The Caregiver Lifestyle

This time of year always carries a different kind of weight. As the year winds down, I, like many of us, start taking stock. I reflect on lessons learned, what was gained or lost, and what quietly reshaped us when we weren’t paying attention. We think about our families. Our friendships. Our faith. Our finances. Our fun, or the lack of it. We think about the people who aren’t here anymore and the memories that still hold their place at the table. And somehow, in the middle of all that reflection, the holidays ask even more of us. More energy. More presence. More emotional labor. It’s a lot, even on a good year. What I’m taking into the New Year But here’s my take as I look forward: Reflection doesn’t have to be heavy. It can be clarifying. Softening. Even freeing. This season doesn’t have to be about doing more. It can be about deciding what no longer belongs in your hands, what deserves to be carried forward, and what can be laid down with love. ...

  Image by Ambir Ber - www.pixabay.com Here’s something I learned the hard way: December has hands. Real ones. And every year, it grabs your shoulders, pulls you in close, and says: “Sit down. Let’s talk.” December isn’t just a calendar month — it’s a mirror. It makes you look back at the year that’s ending and forward at the one you’re about to walk into. It pulls up memories you thought you’d buried, and questions you’ve been avoiding since July. And as caregivers, do you ever find it strange that we live in that tender space where the past, present, and future overlap? Not everybody understands that. Not everybody has to. The loved ones we care for today might not be here next December. That’s not dramatic — that’s just part of the truth caregivers learn to live with. And is it just me, or do you feel it too — that we experience the clock in ways others don’t? The days feel heavier. The moments feel sharper. Time feels… closer. “Caregivers don’t measure time in hours — we m...

  The holiday season carries its own kind of magic, but for family caregivers it also carries weight. While the world moves in ribbons and bows, garland and trees, family gatherings and plans, many caregivers move through a quieter rhythm. We navigate the holiday not only with lists and preparation, but with emotional load, responsibility, and tender memories threaded into the days. In my world, we celebrate the moments that matter, with attention to birthdays. There are many of them in December, my dad among them. We also remember my mom, who died many years ago around Christmas, and her memory rests softly in the season. The celebration is still there, just quieter. In our home we are learning that joy doesn’t always come from grand plans or picture-perfect holidays. Sometimes it shows up in subtler ways: in the retelling of old stories, in remembrances of seasons past, in missing those no longer here, in the awareness that for my dad this could be the last Christmas we celebra...

  You may have no desire to do your best imitation of Martha Stewart—but that’s kind of the point. That's a good thing.  The holidays come with expectations. And the worst ones? Not all of them come from other people. They’re the ones we place on ourselves. The ones that whisper, Look at me. I’ve got the best decorations. My cakes and pies are legendary. I serve the most delicious meal. My goodness, what a holiday to remember. And just like that, it becomes tradition. Did you notice the shift? How quickly the season moves from meaning to performance? Here’s the thing about caregiving: the holidays don’t stop for us, and we don’t stop for the holidays. The two just fold into each other—messy, imperfect—and somehow we’re still expected to stitch everything together into something that looks like joy. This year, I woke up and realized something. I don’t have the energy for the big version of Christmas. The one with matching pajamas. The good China. The kind o...

Our energy isn’t bottomless — it was never meant to be. That’s why protecting it, and choosing where to spend it, becomes a non-negotiable. It’s how you make it through intact. In many households, family gatherings can shake loose emotions that have been quiet all year. Old family patterns creep back in, tension lingers in the air, and everyone arrives carrying their own history. For caregivers — already moving through life with a full emotional load — that shift lands even heavier. Emotional stress hits caregivers differently when you’re the one holding both the practical responsibilities and the emotional climate of the room. We feel the energy first — the tone, the tension, the unspoken strain. That’s why gatherings can feel heavier for us — we’re tending to the needs right in front of us while also absorbing the emotional undercurrents everyone else avoids or pushes away. That combination can make even the most familiar table feel charged, complicated, and exhausting for any careg...

  Image by I_ren_e Source: www: Pixabay.com Are you a collector? If so, what do you collect? I like teapots. Don’t ask why — I just do. A friend’s Facebook post about decluttering inspired me to finally begin a task I’d been postponing for months. This week, I started small — one kitchen cabinet and a teapot I’ve held on to for years. As I picked up that souvenir from a trip that changed me, I noticed its handle was chipped and the glaze cracked. Once, I couldn’t imagine parting with it. Now it just sat there, taking up space. Over the years, I’ve come to learn — and relearn — that letting go is a process, a ritual of sorts. So I thanked it, put it in the donation box, and felt an instant lightness. Sometimes simplifying begins with one tiny release. There are many more collectibles I need to evaluate to see whether they’ve outlived their purpose. Letting go isn’t a single decision. It’s a practice — small choices, repeated often, that clear mental clutter, ease tension, and invite...