It’s been a hairy week.
The kind of week where plans change, doctors and waiting rooms become part of the schedule, and you find yourself thinking, Well… this wasn’t on my calendar.
But somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized I’ve learned a few things.
First: shower. 😂
Seriously. If you’re a caregiver, just shower and get dressed before you leave the house. Because “we’re just going to get this checked out” can quickly become hours at urgent care, a doctor’s office, or the ER.
A shower won’t fix the situation, but at least you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin while you wait.
Second: pray.
Pray when you hear the news.
Pray on the drive there.
Pray while you’re waiting.
Pray with the person you love.
Sometimes I have beautiful words. Other times it’s simply, “God, please help me with whatever comes next.”
That counts too.
Third: remember that you ARE doing it.
Sometimes we get so caught up wondering, How am I going to handle all of this?
Meanwhile… we’re handling it.
Maybe not perfectly. Maybe with messy hair, cold coffee and a puppy waiting impatiently in the car. But we’re doing it.
And somewhere in all of this, I’m also learning that I still have to live my life.
Today, I’m going to lunch with a friend.
I’m going to walk the dog.
I might pull some weeds and smell the flowers.
I’m going to appreciate that my body works and carries me through these crazy days.
And I’m even going to be grateful for the construction mess around my house because, yes, it’s noisy and chaotic, but it also means we’re fortunate enough to be creating a beautiful new sunroom.
Sometimes gratitude shows up wearing work boots. 🌿
A Few Helpful Reminders
• Eat and drink the water. We caregivers can keep everyone else fed, hydrated and cared for while somehow surviving on coffee and three almonds.
• Don’t borrow tomorrow’s problems. Take care of what is actually in front of you today.
• Let good enough be good enough. Some days, everyone getting safely to bedtime is an accomplishment.
• Keep little pieces of your life. Lunch with a friend. A walk. Gardening. Sitting quietly with your coffee. These aren’t extras. They help keep you connected to yourself.
• Laugh when you can. Sometimes you laugh. Sometimes you cry. Occasionally you do both within five minutes. Welcome to caregiving.
• Notice what is still good. Even during a hard week, there are little gifts everywhere if we remember to look for them.
And maybe that’s my biggest lesson this week:
Taking care of myself isn’t something I do after I’m finished caregiving.
Taking care of myself is part of caregiving.
So today, I’m going to lunch.
The appointments, responsibilities, construction dust and weeds will still be there when I get back.
But for a little while, I’m going to sit with a friend, breathe, laugh and simply be.
And thank God for the good that is still growing right alongside the hard. 🌸
caregiver
When All You Can Do Is Laugh
You know those moments when life piles on one more thing and all you can do is laugh?
That was my morning.
I got home from the gym, talked to Dad, walked the pup, greeted the contractors working on the house, and finally walked inside.
And there comes Mom toward me…
with one hand twice the size of the other.
Seriously. 😳
Deep breath.
Get the ice pack.
Ice and elevate.
Quick shower.
Get dressed.
Load Mom into the car.
Load the precocious puppy into the car.
Off to urgent care.
And now… we sit.
Funny thing is, sitting here, I can finally breathe.
The workday I had planned? That’s going to have to flex.
The contractors? They’ll figure it out.
The puppy in the car? Well, he’s along for today’s adventure. 🐾
And Mom?
She’s right here beside me, and I’m doing everything I can to take care of her.
I think this is one of the strangest parts of caregiving. You can wake up with a perfectly reasonable plan for your day, and within minutes, life grabs the calendar and scribbles all over it.
There are moments when I want to cry. Moments when I’m frustrated. Moments when I wonder how I’m going to get everything done.
And then there are mornings like this when I just have to laugh.
Not because it’s funny that Mom is hurt.
But because sometimes laughter is the release valve.
It’s the moment I realize:
Okay, God. Apparently this is what we’re doing today.
So I breathe.
I adjust.
I take care of what’s directly in front of me.
And I remind myself that I don’t have to manage the entire day right now.
I just have to manage this moment.
A few caregiver reminders for days like this:
– Your plans are allowed to change.
– Not everything that felt urgent this morning is still urgent.
– Take care of what actually needs you first.
– Breathe before jumping ahead to the next problem.
– And when the day becomes so ridiculous that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry… sometimes laughing is exactly what you need.
Can you relate?
Have you ever had one of those caregiving mornings where you thought, You’ve got to be kidding me… and it’s not even 9 a.m.? 😂
Maybe finding calm in the chaos doesn’t mean the chaos disappears.
Maybe it means learning how to find yourself in the middle of it.
It’s Only 10 AM
Today feels like I’m on s̶c̶r̶e̶t̶c̶h̶.
Actually, scratch that. I’m on all cylinders. 😂
It’s only 10:00 a.m.
Go to the gym. Get my workout in.
Call Dad on the way home to check in and hear how he’s doing after chemo.
Quick shower.
Off to the chiropractor, where naturally Mom and the puppy decide they’d like to come along too. Because apparently, I’m not just the driver. I’m the transportation department.
Add a little extra time.
Come home.
Contractors are working on the sunroom, which means decisions need to be made.
The puppy gets loose.
More decisions.
More adjusting.
More “Wait…what are we doing now?”
And then, finally, I’m rushing out the door for a pedicure.
Because apparently my version of downtime requires me to schedule it between twelve other moving parts. 😂
Does this feel familiar?
Caregiving can feel like living on a moving train. Plans change. Someone needs something. A conversation takes longer than expected. An appointment gets added. A contractor asks a question. The dog escapes. Life happens.
And you flex.
You make the best of it.
You take a breath.
You pray.
And then you pray some more.
This is one of the things I’m learning about caregiving: flexibility is a survival skill, but constantly running on empty is not.
There is a difference between being able to adapt and believing you have to carry everything.
That’s where I think about my Compass Method.
When everything around me feels blurry and unpredictable, I have to come back to what is true.
Body: What is my body telling me today?
Heart: What am I feeling instead of pushing it aside?
Mind: What actually needs my attention right now?
Spirit: Where is God asking me to pause, trust, and breathe?
And sometimes the answer is simply:
Go get the pedicure. 💅
Not because everything is finished.
It never is.
But because I matter in the middle of it, too.
A few reminders for the days when you’re running on all cylinders:
- You are allowed to flex without abandoning yourself.
- Not every decision has to be made immediately.
- A deep breath can be a boundary too.
- Pray before you react.
- Ask yourself, “What truly needs me right now?”
- And remember: rest doesn’t have to wait until everything is done.
Because in caregiving, everything may never be done.
So sometimes we have to learn to find little pockets of peace right in the middle of the unfinished.
Maybe you need a compass, too. 🧭
If you feel like you could benefit from a framework to help you navigate the unpredictability, emotions, boundaries, and everyday demands of caregiving, I’d love to work with you.
My life is busy too. I live this journey every day. But even in the middle of my own full and sometimes chaotic life, I’m deeply passionate about helping other caregivers find their footing, create healthier boundaries, and care for themselves while caring for someone they love.
You don’t have to navigate this journey alone.
If you’d like to learn more about coaching or the Compass Method, reach out to me at:
coachvickie24@gmail.com
The Dreaded Day Off
Today is my “day off.”
Except it’s not.
Today is neurologist day.
And if you’re a caregiver, you know there are certain appointments that carry a different kind of weight. You can feel the nervousness before you even leave the house. Your mind starts rehearsing conversations you may need to have. You wonder what the doctor will say. You wonder what Mom will understand. You wonder what you should say, what you shouldn’t say, and how you can possibly speak the truth while protecting the heart of someone you love.
So, yes. I’m a little apprehensive.
Maybe more than a little.
But this morning, I reminded myself that being nervous doesn’t mean I’m unprepared.
It means I care.
So I did what I could.
I made Mom a good breakfast.
I made her coffee.
I gave her her Lion’s Mane tincture.
And I prayed.
Not for a perfect appointment.
Just for the best possible outcome.
For wisdom.
For patience.
For clarity.
For the right words.
And maybe most importantly, I prayed that I would remember that I can be both loving and truthful.
That one is hard.
Because when you’re advocating for someone you love, there can be a temptation to soften everything. To protect them from information. To minimize what you’re seeing because you don’t want to hurt them.
But speaking the truth with love is not unkind.
Advocating isn’t betraying.
And telling the doctor what is really happening at home isn’t throwing Mom under the bus.
It is part of loving her well.
Sometimes love looks like holding someone’s hand.
Sometimes it looks like making sure they eat breakfast before an appointment.
And sometimes love looks like sitting in a neurologist’s office and saying, “This is what I’m seeing.”
Even when it’s uncomfortable.
Even when Mom may not agree.
Even when I wish the truth were different.
Because caregiving has taught me that there are moments when love has to be brave.
And I am learning that advocacy doesn’t mean taking over someone’s voice. It means helping make sure their needs, their reality, and their dignity aren’t lost in the conversation.
So today, I’m trying to walk into that office with my shoulders down, my feet underneath me, and my heart open.
I’m going to encourage Mom.
I’m going to remind her of what she can do.
I’m going to celebrate the things that are going well.
And I’m also going to tell the truth.
Because we don’t need to choose between hope and reality.
We can hold both.
That’s one of the lessons caregiving keeps handing me.
Hope doesn’t require denial.
And truth doesn’t require fear.
Sometimes the most compassionate thing we can do is simply see what is, name what is, and then figure out what comes next.
So here we go.
Coffee ✔️
Breakfast ✔️
Mom encouraged ✔️
Questions prepared ✔️
Truth ready ✔️
Prayer ✔️
Now I just have to remember to breathe.
A few coaching reminders for the caregiver
1. Prepare before you walk through the door.
Write down changes you’ve noticed, questions you have, medications, concerns, and examples. When you’re emotional, your brain can suddenly develop the memory capacity of a goldfish.
2. Speak from observation, not judgment.
Instead of “Mom is getting worse,” try, “I’ve noticed these changes over the past several months…”
Specific examples are much more useful than labels.
3. Tell the truth with love.
You don’t have to exaggerate the hard parts, and you don’t have to minimize them either. Your job isn’t to make the appointment sound better. Your job is to help the healthcare team understand the whole picture.
4. Remember that advocacy is an act of love.
You aren’t being difficult because you’re asking questions. You aren’t disrespectful because you have concerns. You are participating in your loved one’s care.
5. Keep the person bigger than the diagnosis.
Mom is still Mom. Dementia may change things, but it doesn’t erase her personality, her relationships, her humor, her dignity, or her worth.
6. Give yourself permission to feel whatever shows up.
Nervous. Sad. Angry. Hopeful. Tired. Relieved. All of it can coexist.
And finally…
7. Don’t forget the caregiver needs care, too.
A “day off” that includes a neurologist appointment isn’t exactly a spa day.
But maybe there is another kind of rest available.
The rest that comes from knowing:
I showed up.
I told the truth.
I advocated.
I loved her.
I did what I could.
And sometimes, for today, that is enough.
When Your Body Says, “Slow Down”
A Caregiver’s Reminder That Rest Is Part of Recovery
I’m a little bit of a nerd. I like tracking my fitness and health—numbers and trends that help me understand what my body is saying.
During this season of caring for my mom, I’ve become especially interested in my HRV, or heart rate variability.
HRV measures the variation between heartbeats and can offer clues about how your nervous system is handling stress and recovering. A higher or steadier HRV relative to your baseline may suggest better recovery, while a sustained drop can signal increased strain.
Stress can be physical, emotional, mental, relational—or simply the result of poor sleep, caregiving, worry, or too many responsibilities.
Recently, my husband asked if I wanted to go hear live music. My immediate response was:
No.
Not because I didn’t love him or enjoy live music. I just didn’t want to get dressed, leave home, socialize, or do one more thing.
So I stayed home with the pup.
And it felt luxurious.
The house was quiet. Nobody needed anything. There was nowhere to be and nothing to organize. Just me, the pup, and stillness.
I realized how desperately my nervous system needed it.
Maybe we’re not resting as much as we think we are.
We may exercise, eat well, take vitamins, attend church, or take a day off—but are we actually recovering?
Stopping isn’t always recovery. You can sit on the couch while mentally running through your to-do list. You can take a day off while caring for everyone else. You can keep exercising when your body needs rest.
Maybe you’re tired, irritable, sleeping poorly, unmotivated, or simply don’t want to go anywhere.
Maybe that’s information.
Your body is communicating. We have to be willing to listen.
Your 100% might look different today.
Giving 100% doesn’t mean doing 100% of what you normally do.
If your capacity is 30% and you give that 30% everything you have, you gave 100%.
Your capacity changes. Some days it’s 90%. Some days it’s 30%. That doesn’t make you less committed. It makes you human.
Caregiving requires constant adaptation. What worked yesterday may not work today. That isn’t failure. It’s your body asking you to pay attention.
A simple check-in for when your body says slow down
Ask yourself:
– What is my body telling me? Where am I holding tension? Am I tired or pushing when I need to pause?
– What am I feeling? Have I allowed myself to feel it?
– What is taking up mental space? What can wait, be delegated, or remain undone?
– Where am I finding peace? Am I making room for quiet, prayer, connection, faith, or stillness?
Sometimes getting back on course doesn’t require doing more.
Sometimes it requires stopping long enough to hear what you already know.
A little challenge for this week
Ask yourself:
1. How am I really recovering?
Not how am I functioning or accomplishing. How am I recovering?
2. What is my body telling me?
Notice your energy, sleep, mood, tension, motivation, and desire to withdraw. Wearables that track HRV can help you notice patterns, but you don’t need a device to listen to your body.
3. Where can I create more quiet?
Maybe it’s an hour alone, saying no, delegating a responsibility, sitting outside, or staying home with the pup.
Whatever it is…
Give yourself permission to recover.
Caregiving asks so much of us, but you don’t have to run yourself empty to prove your love.
Your loved one needs you.
And you need you, too.
So if your body says, “Stay home tonight,” listen.
Sometimes the most productive thing we can do…
is absolutely nothing.
