Showing posts with label tired. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tired. Show all posts

Sunday, February 25, 2018

Please Don't Tell Me I Look Tired


Maybe you are trying to be kind. Maybe you are trying to be supportive. Maybe you are trying to validate the challenging experience of a friend who is a family caregiver.  But believe me, when you tell a caregiver that they look tired, you are doing none of those things.

In fact, it’s just the opposite.

You say something like, “Oh honey, you look tired.” Or, “Are you OK? You look a little tired.”

Not helpful.
Not a compliment
Not going to fix anything.

Think about it: What exactly are you saying when you tell a friend that they look tired?

It usually means one or more of the following: dark shadows under the eyes, red eyes, sallow skin, poor posture, saggy facial tone, slumped shoulders, bad or melting makeup, dirty hair, not smiling, low energy, tension in the face or shoulders.

Does any of those things signify attractiveness? No.

So what you are doing when you say, “You look tired” is to say to your friend, “You look unattractive today.”

Is that what you meant as helpful?

Now I get it: You run into your friend who is a family caregiver. You know she is having a hard time and maybe you even know that she’s been tired.

Wouldn’t it be more helpful to say, “You look wonderful today.” Or “I love that color on you.” Or the best: “How are you feeling today?”
And let her tell you the status of her energy.

Because what if—and this happens a lot—she’s having a day full of hope, and it’s one of her better days, and maybe she is feeling the best she has felt in weeks, and secretly hoping she looks good today.

And then there you are, full of well-intended (we hope) compassion, heartily jabbing your caring needle-- “Oh dear, you look tired” --in her balloon.

Don’t do that. There’s no need. There are so many other ways to be kind to a family caregiver.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

HALT

This is hard. He is on the couch. I am racing from room to room. The to-do list strangles me. I’m mad and I’m tired. HALT they say in AA; notice when you are Hungry Angry Lonely or Tired. I am all four: H A L & T. Stop and breath. Stop and pray. What can I take off my list? What really matters? How important is it?

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Long Weekend

We are back from our long weekend. I must remember this. I must. Being away—even for just a few days—is such good medicine. For my heart, for my head, for my body. Last week I was running myself into the ground. Working and still sick. Finally four days away and sleeping, walking, laughing and nothing that HAD to be done. I know this is good but I forget. Or I convince myself that I can’t afford to go away, that I cannot leave the office. But I can. I have to change the way I think. But maybe I have to change my behavior and make myself go even when I think I can’t. God knows it’s been said: God rested on the 7th day, books on sharpening the saw, putting on your own oxygen mask before attending to others. I know. I know. But today, being rested, happy and the real gift—creative—I get it. God help me to remember this.

Friday, September 12, 2008

FU

It’s chemo weekend. The infusion pump returns and the nasty drug called 5-FU. Yesterday to the oncology center for several hours then home to the visiting chemo nurse who hooks John up to the pump. These two days the chemo pet we call FU lives on John and dominates our lives. It is tiring. Tiring for him, yes and tiring for me. I am running. To work, then to the oncology center, then home, back to work, then to my night class. Groceries? Dry cleaner? Postage?

Today I feel resentful and then guilty for feeling resentful. I want to take a breath. I want to shop for shoes. I miss my life and I am afraid of losing myself. I want to be able to rest or be spontaneous; I want to call a friend. All I am aware of is what is not done: laundry, groceries. He cannot go to the grocery store or open the fridge because of the reaction to cold. I don’t want to eat and I don’t want to cook but he needs to eat.

What is hard is to sort out what is really him and what is really me versus what is cancer and chemo. Maybe he’d be this selfish anyway? Maybe I’d be this pissed anyway? It’s so hard to step back and see the good. I’m trying to remember who he was before cancer. Was he a nicer person then? Was I?

All I can think of today is FU.