Elephants and Tea - September 2022 - 17

A CAREGIVER'S PERSPECTIVE Asking for Help
myself, and with the weight of my father's
illness, I dropped everything.
It was almost a relief to anchor all of this
in my dad's passing. It meant that these
feelings were temporary. I would grieve,
heal, and then everything would be all
tied up and my mental health would be
fixed and something I didn't have to think
about again. Clearly, this is not how mental
health works.
Eventually, I got mental health care. I saw
a therapist weekly and practiced meaningful
self-care (forcing myself to cook a healthy
dinner, not the wine in a bubble bath genre).
I journaled and read about trauma and
healing. I would not have been able to grieve
and work toward healing without these individual
practices. But it took a long time
to get to where I am now, and I really regret
that I didn't have the community care and
connection that is equally important for
your mental health. It wasn't intentional,
but I had shut down and isolated myself
when I needed others the most.
It was not difficult at all to isolate myself
as a freshman student on a new campus,
hours from home. Looking back, I wish
I had let myself be vulnerable, and given
myself the space to feel my feelings instead
of intellectualizing my experience and distracting
myself. I had severed my connection
to my body and to my emotions and
found myself floating through the first year
of the " best years of my life. "
To me, mental health care is knowing that
there is support outside of yourself. That we
are collectively invested in the well-being of
those around us. I helped take care of my
father, but my mom was his primary caregiver.
I felt bad about this, but care isn't just
a partnership. It's a network with a ripple
effect. We all simultaneously care for others
while being cared for. When I was young, I
watched my dad look after his mother (my
grandma). He handled the big things and
was her go-to person for support. But he
would bring me on weekends to help clean
up her house and take her to lunch. My mom
would handle grandma's finances and coordinate
medical care. We all took on what
was most natural for each of us and helped
where we could. We all borrowed from his
example when he got sick.
I regret not exploring what other branches
of care were available. I wish I had leaned on
my friends and had let them in. I would have
learned that I wasn't alone in my experience.
I had tried to reach out to resources for support
but was overwhelmed by impossibly
long waitlists. I wasn't able to advocate for
myself or to explore other resources. But if
I had let people in, they could have helped
with the heavy lifting.
While I wish I was more vulnerable, it
wasn't always safe for me to be. We don't
teach people how to show up for others.
I remember getting off the phone with my
mom after she told me about his diagnosis.
Immediately, I called my closest friends for
comfort. I don't know what I expected them
to do, but I was hurt and surprised by the
responses I received. I was cut off by phrases
like, " Focus on the positives and pray; "
" You are lucky that you are getting this
time with him. You must cherish it; "
And " It'll be fine. "
These well-meaning platitudes minimized
my feelings and told me that my pain made
other people uncomfortable. Not everyone
responded this way, but it was enough to
shut me down and make me sit with everything
by myself.
Care came later and from unexpected
places. It was someone I sat by in class
lighting up when they spotted me, and
telling me " I don't know what you are going
through, but I am thinking of you, and I
miss seeing you. "
It was breaking down during my professor's
office hours and having her tell me, " I
can tell you are having a really hard time.
I have noticed a change in you. Please take
as much time as you need to take care of
yourself without worrying about catching
up. You come first. "
It was my best friend immediately driving
10 hours to see me when I told her that my
dad was in hospice. I didn't even have to ask.
It was my hallmate showing up with takeout
when she noticed I hadn't been eating.
In those moments, I realized that I was
seen and uplifted by so many people. These
acts of care are important.
In many ways, I feel really removed from
this time in my life. I have gone to therapy
and I have found lots of support. I can finally
show myself compassion for not being the
caregiver that I wanted to be for my dad. But
I still really struggle every March, and I am
still surprised when it happens. I can never
believe how present these memories still are.
I have learned to lean into these feelings
and into my people. I encourage myself to
reread the daily emails I received from my
mom, giving us updates from his doctors,
and sharing stories and quotes from my
dad. I call my family to reminisce, and to
talk about how much we miss him. Or to
talk about how hard it is with people who
understand.
The March blues hit me early this year,
and a friend took me out to dinner. They
said they had noticed that I seemed withdrawn
and were wondering if I was nearing
a hard anniversary. They knew about my
dad and wanted to give me space to share
if I wanted to. I didn't know how badly I
needed to talk about it, or how much closer
to them I would feel afterwards. They
invited me into their circle, and we have
been able to lean on each other ever since.
I carry a lot of guilt for not reaching out
for help when I was 19, but I keep learning
that it's never too late to care for that part
of myself. l
ELISABETH DODD IS A LANSING, MICHIGAN-BASED ADVOCATE FOR SURVIVORS
OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE. SHE RECEIVED HER BA IN SOCIAL JUSTICE AND
JOURNALISM FROM MIAMI UNIVERSITY. SHE IS A BOARD MEMBER FOR
ESCAPE-AN ORGANIZATION THAT SUPPORTS LGBTQIA+ ADOLESCENTS AND
YOUNG ADULTS IMPACTED BY CANCER.
ELEPHANTSANDTEA.COM
SEPTEMBER 2022
17
http://www.ELEPHANTSANDTEA.COM
Elephants and Tea - September 2022

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