#caregiving — Public Fediverse posts
Live and recent posts from across the Fediverse tagged #caregiving, aggregated by home.social.
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Slowing Down: Learning to Live Within My Limits
Slowing down. Slowing down. Slowing down.
That’s what I’ve been doing for the last five years.
Health issues and life in general required a slower pace. There were things I simply couldn’t do anymore, or couldn’t do in the way I once had. So I learned to slow down—not necessarily because I wanted to, but because I had to.
And lately, something has shifted.
My health hasn’t magically returned to what it was before, but I have been able to do more. I’m slowly rebuilding strength. I’ve started lifting weights again, carefully and deliberately, and I’m working on my mobility. There are glimpses of the person I used to be physically, and I’m grateful for them.
But progress brings its own challenge.
When you begin feeling better, it’s very easy to start thinking you can do more. And then a little more. And maybe just one more thing. Until suddenly, you’ve filled the space that slowing down was meant to protect.
I’m learning that getting stronger doesn’t mean I no longer need to be mindful of my limits.
I’m also a caregiver to my aging parents, both of whom are living with dementia, which adds another layer to that balance. My days aren’t entirely my own, and there are times when the needs of other people have to come before what I might want to do. Caregiving can be unpredictable, exhausting, and sometimes lonely, and I know I’m far from the only person trying to navigate this complicated role while also trying to take care of myself.
That’s part of why I’ve become more intentional about leaving room in my days. I need downtime. I need rest. I need time to read, sit outside, or simply do nothing for a while. Those things aren’t luxuries; they’re part of what allows me to keep going.
Recently, I had the flu, which triggered a flare in my symptoms. It was a good reminder that my body still has its own timetable. So I’m constantly reminding myself not to overdo it, not to cram too much into a day, and not to fill every empty space on the calendar simply because I happen to feel good that day.
I need to leave room for downtime. For rest. For reading. For sitting outside and breathing fresh air without needing to accomplish anything while I’m there.
This is harder than it sounds.
Because there are things I want to do. Things I genuinely enjoy. And every once in a while, I have a day when I feel almost like a normal, fully functioning human being.
Those are the dangerous days.
Not because feeling good is dangerous, but because I get excited.
I start thinking about all the things I could do. All the things I’ve been putting off. All the things I might finally be able to take on again. And I have to remind myself that one good day doesn’t necessarily mean my circumstances have changed.
I was recently asked to teach an oil pastel class at a local art store, and I’m very excited about it. It’s something I genuinely want to do. But it also brought up some very legitimate concerns.
Years ago, I taught Reiki at a local yoga studio. I enjoyed teaching, but there were times when my health made it impossible. I remember being scheduled to teach and then having a migraine that lasted for two weeks. I had to cancel.
When something like that happens repeatedly, you start thinking about the people on the other side of the commitment. They’ve paid. They’ve made plans. They’ve put aside time for themselves. And then you have to cancel at the last minute.
Eventually, I stopped teaching because I couldn’t reliably promise that I would be well enough to show up.
So when the opportunity to teach oil pastels came along, my first instinct was to put it off.
Maybe winter. Maybe later. Maybe when things with my parents settle down. Maybe when my health is more predictable. Maybe when life feels a little less complicated.
But I’m beginning to recognize something: there will probably always be a reason to wait.
There will always be something that needs attention. Something that could be better. Something that could be more certain. And I don’t want slowing down to become another way of putting my life on hold.
At the same time, I don’t want enthusiasm to convince me that my limitations have disappeared.
So maybe the answer isn’t choosing between doing everything and doing nothing. Maybe it’s learning to live in the space between them.
To move forward slowly. To leave room around the things that matter. To say yes to something I’m excited about without immediately filling the rest of my life with more commitments. To allow myself to enjoy progress without demanding that progress happen faster.
I’ve spent the last five years learning that I can’t feel guilty for what I can’t do. I can’t push myself beyond my limitations because I feel bad about disappointing someone else. Because if I don’t take care of myself, I can’t take care of the people who depend on me.
And somewhere along the way, I realized that taking care of myself isn’t selfish. It’s part of the responsibility.
That realization has changed the way I think about slowing down.
Slowing down doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It doesn’t mean I’m wasting time. It doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.
Sometimes slowing down is simply how I make room for my actual life.
And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to something I wrote for one of my meditations:
Nothing needs to change right now.
Not my health. Not my schedule. Not my limitations. Not my responsibilities. Not my progress. Not even the things I wish were different.
I can acknowledge that I want some things to change without requiring them to change today.
I can be excited about what might be possible without demanding that it happen immediately.
I can rest without earning it. I can pause without having a reason. I can simply be here.
Because sometimes the most important thing I can do isn’t push myself toward the life I want.
Sometimes it’s noticing that I’m already living it.
I found myself returning to this idea so often that I eventually turned it into a meditation: Nothing Needs to Change Right Now. If it sounds like something you could use, you’re welcome to spend a few minutes with it.
For Those Caring for Someone With Dementia
If you’re caring for a parent, partner, or another loved one with dementia, you don’t have to figure everything out on your own. I’ve found that having reliable information and knowing where to look for support can make an enormous difference.
Here are a few places that may be helpful:
National Institute on Aging — Alzheimer’s Caregiving
Information about day-to-day caregiving, communication and behavior changes, finding help, long-term care, and taking care of yourself as a caregiver.Alzheimer’s Association — 24/7 Helpline
The Alzheimer’s Association offers a free, confidential helpline for people living with dementia, caregivers, families, and anyone looking for information or support. They can also help connect caregivers with local resources and support groups.Eldercare Locator
A federal service that can help you find local resources for older adults and their caregivers, including services available in your community.I’m sharing these resources because I know how easy it is to feel like you’re supposed to figure all of this out on your own. You aren’t.
#caregiving #dementia #dementiaCaregiving #findingBalance #intentionalLiving #lettingGo #livingWithLimitations #lupus #migraine #restAndRecovery #selfCompassion #slowingDown -
Slowing Down: Learning to Live Within My Limits
Slowing down. Slowing down. Slowing down.
That’s what I’ve been doing for the last five years.
Health issues and life in general required a slower pace. There were things I simply couldn’t do anymore, or couldn’t do in the way I once had. So I learned to slow down—not necessarily because I wanted to, but because I had to.
And lately, something has shifted.
My health hasn’t magically returned to what it was before, but I have been able to do more. I’m slowly rebuilding strength. I’ve started lifting weights again, carefully and deliberately, and I’m working on my mobility. There are glimpses of the person I used to be physically, and I’m grateful for them.
But progress brings its own challenge.
When you begin feeling better, it’s very easy to start thinking you can do more. And then a little more. And maybe just one more thing. Until suddenly, you’ve filled the space that slowing down was meant to protect.
I’m learning that getting stronger doesn’t mean I no longer need to be mindful of my limits.
I’m also a caregiver to my aging parents, both of whom are living with dementia, which adds another layer to that balance. My days aren’t entirely my own, and there are times when the needs of other people have to come before what I might want to do. Caregiving can be unpredictable, exhausting, and sometimes lonely, and I know I’m far from the only person trying to navigate this complicated role while also trying to take care of myself.
That’s part of why I’ve become more intentional about leaving room in my days. I need downtime. I need rest. I need time to read, sit outside, or simply do nothing for a while. Those things aren’t luxuries; they’re part of what allows me to keep going.
Recently, I had the flu, which triggered a flare in my symptoms. It was a good reminder that my body still has its own timetable. So I’m constantly reminding myself not to overdo it, not to cram too much into a day, and not to fill every empty space on the calendar simply because I happen to feel good that day.
I need to leave room for downtime. For rest. For reading. For sitting outside and breathing fresh air without needing to accomplish anything while I’m there.
This is harder than it sounds.
Because there are things I want to do. Things I genuinely enjoy. And every once in a while, I have a day when I feel almost like a normal, fully functioning human being.
Those are the dangerous days.
Not because feeling good is dangerous, but because I get excited.
I start thinking about all the things I could do. All the things I’ve been putting off. All the things I might finally be able to take on again. And I have to remind myself that one good day doesn’t necessarily mean my circumstances have changed.
I was recently asked to teach an oil pastel class at a local art store, and I’m very excited about it. It’s something I genuinely want to do. But it also brought up some very legitimate concerns.
Years ago, I taught Reiki at a local yoga studio. I enjoyed teaching, but there were times when my health made it impossible. I remember being scheduled to teach and then having a migraine that lasted for two weeks. I had to cancel.
When something like that happens repeatedly, you start thinking about the people on the other side of the commitment. They’ve paid. They’ve made plans. They’ve put aside time for themselves. And then you have to cancel at the last minute.
Eventually, I stopped teaching because I couldn’t reliably promise that I would be well enough to show up.
So when the opportunity to teach oil pastels came along, my first instinct was to put it off.
Maybe winter. Maybe later. Maybe when things with my parents settle down. Maybe when my health is more predictable. Maybe when life feels a little less complicated.
But I’m beginning to recognize something: there will probably always be a reason to wait.
There will always be something that needs attention. Something that could be better. Something that could be more certain. And I don’t want slowing down to become another way of putting my life on hold.
At the same time, I don’t want enthusiasm to convince me that my limitations have disappeared.
So maybe the answer isn’t choosing between doing everything and doing nothing. Maybe it’s learning to live in the space between them.
To move forward slowly. To leave room around the things that matter. To say yes to something I’m excited about without immediately filling the rest of my life with more commitments. To allow myself to enjoy progress without demanding that progress happen faster.
I’ve spent the last five years learning that I can’t feel guilty for what I can’t do. I can’t push myself beyond my limitations because I feel bad about disappointing someone else. Because if I don’t take care of myself, I can’t take care of the people who depend on me.
And somewhere along the way, I realized that taking care of myself isn’t selfish. It’s part of the responsibility.
That realization has changed the way I think about slowing down.
Slowing down doesn’t mean I’m giving up. It doesn’t mean I’m wasting time. It doesn’t mean I’m falling behind.
Sometimes slowing down is simply how I make room for my actual life.
And maybe that’s why I keep coming back to something I wrote for one of my meditations:
Nothing needs to change right now.
Not my health. Not my schedule. Not my limitations. Not my responsibilities. Not my progress. Not even the things I wish were different.
I can acknowledge that I want some things to change without requiring them to change today.
I can be excited about what might be possible without demanding that it happen immediately.
I can rest without earning it. I can pause without having a reason. I can simply be here.
Because sometimes the most important thing I can do isn’t push myself toward the life I want.
Sometimes it’s noticing that I’m already living it.
I found myself returning to this idea so often that I eventually turned it into a meditation: Nothing Needs to Change Right Now. If it sounds like something you could use, you’re welcome to spend a few minutes with it.
For Those Caring for Someone With Dementia
If you’re caring for a parent, partner, or another loved one with dementia, you don’t have to figure everything out on your own. I’ve found that having reliable information and knowing where to look for support can make an enormous difference.
Here are a few places that may be helpful:
National Institute on Aging — Alzheimer’s Caregiving
Information about day-to-day caregiving, communication and behavior changes, finding help, long-term care, and taking care of yourself as a caregiver.Alzheimer’s Association — 24/7 Helpline
The Alzheimer’s Association offers a free, confidential helpline for people living with dementia, caregivers, families, and anyone looking for information or support. They can also help connect caregivers with local resources and support groups.Eldercare Locator
A federal service that can help you find local resources for older adults and their caregivers, including services available in your community.I’m sharing these resources because I know how easy it is to feel like you’re supposed to figure all of this out on your own. You aren’t.
#caregiving #dementia #dementiaCaregiving #findingBalance #intentionalLiving #lettingGo #livingWithLimitations #lupus #migraine #restAndRecovery #selfCompassion #slowingDown -
After a year of trauma, loss, and learning things I never expected to need, I’m thinking about writing a practical survival guide for ordinary people facing life’s upheavals.
I’d share what I learned about everything from arranging trash pickup in an unfamiliar town to checking the heat at a property a thousand miles away. I’d also cover the bigger questions, like guardianship versus conservatorship, and why an estate attorney advised me against letting a nursing home complete my loved one’s Medicaid application.
And I’d include the small things that helped me stay steady. Like how, at night, when worry kept me awake, I’d picture little filmstrips of photos I’d taken. It gave my mind somewhere else to go.
Maybe some of it could help someone else wondering where to start.
#WritingCommunity #Caregiving #Grief #MentalHealth #LifeLessons
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Dinner Party!
About 30 years ago when I was a practicing Catholic, before becoming a heathen, I asked a mother at the end of Sunday mass “what is your son doing?” With a wry smile, she replied “20 years at the state penitentiary.” I do not remember if I asked for additional details.
My plan to attend a retired faculty and staff dinner this evening reminded me of that exchange with the mother. I am reluctantly attending after being invited by a former employees who is also retired. My expectation is attendees will boast of accomplishments by their children and grandchildren, their travels, and perhaps volunteer work. They will ask me about my family. I am not eager to “throw a turd in the punch bowl” as a retired faculty friend used to say when he brought up his activities for gay rights. But if I am honest, I will tell them I spend much of my time supporting a wife with major depression, a transgender daughter with schizophrenia, and a son with substance use disorder—the remainder of my time going to housekeeping, paying bills, hiking, and reading books about mental illness, consciousness, and the philosophy of science at home. Most of the time I am not bitter about this. It has been an opportunity to learn about things that would otherwise be foreign to me. But these experiences only dominate the lives of a small minority of parents and are not the kinds of experiences one normally talks about at social gatherings. It occurred to me that it might be fun to lie about a child becoming a famed neurosurgeon, being nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, or some such thing. The names of my children are common enough that I could probably find accomplished persons who share the same names. But, I do not think I could pull if off with a straight face and it would harm my reputation if they found out later. It will be better to tell the truth and muddle through it. But if the experience is what I expect, I will probably excuse myself from attending such events in the future.
#SocialEvents #Retirement #Dinners #Parenting #Families #Disability #Caregiving #MentalHealth
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Dinner Party!
About 30 years ago when I was a practicing Catholic, before becoming a heathen, I asked a mother at the end of Sunday mass “what is your son doing?” With a wry smile, she replied “20 years at the state penitentiary.” I do not remember if I asked for additional details.
My plan to attend a retired faculty and staff dinner this evening reminded me of that exchange with the mother. I am reluctantly attending after being invited by a former employees who is also retired. My expectation is attendees will boast of accomplishments by their children and grandchildren, their travels, and perhaps volunteer work. They will ask me about my family. I am not eager to “throw a turd in the punch bowl” as a retired faculty friend used to say when he brought up his activities for gay rights. But if I am honest, I will tell them I spend much of my time supporting a wife with major depression, a transgender daughter with schizophrenia, and a son with substance use disorder—the remainder of my time going to housekeeping, paying bills, hiking, and reading books about mental illness, consciousness, and the philosophy of science at home. Most of the time I am not bitter about this. It has been an opportunity to learn about things that would otherwise be foreign to me. But these experiences only dominate the lives of a small minority of parents and are not the kinds of experiences one normally talks about at social gatherings. It occurred to me that it might be fun to lie about a child becoming a famed neurosurgeon, being nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, or some such thing. The names of my children are common enough that I could probably find accomplished persons who share the same names. But, I do not think I could pull if off with a straight face and it would harm my reputation if they found out later. It will be better to tell the truth and muddle through it. But if the experience is what I expect, I will probably excuse myself from attending such events in the future.
#SocialEvents #Retirement #Dinners #Parenting #Families #Disability #Caregiving #MentalHealth
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Dinner Party!
About 30 years ago when I was a practicing Catholic, before becoming a heathen, I asked a mother at the end of Sunday mass “what is your son doing?” With a wry smile, she replied “20 years at the state penitentiary.” I do not remember if I asked for additional details.
My plan to attend a retired faculty and staff dinner this evening reminded me of that exchange with the mother. I am reluctantly attending after being invited by a former employees who is also retired. My expectation is attendees will boast of accomplishments by their children and grandchildren, their travels, and perhaps volunteer work. They will ask me about my family. I am not eager to “throw a turd in the punch bowl” as a retired faculty friend used to say when he brought up his activities for gay rights. But if I am honest, I will tell them I spend much of my time supporting a wife with major depression, a transgender daughter with schizophrenia, and a son with substance use disorder—the remainder of my time going to housekeeping, paying bills, hiking, and reading books about mental illness, consciousness, and the philosophy of science at home. Most of the time I am not bitter about this. It has been an opportunity to learn about things that would otherwise be foreign to me. But these experiences only dominate the lives of a small minority of parents and are not the kinds of experiences one normally talks about at social gatherings. It occurred to me that it might be fun to lie about a child becoming a famed neurosurgeon, being nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, or some such thing. The names of my children are common enough that I could probably find accomplished persons who share the same names. But, I do not think I could pull if off with a straight face and it would harm my reputation if they found out later. It will be better to tell the truth and muddle through it. But if the experience is what I expect, I will probably excuse myself from attending such events in the future.
#SocialEvents #Retirement #Dinners #Parenting #Families #Disability #Caregiving #MentalHealth
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Dinner Party!
About 30 years ago when I was a practicing Catholic, before becoming a heathen, I asked a mother at the end of Sunday mass “what is your son doing?” With a wry smile, she replied “20 years at the state penitentiary.” I do not remember if I asked for additional details.
My plan to attend a retired faculty and staff dinner this evening reminded me of that exchange with the mother. I am reluctantly attending after being invited by a former employees who is also retired. My expectation is attendees will boast of accomplishments by their children and grandchildren, their travels, and perhaps volunteer work. They will ask me about my family. I am not eager to “throw a turd in the punch bowl” as a retired faculty friend used to say when he brought up his activities for gay rights. But if I am honest, I will tell them I spend much of my time supporting a wife with major depression, a transgender daughter with schizophrenia, and a son with substance use disorder—the remainder of my time going to housekeeping, paying bills, hiking, and reading books about mental illness, consciousness, and the philosophy of science at home. Most of the time I am not bitter about this. It has been an opportunity to learn about things that would otherwise be foreign to me. But these experiences only dominate the lives of a small minority of parents and are not the kinds of experiences one normally talks about at social gatherings. It occurred to me that it might be fun to lie about a child becoming a famed neurosurgeon, being nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, or some such thing. The names of my children are common enough that I could probably find accomplished persons who share the same names. But, I do not think I could pull if off with a straight face and it would harm my reputation if they found out later. It will be better to tell the truth and muddle through it. But if the experience is what I expect, I will probably excuse myself from attending such events in the future.
#SocialEvents #Retirement #Dinners #Parenting #Families #Disability #Caregiving #MentalHealth
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Dinner Party!
About 30 years ago when I was a practicing Catholic, before becoming a heathen, I asked a mother at the end of Sunday mass “what is your son doing?” With a wry smile, she replied “20 years at the state penitentiary.” I do not remember if I asked for additional details.
My plan to attend a retired faculty and staff dinner this evening reminded me of that exchange with the mother. I am reluctantly attending after being invited by a former employees who is also retired. My expectation is attendees will boast of accomplishments by their children and grandchildren, their travels, and perhaps volunteer work. They will ask me about my family. I am not eager to “throw a turd in the punch bowl” as a retired faculty friend used to say when he brought up his activities for gay rights. But if I am honest, I will tell them I spend much of my time supporting a wife with major depression, a transgender daughter with schizophrenia, and a son with substance use disorder—the remainder of my time going to housekeeping, paying bills, hiking, and reading books about mental illness, consciousness, and the philosophy of science at home. Most of the time I am not bitter about this. It has been an opportunity to learn about things that would otherwise be foreign to me. But these experiences only dominate the lives of a small minority of parents and are not the kinds of experiences one normally talks about at social gatherings. It occurred to me that it might be fun to lie about a child becoming a famed neurosurgeon, being nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, or some such thing. The names of my children are common enough that I could probably find accomplished persons who share the same names. But, I do not think I could pull if off with a straight face and it would harm my reputation if they found out later. It will be better to tell the truth and muddle through it. But if the experience is what I expect, I will probably excuse myself from attending such events in the future.
#SocialEvents #Retirement #Dinners #Parenting #Families #Disability #Caregiving #MentalHealth
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Your family needs your email address, the phone number for sign-in codes, and how to reach your cloud storage. Write these down now so they're not locked out later.
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When a client dies, their family hunts for accounts across banks, insurers and employers. A trail saves weeks of searching. You can refer clients to organize once, name keyholders, and let their family reach everything in order.
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Who can see what you've written down? You decide. Each keyholder gets their own view—some see everything, others see only what they need. You're in control of who sees what, and when.
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New Mexico holds unclaimed property—bank accounts, insurance payouts, utility deposits. Search the state database at nmclaims.unclaimedproperty.com. Start here when an account goes quiet.
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Your trail is encrypted. You sign in with a code emailed fresh each time—no password to steal, no password written down. Every time someone opens your file, you get a notification. Nothing is sold.
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https://www.europesays.com/ie/704369/ Scrapping private practice in public hospitals to cost HSE €140m this year, PAC told – The Irish Times #BackView #Business #Caregiving #Center #cure #Éire #facility #hallway #Health #IE #impairment #Ireland #medic #mobility #multiethnic #Personnel #physician #public #staff #therapist #treatment #walk #ward #wellness #work
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Your family can't access your email or photos if they don't know how. Write down the email address and the phone number where you get sign-in codes. That's the single thing they need to get in.
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Your details stay encrypted. You sign in with a code emailed fresh each time—no password written down, no password stolen. Every time someone opens your trail, you're notified. Nothing is sold. Ever.
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After someone dies, search the Kentucky State Treasury unclaimed property database. Companies send old accounts, refunds and policies there when they can't find the owner. It takes five minutes.
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When someone dies, their email and phone often lock the family out of accounts. Write down which digital accounts matter most, where passwords live, and who should get access. Start today: list email, banking, investment accounts.