This alert card has sat at the front my purse for the last 12 years. Today when looking for another card, I realised it wasn’t needed anymore. I took it out, realised the weight of all it meant.

Life had got to revolve largely around Mum’s routine and needs. There were times in the struggle, in the fighting a broken care and health system, in the mess, the drudgery, the loss and the endless worrying, when I didn’t have any more to give, that, if I’m honest, I wished I could just have a life where I didn’t have any of that stress.

I’m not proud of these thoughts, but I’m also learning to not be ashamed about them either. Caring is a gruelling task at times and there is little opportunity to acknowledge this. I think most folk in this role assume everyone else is doing it 100% better, with angelic levels of patience and resilience. We think they keep perfectly tidy houses, juggle conficting demands effortlessly, tend to every need with compassion and chirpiness… But in reality, none of us are angels, just shattered, imperfect humans, all probably just doing our best, with little support. Some days we do it well, with a smile and generosity, sometimes it’s too much, and yet we still do, but with less grace and more of a grimace. That’s how it is.

But, if there’s little support when we are being carers, now there’s nothing. No manual, no guidance on how to adjust and reshape your identity when it no longer encompasses such a huge part of life.

There are times I feel bewildered.

Each time we go out, I’m still thinking we need to be back in time for…then realising that no, we don’t. Now I can do what I want, when I want…but it’s as if I’ve forgotten how. Any loss takes so much adjustment, learning to live with the space where they used to be. As a now ex-carer, this huge void will in time, I’m sure fill. But for now, all I can do is let the emotions and confusion play out.