🌿 Caregiver Voices
🌿Caregiving is made up of real moments — some hopeful, some heavy, some still unfolding. 🌻
🌿 Caregiver Voices is a space to honor those moments. Here, partners and loved ones share the stories that stayed with them — the raw, the tender, the difficult, and the surprising — so none of us have to walk this road alone.
Every voice here is different, but all are real. 🌻🌻🌻
🚫 When Support Isn’t Supportive: A Caregiver’s Warning (Anonymous)
When my husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer, I expected the support of a community who understood. I hoped to find a place where I could share my fears, ask questions, and find reassurance that I wasn’t alone.
I joined an online support group, thinking I’d be met with empathy and understanding. What I didn’t expect was judgment, condescension, and even blame — and the harshest words came from someone who claimed to be a therapist.
At first, I thought it was a misunderstanding. Maybe I was reading it wrong. But the dismissive comments kept coming, and it wasn’t just anyone — it was someone who was supposed to help, someone licensed to give advice.
This experience taught me an important, painful truth: not all help is helpful.
Being licensed doesn’t always mean someone is kind. Experience doesn’t always equal integrity. And just because you’re in a “support group” doesn’t mean the group is emotionally safe. Sometimes, those who are supposed to help end up adding more stress, guilt, and shame.
One of the most painful comments came when I shared about my husband’s smoking after treatment. I was devastated, feeling betrayed and heartbroken. I opened up, not to shame him, but to express my pain. The response I received was harsh:
“He had to lie because of your reaction.”
“You need therapy.”
“Sorry I wasted my time.”
It felt like I was being told I was overreacting. That my emotions were invalid. That advocating for my husband’s health was somehow wrong. It was emotionally jarring, to say the least.
That’s when I realized: this wasn’t just a hurtful moment — it was a wake-up call. Caregivers need protection, too. Not just from cancer, but from the emotional harm of others’ words. If “support” makes you feel smaller or silenced, it isn’t truly support.
🌿 What I Learned
You are allowed to feel what you feel.
You are allowed to speak up.
You are allowed to set boundaries.
Most importantly: you are allowed to walk away from any voice — professional or not — that makes you feel ashamed for caring too deeply.
🌻 Caregiver’s Checklist for Navigating Bad Advice
Here’s how I check myself when advice feels off:
Does this person honor my pain — or dismiss it?
Do I feel more grounded, or more ashamed, after talking with them?
Am I being asked to swallow my truth for someone else’s comfort?
Are they urging me to “accept” something I’m not ready to accept?
Do they speak with respect — or superiority?
If the answers leave you feeling isolated or invalidated, trust your gut: this is not the kind of support you need.
🌟 Final Thoughts
This wasn’t just about a single comment. It was a reminder that those with credentials or authority should be held to a higher standard — one that includes kindness and empathy. Sadly, that’s not always the case.
So if this happens to you — if someone minimizes your experience, invalidates your emotions, or makes you feel like you’re wrong for caring too much — please don’t carry those words as truth.
🌻 You are not too much.
🌻 You are not wrong.
🌻 You are not alone.
No one else has the right to dictate how you should feel or how you should show up for your loved one. The journey may be difficult, but you are strong enough to handle it — especially when you honor your own feelings and boundaries.
If you find yourself struggling, reach out to those who understand. Protect your emotional health as fiercely as you protect your loved one’s.
📝 The List I Almost Forgot
We were halfway to the cancer center when my stomach dropped — the notebook was still on the kitchen table.
Not just any notebook. The one with our carefully written “Top 5 Questions for the Doctor.” The one we had spent three nights putting together — me scribbling while he paced the living room, adding questions as they came to us.
I could feel the anxiety bubbling up — that sick mix of frustration and fear. Without it, I worried we’d forget something important and the visit would pass in a blur.
I closed my eyes, took a slow breath, and started typing the questions I could remember into my phone. One by one, they came back. Not in the same order, not word for word, but enough to keep us from leaving without answers.
When we finally sat down with the doctor, I was able to ask every single one.
That day reminded me: preparation doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful. Sometimes the act of thinking through the questions ahead of time is just as valuable as holding them in your hands.
🌻 Related Tool
[Top 5 Questions for the Doctor Worksheet] → Fresh Tools & Ideas
🌿 The Day I Found My Voice
On the drive to the doctor’s office, I asked my husband how he was feeling.
The words spilled out like a tide that had been held back too long — every ache, every side effect, the exhaustion, and the way depression had been creeping in. Then came the words that made my chest ache:
“Sometimes I just feel like giving up.”
I held all of it in my mind, determined to make sure the doctor knew.
But when we sat down in the exam room and the doctor asked, “How are you doing?” my husband simply said,
“I’m okay.”
For a moment, I froze. Then I realized this moment mattered.
So I leaned forward and said,
“No, doctor, he’s not doing okay. Here’s what’s really going on.”
The doctor turned to me, then back to my husband, and gently said, “Tell me more.”
Something shifted. My husband began to share — slowly at first, then more openly — what he had told me in the car. It was raw and uncomfortable, but it was honest.
That day taught me something important: sometimes my role as a caregiver is to open the door, just enough, so my loved one can walk through with his truth. It’s not about speaking for him. It’s about making sure he’s truly heard.
💬 Reflection Prompt
Have you ever had to be the one who says, “No, here’s what’s really going on”?
What happened next?
🌿 The Post-It on the Nightstand
It was 2 a.m., and my mind was running endless laps — test results, next week’s appointment, the “what if” that had been sitting heavy on my chest all day.
I reached for my water glass and saw the little yellow post-it I had stuck there earlier:
“You’re doing enough.”
That note came straight from the 🌻 Caregiver Calm Kit — a resource I had printed months ago and tucked away, telling myself I’d “use it later.” Funny how later always feels far off, until suddenly it’s right now.
That night, those three little words were the anchor I needed. They didn’t erase the medical challenges waiting in the morning, but they shifted the weight in my chest just enough for me to breathe, to sleep, to wake up and face the day without feeling like I’d been running all night.
Sometimes the smallest things — a phrase, a post-it, a reminder that you’re not failing — are the strongest threads holding you together.
📄 Related Tool
🌻 [Caregiver Calm Kit] — Emotional Support & Self-Care section
🌿 The Day He Laughed Again
We had errands to run that morning, and I dreaded getting into the car. Lately, our drives had become minefields — one-word answers, heavy sighs, silence that pressed down like a weight. Sometimes I felt invisible. Other times, I became the target of his frustration. I knew it came from fear and exhaustion, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.
That day felt no different. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, bracing for the moment when words sharp enough to bruise would cut through the quiet.
Then, without warning, he roared with laughter — a deep, unrestrained laugh I hadn’t heard in months. Startled, I turned to see him pointing out the passenger window.
On a front porch sat a Great Dane puppy, maybe eight weeks old, wearing the most ridiculous “helmet”: a gallon milk jug with the bottom cut out, snug over his head, strapped with an old belt. The pup looked like a tiny gladiator — proud, wobbly, and completely unaware of how funny he looked.
The heaviness between us cracked open. We laughed together — really laughed — and for a moment, it felt like fresh air rushing into a sealed room.
That day reminded me: even in the hardest seasons, joy can still sneak in and surprise you. And when it does, hold on with both hands.
From Nepal: A Daughter’s Struggle to Find Medication for Her Father
Editor’s Note (from Debra):
This story comes to us from Nepal, where one daughter is facing the unthinkable — searching desperately for the Prostate Cancer medication her father needs. It’s sobering, it’s real life, and it reminds us how uneven access to care can be around the world. If you are a medical professional or know of organizations that may be able to help, please reach out. Even one lead could make all the difference.
🌿 Caregiver Voices is about sharing real moments — the hard, the hopeful, and everything in between. None of us are walking this road alone.
Unita’s Story:
“My father has advanced Prostate cancer. Here in Nepal, we are struggling to find the medication he needs. We’ve tried the hospitals, the pharmacies, and even asked friends in other countries, but nothing is working. Every day is a race against time, and I feel so helpless.
If anyone reading this knows of medical aid organizations, doctors, or resources that could help us locate treatment, please — we need you. I never imagined that getting medicine would be the hardest battle of all.”
Closing Note:
If you have suggestions, connections, or ideas, please reach out through our contact form at debraothman.com/contact. Your help could make all the difference for Unita and her family.
🌻 Standing beside each other — across borders, across journeys.
🌟 Why We Share These Moments
Each story is a reminder that even in the hardest seasons, caregivers carry strength, tenderness, and truth. Sharing them helps lighten the weight — for the storyteller, and for those who recognize their own journey in the words.
💬 Share Your Story
Every caregiving journey has moments that stay with us — good, hard, or in between. Your story matters, and it may be exactly what another caregiver needs to hear.
You don’t need perfect words. Just share from the heart. A few lines or a longer reflection — both are welcome.
👉 Use the form below to share anonymously, or add your name and city if you’d like.
💬 We’d Love to Hear From You
Every caregiving journey has moments that stay with us—good, hard, or somewhere in between. Whether it’s something you learned, something you wish others understood, or a moment that changed you, your story matters.
If you’d like to share, you can use the form below. You’re welcome to remain anonymous—or add your name and city if you’d like.
✍️ How to Share Your Story
🌟 A Gentle Closing
The stories we carry remind us that we are not alone. When we share them, they become lanterns — guiding lights for the next caregiver who feels lost in the dark.
If you’d like more support, the 🌻 Caregiver Tools Library is always open to you. Inside, you’ll find worksheets, reflections, and gentle resources to help you steady your heart and lighten your load. 💌