How to practice being an imperfect (but compassionate) caregiver
We can love in a perfect manner even when our actions are flawed
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Yesterday morning, I burned the toast. It wasn’t just a little, either. It was blackened to a crisp and set off the smoke alarm with a shriek that echoed throughout the house. As I stood there, waving a towel at the smoke detector, I smelled the charred, bitter odor filling the air. If this had happened a few months ago, I’m sure I would’ve been furious about it. But I wasn’t angry, nor did I panic. Instead, I felt a weird sense of victory.
It was a very simple task I was supposed to carry out, and I had failed. Yet despite that failure, the world hadn’t come to an end.
The tyranny of getting it right
For a long time, I operated under the crushing burden of an unspoken rule: For me to be a good caregiver to my mum, who has myeloma, I had to be perfect at caregiving. This meant that all of her pills had to be administered on time, all of her meals had to be nutritious, and all of my responses to her needs had to be flawless and immediate. Back then, I believed that despite the repetitive routines, invisible labor, and research to stay up to date that caregiving requires, my hope was supposed to remain unshakable, my strength unyielding, and my patience infinite.
Little did I know that I had set an impossible standard for myself. It wasn’t a blueprint for a son, but rather a saint. In striving to achieve those impossibilities, I ended up building a cage for myself, where I constantly judged and castigated myself for any mistake I made, no matter how minor. If I misplaced a medical bill, forgot a doctor’s appointment, or missed a phone call, I felt as if I were a complete moral and catastrophic failure.
The crack where the light gets in
A breakthrough eventually happened, though, in a moment when I felt utterly defeated. At that moment, I was supposed to celebrate a triumph. It happened on a Thursday. I don’t remember how, but I had forgotten to schedule an important blood test my mum needed. When I discovered the mistake, I braced myself for the usual wave of guilt and self-recrimination. But instead, I called the hospital, apologized, and asked if I could reschedule. The nurse on duty was kind and understanding. And guess what? The world didn’t end that Thursday. It kept on spinning.
In that ordinary moment, I rewarded myself with a gift I didn’t know I had badly needed: permission not to be perfect. I understood that this journey isn’t a test I’m supposed to pass with flying colors. Rather, it’s part of the human experience, and all I’m supposed to do is to live through it. While I’m doing that, if I can offer a little light to someone else who is stuck in that weird kind of confusion and darkness, then I might make their day.
These days, I’m practicing how to boldly say, “I don’t know,” without feeling like a fraud. I’m practicing how to let chores go undone so that I can simply sit down by my mum’s side and hold her hand. I’m practicing how to forgive myself for my short temper, for the tiredness in my eyes, for feeling relieved when she falls asleep — and for burnt toast.
This permission isn’t an excuse for neglect. It’s the foundation of a type of care that is more humane and sustainable. I am acknowledging that I can love her in a perfect manner even when my actions are imperfect. It shows that my value isn’t in how I execute something flawlessly, but rather in my steadfast presence.
The days that my mum and I now spend together are no longer some to-do list that must be completed perfectly. Instead, our days are a symphony that isn’t yet finished, beautiful in its resolve and its dissonance. Some days, the notes are strong and clear. Other days, they are out of tune and faltering. But the music continues to play.
And that is enough for us.
Note: Rare Cancer News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Rare Cancer News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to rare cancer.
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