Part Three of the Capacity Series

Last week I promised we would dig into what happens when the demands of caregiving finally decrease – for whatever reason. Can we rebuild what we’ve depleted? How long does it take? What now?

After three months away from my own 7 year quest of daily caregiving, I thought I would have a very different answer to those questions.

I wish I could tell you my tank is full, my brain has rebooted and I’m now bounding through life with the energy of a Labrador puppy. I’m not. One full day with my mom recently showed me just how quickly some of those old demands can drain the tank again, and that surprised me.

Mom is happy. She’s safe. I’m no longer responsible for every moment of every day. Surely my capacity should have come roaring back by now.

Except it didn’t.

So naturally, I wanted data. How long is this going to take? Three months? Six? A year? Surely somebody has a chart that will tell me exactly where I should be by now.

Drop the calculator. Close the spreadsheet. Apparently, there are no performance metrics for this chapter.

Three months does not magically undo seven years. My body is still recovering from everything it carried. I had pneumonia in June, bronchitis this month and, as I write this, I’m dealing with nerve pain in my shoulder. I’ve even wondered if my shoulders are literally starting to come down from around my ears after years of carrying so much tension. I can’t prove that, of course. Maybe I just slept like a pretzel.

My brain has been reminding me, too. I used to be able to write for sixteen hours at a stretch. Now, when my brain has had enough, it simply shuts off, sometimes without warning. Apparently, it has unionized.

So how long DOES rebuilding “capacity” take?

Longer than I thought.

That is the most truthful answer I have right now. But I’m beginning to realize I may have been looking for the wrong signs. I’ve been waiting to feel dramatically different when the changes are showing up in much quieter, albeit more powerful ways.

I notice pretty flowers again. A song comes on the radio and I actually hear it, sometimes catching myself singing along. I take a nap because I’m tired without spending twenty minutes negotiating with guilt about everything I should be doing instead. Sometimes, I go for a drive simply because I want to, with no doctor, dentist, pharmacy or grocery store waiting at the other end. Sometimes, there might even be a root beer float calling my name.

I’ve also eaten popcorn for dinner. More than once. Before anyone alerts the nutrition police, I am fully aware popcorn does not represent all the recommended food groups, but for today we’re calling it a solid (starchy) vegetable.

These things seem small, but I don’t think they are.

For years, so much of life was dictated by necessity. What needs to happen? Who needs me? Where do we need to be? What can wait? What absolutely cannot wait? Even while running my business, there was always another full-time job waiting when the workday ended.

Now, every once in a while, an hour appears that doesn’t already belong to someone else.

And newsflash: those hours can be surprisingly uncomfortable.

My first instinct is to put them to work. I could clean something, answer something or catch up on something. Give me an empty hour and I can have three obligations, a project and possibly a committee living in it by Thursday. One might think I thrive on stress.

But what if the empty hour doesn’t need a job? What if some of this returning capacity doesn’t have to be immediately reinvested in responsibility? What if a little of it gets to be spent on something or someone simply because it makes me happy?

I’ve decided to call this delightful irresponsibility.

Not call-the-bail-bondsman irresponsibility. Take the nap. Eat the tacos. Go shopping because you want to look around. Drive nowhere with the windows down. Turn up a ridiculous song and sing badly while the dishes remain scandalously unwashed. Somewhere in all of this, I also feel strongly there should be chocolate chip cookies and a tiara. I do like (love) sparkle and sass.

See? Those little moments bring joy, and I know in my soul that joy is fuel for capacity.

Soon after I noticed those moments, something else started showing Meet curiosity. I wonder where that road goes. I wonder if I’d enjoy doing that? I wonder what else I might want to try?

I’m dreaming again.

Maybe, just maybe, this is my Under the Tuscan Sun moment. You know the dream—Tuscany, sunshine, beautiful food, a gorgeous old villa and the delicious possibility of a life you never planned. Underneath all that beautiful scenery is a woman whose planned life disappeared. She found herself standing in an unexpected one and began building from there.

My current version is considerably less Tuscan villa and considerably more Wyoming driveway, but that’s okay.

Tuscany may be the dream, but happiness doesn’t require a passport.

For years, life was about what had to happen next. Now I’m beginning to wonder what could happen next. Those are two very different questions, and I’m dazzled by the second one.

What could I try? Where could I go? What could I create? Who could I meet? What if this completely unplanned season eventually lands me somewhere I never expected to be—and I love it there?

Maybe the life waiting for me isn’t the life I always wanted. Maybe it’s one I hadn’t even thought to want yet.

Caregiving changed my life in ways I never planned, and I won’t pretend every part of it was some wonderful gift wrapped in a pretty bow. It wasn’t. But I came out of those years carrying an incredible amount of hard-earned wisdom, and I don’t regret the life I shared with my mom or the choice I made to care for her.  Make no mistake, I would do it all over again – if for nothing else than love.  My mama is precious to me – even when she makes me cray.

So, back to those questions.

Can we rebuild what we’ve depleted? I think we can. I’m beginning to see pieces of my capacity returning, although much more quietly and differently than I expected.

How long does it take? Longer than I thought. My preferred timeline is apparently irrelevant, and yours is too. We are not on deadline anymore.

And what now?  For once, maybe we don’t need to know.

That may be the ultimate opportunity. To dream again. Get curious. Have adventures. Try something ridiculous and discover we love it. Build a life we couldn’t see coming.

Plot twist: there’s a next.

Before I leave this series, though, I want to talk to the caregiver who isn’t where I am yet. Maybe your days still belong almost entirely to someone else. Maybe an empty hour sounds about as realistic as that villa in Tuscany. Maybe you’re reading about delightful irresponsibility while reheating your coffee for the fourth time and cussing at me under your breath. I get it.

I remember.  I’m not removed from it, now it’s just different. 

I am not telling you to find more time, try harder or add another thing to your already impossible list. I simply want you to know that there is a next, even if you can’t see it from where you’re standing….YET. 

For now, maybe all you can do is protect one tiny piece of yourself inside the life you’re living. Twenty minutes. One song. A chocolate chip cookie eaten while it’s still warm. Something that reminds you that underneath all the responsibility, you are still in there.

Someday there will be room for more. And when there is, I hope you will let yourself dream. There is so much more to come.

Caregiver Hack of the Week:

Commit One Act of Delightful Irresponsibility

Do one thing this week for no reason other than it delights you. Don’t measure it, improve yourself with it or turn it into something productive. Take the drive. Eat the cookie. Turn up the song. Wear the tiara. Dance like a crazy fool.

And if twenty minutes is all you have, take the twenty minutes.

No performance metrics. No guilt. Just delight.

And if your delightful irresponsibility happens to involve a plane ticket to Tuscany, call me. Let’s go.

Until next week, hold on, look in the remember and be proud of who you are and what you are doing. I am standing with you, proud of you, too. With love from the tracks…