The Zen of Caregiving

Is Mindfulness a Cure-All?

In my life with bipolar disorder, and my life as a caregiver, I alternately fall in love with mindfulness and despair of it's curing anything:

    When I can be present and listen mindfully to Adrian without reacting defensively, negatively or impatiently, we both come away from the experience feeling more peaceful. 

    When I take the time for a fifteen-minute morning meditation before I begin work, It helps sustain me throughout the day. 

    The more I can stop whatever I'm doing or thinking, take a deep breath, and come back to the present, the better my day goes.

    Yet it takes a certain baseline of composure and well-being for me to allow myself to be mindful.  When I am in the depths of despair and numbing depression, it's hard to be present.  My desire then is only to escape. 

    When I'm in the depths I can't imagine ever feeling peaceful again.  And now, when I'm feeling the abiding peace and joy of being present, I can't imagine not being able to summon up the friendly breath of mindfulness at any time.

The Straw That Breaks The Caregiver's Back

We caregivers are often at the limits of what we can handle, and when we are asked to take care of "one more thing" it becomes the straw that breaks our backs. I have all I can manage taking care of my husband, who has dementia as well as hearing problems, vision problems, balance problems, and two bad shoulders.  I am also a professional artist, and managing my art business is another full-time job.

So last week when I was asked to take on one more thing, stress levels went over the top.  In the beginning my adrenaline kicked in and I was operating at warp speed the first two days.  Then the physical and emotional exhaustion set in.

Forget about making art.  I couldn't keep up.

Forget about my morning meditation.  I couldn't stay focused.

Things have calmed down a bit, and I'm getting a much-needed respite this week since Adrian will be visiting with two of his sons.  By the end of the week I know I'll be glad to see him come home.

But for now, I look forward to the breathing space.

Assertive Communication Most Important in Caregiving

"You'll tell me if I become a pain in the ass, right?"  That's what Adrian said to me this morning after coming into my studio to tell me he felt so sleepy he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Go to bed and take a nap," I suggested.  "And yes, I'll try to tell you BEFORE I become aggravated."

The problem is, I usually don't communicate very assertively with Adrian.  I wait until my irritation at being interrupted is so strong that I can't stand it, and then I lash out at him.  This is NOT effective.

Of course, the first step in knowing how to communicate what I'm feeling is TO KNOW WHAT I'M FEELING.  That's where the meditative pause comes into play.  I need to stop, take a breath or two, and observe what's going on. 

Assertive communication is about asking directly for what you want and need.  Otherwise you're asking the other person to read your mind. 

How on earth is Adrian supposed to know when it's OK to come into my art studio to ask for something, and when it's not?  

I wrote a book on assertiveness many years ago, precisely because I needed to learn how to use it.  Guess I need to reread that book. 

As a caregiver, how assertively do you communicate with your loved one?

Letting Go: Not Easy When a Loved One Has Alzheimer's

One of the meditation practices I learned from Pema Chodron is to "soften, relax, and let go."  I am so much trying to control everything in my life that letting go is a major accomplishment, even for a moment.  When a loved one has Alzheimer's, it is painful to watch them slowly slipping away from us, but here too, we have to let go. 

Of course as caregivers we should do everything possible to make sure our wife, husband, mother or father has the best care and quality of life that is possible for them at each stage.  But we cannot control the progress of the disease and we cannot necessarily prevent the pain and suffering that goes along with it. 

Throughout my life I've often taken on the project of "saving" someone.  I worked to get a colleague promoted at his job (several times); encouraged and pushed a friend to move when it was in her best interest; helped another friend succeed in her business.  I get pleasure helping, and that's fine, but "saving" is not. 

I cannot save Adrian.  I cannot undo what is done or prevent his frustration at his loss of memory and skills.  I need to accept him as he is in this moment, and to let go of the rest. 

Have you been trying to hold on to a loved one when you need to let go?

Suppressing Anger Is Not a Healthy Way to Be a Caregiver

I had no idea I was so angry because I'd suppressed it and fooled myself into thinking everything was hunky dory.  But when I found myself alone with Adrian over the holidays 24/7 with no backup, freezing weather, and my usual walking partners unavailable, I broke down. 

My daily meditation and commitment to mindfulness and patience were no longer working for me.  In the middle of meditating, I would start to cry, full of self-pity, self-hate, righteous indignation, and anger.

Whoa!  How could I have overlooked all those deep dark feelings lurking just beneath the surface? 

I have not given up on meditation, but I also made an appointment with a therapist to explore better ways for me to handle these emotions.  I'm afraid that when I feel good, I take on too much and try to be super-caregiver until I get overwhelmed and break down.

I need to learn how to ask for help, how to get help, and how to set boundaries.  I also need to learn how to deal with the guilt I feel when I'm taking care of myself instead of Adrian.

How about you?  Are you taking care of yourself?

"This Emotional Life" Offers Insights for Caregivers

This week PBS had a 3-part series called "This Emotional Life" which dealt with issues about what makes us happy and ways to cope with unhappiness or depression.  It was not geared to caregivers, but I think there's a lot we can learn from it.

What struck me was that the technique recommended by cognitive behavioral psychologists to those suffering from ptsd (post traumatic stress disorder) was very similar to meditation:  instead of trying to escape from the bad or frightening feelings you are experiencing, embrace them.  Be present with the fear or pain, and you will learn that it does not kill you. Gradually, the fear and pain will lessen, and you will get stronger.

This was an important message for me right now, because I've been having a hard time feeling any happiness these past couple of weeks.  I've felt isolated as a caregiver, and hopeless about the future.  I was also frustrated that meditation wasn't helping me to feel peaceful.

It's not going to always be peaceful, but we need to know we can face our pain and get through it.

 

The Holidays Are Often Hard on Caregivers

Why might this time of year be hard on caregivers?

    1 Whoever you were paying to help out has this time off to be with their own family.

    2 In addition to your usual duties, you are expected to bake cookies, decorate the house, prepare special meals, entertain guests, and act cheerful.

While everyone else is counting their blessings and looking forward to a bright new year, you might find yourself down in the dumps.  That's what happened to me this week, though I'm continuing to meditate and to attempt to accept whatever is going on.

Our friend who comes four days a week to spend a couple of hours with Adrian, left this morning for his home town and won't be back until the second week of January.  That means I need to spend more time with Adrian.

The wind is howling outside and it is bitter cold.  There is snow on the ground and the woods are treacherous.  I think we'll stay inside.

What will we do together?  We'll figure something out, even if it's just sharing hot cocoa and reading the holiday cards we've received. 

Caregivers: How About Loving Yourself Unconditionally?

I'd been so down on myself lately, that I felt I'd lost whatever peace of mind and equanimity I had found through meditation. In the middle of the night, I'd lie awake counting my sins, ruminating on them obsessively. 

"I feel bad that I can't help you," Adrian said as we sat across from each other in the kitchen at 3 a.m. 

"No one can," I said.  "I just have to live through it."

He went back to bed and I continued to play solitaire--another one of my obsessions.  Why, I thought, am I throwing my life away like this?

And then yesterday morning, I was reading Pema Chodron:

    " . . . our true nature is not some ideal that we have to live up to.  It's who we are right now, and that's what we can make friends with and celebrate." (p. 12, The Wisdom of No Escape)

I suddenly had the feeling that I should and could love myself unconditionally. Yes!  I will love myself with all my warts and obsessions.  I will not worry about becoming a better person.  I will make peace with the one I am.

Reading Pema Chodron: the Breathing Pause

This morning I went to meditation at the Foundation of Light, where we meditate, read, and talk about what we read.  I brought in a book by Pema Chodron, and we read about pausing before reacting:  just stopping and taking three breaths.  Aaah, like that.

We were sitting outside in the sunlight, mesmerized by this bright warm day in Ithaca in the middle of November!

Pausing before we self-destruct or react with irritation and anger--how I need to do this!  

I notice that I am programmed to react to anything new negatively.  On a walk today with Adrian, he suggested a different way to go.  "No," I said immediately.  "That doesn't lead anywhere."

Then I paused and said, "Let's try it."

What was the big deal about walking on a path that ended at a fence and having to turn around?  It was no less pleasant than going another way!  We were out for a walk. 

Pause. Breathe three breaths.

Soften, relax, and let go.

Patience: Where Did I leave It?

Yesterday in my morning meditation group, I felt so centered, calm and peaceful.  I was ready to focus on my breath, to be present and mindful the rest of the day.  Yet, when Adrian and I went downtown to see a movie, I lost it soon after we left the parking lot.  

We had a half hour to kill, I mean "enjoy," until the movie started, and I noticed a new store across the street:  Urban Outfitters.  The word "outfitters" made me think it was an outdoors sporting type of store, so I suggested we take a look. 

Aach, the minute I got inside, I realized it was a store for cool hip skinny people under 25.  What were we doing in there?!  I wanted to escape immediately, but Adrian started wandering into the men's department, studying the clothing.  

I made a quick zip through the rest of the store, growing more uncomfortable with each rack I perused, then circled back to get him out of there.

"Look at these shoes," he said, pointing to a pair of loafers.

"Don't you have enough shoes?" I asked.  "Besides, these lace up.  They would be too hard for you to manage."

"Are you uncomfortable?"

"Yes.  Can we leave?"

Finally, we exited.  And then faced the rest of our downtown "commons" area, where Adrian shuffled along so slowly I could not keep behind with him, but kept surging ahead and having to wait for him.  Every eatery we passed, he would stop to look at the menu. 

"You don't want to eat anything there," I said.  "They're very expensive."

At another place: "Are you hungry? How come you're stopping at every restaurant?"

"You are something," he said, laughing. 

Even I knew I was laughable, but I just couldn't stand it.  "It's time to head back to the movie theater," I said, herding him along. 

And we sat waiting for 10 minutes for the show to start. 

It was an afternoon that provided me with ample material to practice being patient. 

Maybe another time.