Caregiver Paradox

For people who take care of loved ones or provide care professionally, tending to their own needs can feel selfish.

It’s easier to quote the familiar oxygen mask self-care analogy than to live by it: Remember to place the mask over your own mouth and nose before assisting others.

The insight rings true. Every well-meaning caregiver plans to do it in the unlikely event of an air travel emergency. Practicing it consistently while making your way down a bottomless list of tasks and responsibilities is another story.

Unfortunately, habitually prioritizing the care of others over your own isn’t sustainable. If we don’t work on treating ourselves the way we treat the people we care about, we will inevitably get bogged down by resentment, burnout, and bitterness.

This has me thinking about the people who have stood out as taking exceptional care of me when I’ve needed it most. The ones who make kindness look easy.

The nurse who crossed out my first name and replaced it with my middle name — the one I go by — so I’d be less confused coming out of general anesthesia.

The counselor who told me I looked like I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.

The physical therapist who patiently and repeatedly explained what the surgeon had done to my shoulder and specific ways to restore my range of motion.

I have a theory about good caregivers. I can’t prove it, but considering it as a likely probability helps me feel a little less alone in the challenge to retain my humanity in an increasingly impersonal world.

I’ll share it as an open question and invite you to consider it with me.

What if the people who have made you feel safe or well cared for were all secretly struggling to take better care of themselves?

What if they tend to put their needs at the bottom of their lists? What if this remains an ongoing challenge, even for them?

What if being crappy at taking care of yourself is better than not trying at all?

We need nurses who don’t wait for their own symptoms to intensify before attending to them.

We need counselors who practice accepting themselves as they are even while they keep growing.

We need physical therapists who have people who they can turn to when they’re unable to solve a personal puzzle on their own.

It takes a well-cared-for person to infuse fragile human moments with warmth and connection.

Machines, algorithms, and burned-out humans will never have this capacity.

To be able to provide and accept the kind of care we all yearn for, we need to take care of ourselves even though it’s difficult and goes against our instincts.