Hello, dear heart.
If you clicked on this post, I’m guessing it’s one of those days. Maybe it started with a spill, a snappy word, or a confused look from your loved one that felt like a dagger right through your already-tired soul. Maybe you’ve cried in the laundry room again (no judgment, that place is practically a chapel for caregivers). Or maybe you’re just… exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. All the -allys.
First, let me say this loud and clear — you are doing enough.
Actually, scratch that. You’re doing more than enough. You’re doing the impossible on a Tuesday, without applause, and often without sleep. You’re holding a whole world together — their world — while yours quietly crumbles and reforms around it. That is heroic.
But I know it doesn’t feel heroic. It feels like wondering if you’re the only one who forgot what day it is again. Like guilt whispering that you lost your patience. Like staring at a stack of pamphlets with clinical words that don’t explain the grief of brushing your dad’s teeth or explaining — again — that you’re not an impostor.
So here’s your reminder:
- Caring is messy.
- Dementia is hard.
- Love is not measured by perfection.
You are allowed to feel tired.
You are allowed to wish for five uninterrupted minutes.
You are allowed to ugly-cry into a cold cup of tea.
And still, you are loving well.
So today, I invite you to exhale. Deeply. Take one guilt-free moment just for you — a sip of something warm, a walk to the mailbox, or even just five slow breaths in a quiet corner. You’re not failing because you’re tired. You’re human. A beautifully flawed, deeply loving human doing holy work.
And on days when you wonder if it matters?
It does.
You matter.
More than they may ever be able to say — but I see it. I know it. And I’m cheering you on from my garden chair with an extra biscuit in your honor.
With tea and tenderness,
Nora 💜