The importance of finding your anchor in the storm of caregiving
It should be something that reminds you who you really are
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Becoming a caregiver to my mum felt like falling into a sea of uncertainty. To survive in this unpredictable environment, one needs an anchor.
The anchor doesn’t have to be grand or massive. It just needs to be something reliable and steadfast to keep us from being swept away by the waves and winds of admin work and repetitive routines. The anchor can also assist us when we’re dealing with conflicting medical advice.
My anchor is a simple, weathered paperback book.
A tether to my true self
The book isn’t a survival guide for cancer or a profound spiritual text. Rather, it is a well-loved collection of my random thoughts, creative writing, and poems I’ve kept since my university days. Its spine is cracked, and its pages are dog-eared.
Inside the book, you won’t find anything about my mum’s myeloma, rare cancers, or medications. All the contents have to do with me.
Whenever the noise of treatment plans, prognosis, and diagnosis becomes a deafening roar, I simply open my book. For a couple of minutes, I escape into a world of metaphor and meter, drifting through prose and grammar. I even let myself daydream about life before I became a caregiver, and I plan vacations I might never take. The book also contains several drafts and ideas I have for future columns.
The words are familiar, intimate, relatable, and recognizable. Unlike the unpredictable nature of the life my mum and I live now, the words offer a constant, warm, comforting, and predictable rhythm. Inside the pages of this book, I find warmth and happiness in a life where they’re often lacking.
In those quiet moments of escape, I transform my identity. I’m already used to hiding my caregiver status, but when I open the book, I am simply a reader — an ordinary person paying a visit to an old friend.
I know this book doesn’t provide a solution for anything. It doesn’t improve my mum’s platelet counts or lower her fever. But it connects me to the person I used to be, reminding me that I exist beyond the role of caregiver.
Every caregiver should discover their own anchor. Perhaps it’s the primal act of kneading dough, the focus required for woodworking, or the mindless repetition of knitting. Whatever it is, your anchor should be something that, for a few precious minutes, requires your complete attention and reminds you who you really are.
Your anchor is not an indulgence; it is preservation. It’s the tether that prevents you from dissolving into the churning waters of your loved one’s crisis.
My book is tiny and quiet, but it holds me fast, ensuring that when I return to the storm, I am ready to hold my mum fast in turn.
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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