Caregiving That Includes You

I don't know about you, but I'm in the throes of change. I've been feeling down when I get home from work. Typically, I'm the first one home, and I immediately start making dinner. It's second nature, like brushing my teeth first thing in the morning or buckling my seat belt when I get in the car. I walk in the door, put my stuff down, and start cooking. Pure autopilot.

However, these past few months, I've noticed a feeling of emptiness tinged with resentment while making dinner. I finally started exploring why, and it dawned on me that:

1.    I miss my kids. 

2.    I'm absolutely fed up with the constant dinner-making routine. 

Three of my kids are off at schools far away, and while I still have one at home, she is uber-involved, and I often only see her after dinnertime. She's very independent as well. So, while I don't do much for her, I make sure she has a plate made for her late dinner.

It's one of my remaining vestiges of caring for others.

Personally, I've never been one to fret over empty nest syndrome because I looked forward to reclaiming some "me time."

If I'm being honest, my feelings extend beyond just missing my children. I realized I immerse myself in caring for others, conveniently neglecting my needs and desires.

And did I mention that I'm sick and tired of making dinner after a full day's work???

What if I replaced this old, ingrained habit with something I genuinely want to do?

To be clear, this isn't about achieving some specific goal.

It's about rewiring my caregiving circuitry to include myself.
 

While I haven't completely stopped making dinner, I've started making some changes. I now attend yoga classes a couple of evenings per week. It's a small change, but it feels incredibly kind and self-indulgent.

And last night, I wrote this post. Writing to you all ALWAYS brings me joy.

The best part? No one is starving. It turns out others know how to cook, too.

Regardless of whether you have kids moving out, it's likely that you, too, have often put yourself last. I've identified three steps to help you reclaim your narrative:

1.    Tune in: Listen to your intuition. Reflect on your feelings and what they're telling you.

2.    Center yourself: Make decisions based on what feels right for you, rather than solely considering everyone else's happiness.

3.    Speak up: Once you're clear on the changes you want to make, communicate them. You might be surprised at how others can support your desired changes and rise to the occasion if given the opportunity.

I hope this helps. And if you're really struggling, please feel free to reach out here.

Here's to embracing change and putting ourselves first.

With love,

Carolyn