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Tell my story, it says. What’s my story, says I. Educator, writer, wife, mother. Researcher, philosopher, philanthropist, advocate. Words I’ve used to describe myself. Lately, a lot of those facets of myself have taken a far backseat as I’ve become more and more “just” a caregiver. Wife and advocate come to the forefront.
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I feel like my brains are falling out. Linear thought becomes harder and harder. Writing feels like a luxury. My life is consumed with making things easier for my husband, keeping him healthy and independent. Crisis after crisis rolls in to drown me.
So I research. Resources, programs, solutions. Seeking books about being a caregiver, I find that most, especially those about caring for someone with cognitive impairment, are written from the point of view of adult children caring for their parents. So I started journaling. And then I began thinking that others might be interested in my point of view, maybe it could help someone else that’s going through this, So I’m going to get back into blogging.
My story is changing. Let me tell you about it.
