It Won't Be Like This Forever...

And other things I'd say to anyone in the trenches of care.

I did an interview with my dear friend Rayne on her Pursuit of MiSELF podcast the other day, and when I say we covered some ground… I’m talking Sydney to Perth and back again. We talked reinvention, relationships, parenting and two of my favourite topics - navigating the demands of care and living with grief.

She asked me what helped most on the really hard days of caring for Dad, and what I’d say to anyone else in the throes of caring for someone they love who is grappling with disease, disability or death.

I said this:
It will not be like this forever.

That was my quiet mantra in the latter days of caring for Dad. The one I held onto with white knuckles when I was existing on fumes and cortisol (and coffee). The thing I reminded myself of when I was exhausted, resentful, grateful, overwhelmed and totally undone — all at the same time.

Because as you’ll know from your own life, the bad never stays bad. In the same way the good never stays good. Things are forever shifting like the sands of time (cue the Days Of Our Lives intro…) 🎵

If you’re in the thick of it right now — whether you’re caring for someone you love, losing someone you love, or maybe both at once (or anything else, for that matter) — let me say this: I see you. I’ve been there. And I know how utterly consuming it can be. But I’ll tell you a secret… I don’t think there’s been any other phase of my life that has delivered as much growth as caring for Dad. It cracked me open. Changed my DNA. Upgraded my software.

And while I’d return the growth immediately to have Dad back, given that’s not an option I’ll hold onto the fact that while it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, it was also the richest - and I’m forever changed for the experience.

Here’s a sneak peek of our chat…

Truth: Care is a rough ride. It doesn’t feel like a sugar cube, especially when you’re doing it for someone who’s dying. And while it’s the most purposeful, meaningful work, we cannot live in that state forever — the fight-or-flight, sleep-deprived, emotionally-raw version of ourselves that caregiving demands. If we try, usually out of love/duty/guilt... we can lose ourselves in the process.

That’s why I wrote Next of Kin and why I’m building a community around it. Because I don’t think it’s okay that carers — mostly women, mostly unpaid — are expected to hold up entire systems on love and caffeine alone. My sincere hope is that my book changes that, and opens big conversations around the way we value our care economy.

If you haven’t pre-ordered your copy yet, please do so here! It’s 25% off right now too (thanks Amazon) and pre-orders help us little authors more than you’ll ever know.

If you’re elbow-deep in the hardest season of your life — I hope you can hold onto those words, even if they feel impossible right now: It will not be like this forever.

One day you’ll miss the mess. The tissues. The wake-ups. The weight of it all.

I do.

But no one is built to stay in that space indefinitely. So please — plug in support wherever you can. Let people in. Use the services. Take the help. Grab a copy of my book. And above all, be kind to yourself.

Because you’re doing something extraordinary. You’re loving someone in the hardest of ways. And you’re not alone.

💛

Listen to our full chat where we dig into grief, why the system needs to change, and why carers deserve more than platitudes.

If you know someone this could help, please be a hero and share it with them.