When Hugh was initially hurt, and for many months after, the outpouring of help and compassion from our family and friends was heartwarming and much appreciated. As month after month passed by, we were still in need, and it became more difficult to accept help without feeling like we were pulling everybody around us down with our endless need for assistance. Feeling like the friend nobody wanted anymore, I pulled back and tried to go it alone, but there were times when I still had to call friends to vent or ask for advice or help, and then I felt like a burden, so I vowed to give back with all my might once things were on an even keel.This was ten years ago, and I still find myself taking on other people's problems as if they were happening to me. It took two years for Hugh and I to feel like we were on the road to recovery, functioning like a normal couple with our family again, but many other people are not as fortunate as we are, and struggle for years on end. I sometimes find myself taking it on the heart--as if it's not enough to listen, or to help out in simple ways. I admit, I sometimes lie in bed at night thinking about other people's problems as if they are my own.
I wonder if other caregivers struggle with this after accepting help for so long. Life can be hard, and we all want to be good friends to those who need us, but how do you turn down the dial inside you that hurts for others? A dear friend of mine once told me I needed an "empathectomy" because it was unhealthy to be overly empathetic, to feel the pain of others acutely. I think she's right, and yet, I don't want a hardened heart either.
I'd love to hear how others feel about this, and how they help other people while remaining at peace, even joyful, for their own good fortune and health.
Hi Rosemary,
ReplyDeleteYour post is sure to generate reflection in all who read it. I resonate with what you describe. My husband Alan and I were very grateful for the friends and family who helped us out for seven years. I also felt like a burden and as if caregiving had stolen my ability to give mutual support in relationships. There is also the sensory and emotional overload of entering the secret world of catastrophic illness that many people never see. I've been very involved in the brain injury community since 1998, and can still be shocked and deeply moved by people's stories, burdens, and resilience.
Now that some time has passed, I can see that I may have offered the friends who helped a lesson in how to grow into life's toughest situations so they could prepare for their own inevitable turn. I've also turned what I learned about compassion fatigue into writing for caregivers so they might practice compassion resilience. When I meet someone in a terrible situation, I try to stand beside them, offer what I can, but not take on their emotions and problems as my own. I still work on "bearing witness" since I still get shaken and concerned easily. Spreading awareness and hope, as you do with your fine book and blog, is a splendid contribution to our world.
Insightful, as always. Thank you, Janet.
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