In mid-December, my husband suffered an injury which would require six to eight weeks of rest. Sitting in the Emergency Room, I reviewed the adjustments we’d need to make, such as cancelling the Christmas turkey. I was trading the role of hostess for caregiver.
We moved Dick to the main floor bedroom which is also my office. “No problem,” I said and was determined to prove it. Being a caregiver is surely a do-unto-others moment and for the first few weeks I was kind, helpful, sympathetic.
Then one evening at dinner, when I offered my extra vegetables to Dick, I suddenly changed my mind and almost grabbed the bowl. My kindness had vanished and I felt angry, resentful, exhausted—and guilty.
“Why is it so hard to be good?” I asked a friend the next day. “Or is it just hard for me?”
She shook her head. “It’s not just you,” she said. “Being good doesn’t mean being selfless. Doesn’t mean 24/7. You’ll burn out.”
I told her about the vegetables.
“Exactly,” she said. “When you’re taking care of loved ones, include yourself.”
