, even after being with Jesus for three years.
"Maria, you tell people too damn much!"
("Damn" was mild for this former Navy veteran and 88-year-old man.)
Friend, can we talk about the part of caregiving almost nobody admits out loud?
The anger.
No, no... not your anger.
The anger you have to absorb from your loved one.
Sometimes the person you're trying to help becomes the very one who hurts you the most.
And somehow... you still keep showing up, day after day.
I ate more Chick-fil-A Waffle Fries and Whole Foods Brown Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies than I care to admit, trying to soothe my soul when it felt like God was taking too long to answer my prayers and cries for help.
How many of you have cared for someone who became angry, impatient, or even hostile (verbally, mentally, or physically) toward you?
Raise your hand (only your phone or computer screen can see you) if it was confusing, scary, hurtful, and I'm going to say it... infuriating.
You're exhausted, most likely running on fumes. Someone has already gotten on not only your last nerve, but your reserve nerve. You're sacrificing your own life and self-care to care for them, and then it happens.
Then, without warning, the tide shifts.
BAM!
They lash out at the one person who's still standing beside them...
YOU.
Almost immediately, the thought rushes into your mind...
"Are you kidding me right now?! I'm the only one here taking care of you...and you're being mean to ME?! This is some....."
Most caregivers never admit they've had that thought. They bury those feelings deep.
- They're afraid that if they give words to those emotions, it makes them sound selfish.
- Instead, they switch into protective mode to keep from casting their loved one in a negative light.
- They're afraid someone who has never walked the caregiver journey will judge them.
So they carry that pain in silence and solitude.
I kept most of that "dark side" of Papa Kemp and Little Mama off my social media because I didn't want to portray them negatively. I shared some of our journey, but not the full extent of the pain.
I confided in God, a few close friends... and yes... the Waffle Fries and cookies. They didn't solve anything. But for a few moments, they distracted me from the weight I was carrying.
And that's just talking about the hurtful words.
We haven't even talked about the sibling or relative who rarely shows up. The one who breezes in for a quick 30-minute visit. So brief the chill from the car's A/C is still clinging to their clothes.
Your loved one smiles from ear to ear, treats them like royalty, and they leave convinced everything is just fine.
Meanwhile, you're standing there wondering if they just visited the same person who was calling you every name in the book ten minutes ago.
If you know... you know.
And we don't even have time in this week's newsletter to get into what happens when the behavior turns physically aggressive or creates safety concerns at home or in a care facility.
I could tell you an entirely different story about receiving discharge orders or threats (basically an eviction) because of behaviors that were beyond my loved ones' control.
We'll save that conversation for another edition. This is one of the emotional landmines I had to navigate.
Meanwhile, there were keynote proposals to write, discovery calls to lead, presentations to deliver, invoices to send, and Zoom meetings where no one knew what had happened ten minutes before I clicked Join Meeting.
As caregivers, we're carrying grief, guilt, anticipatory anxiety, exhaustion, and trauma.
But here's what I eventually realized. Sometimes our loved ones are grieving too.
Papa Kemp wasn't really angry at me. He was angry because he knew he was changing. He knew his memory was slipping. I remember him admitting how frustrated and heartbroken he was that he couldn't even remember how to use the phone to call me.
He knew all of his degrees, his education, his accomplishments, and the strength that had carried him through life couldn't stop Alzheimer's from taking more of him each day.
That realization still didn't make his words hurt any less. But it helped me understand where they were coming from.
Today, I realize those words were never really about me. They were about a man grieving the life he knew he was losing.
Now, enough about me...
Imagine the employee sitting in your office tomorrow morning.
- The one who smiles during meetings.
- Is starting to slip on hitting deadlines.
- Spends their lunch break on the phone with doctors and insurance companies.
Then goes home to someone who doesn't recognize them or lashes out at them.
How many of your employees are carrying that invisible weight every single day?
Those are the stories I believe belong on every conference stage.
Because until we understand what caregivers are carrying, we'll continue expecting them to perform as if they aren't carrying anything at all.
More to come,
