Short bursts of energy

There’s a support group that «puts the I in caregiver« which I value for its honesty. It’s akin to the one urging us «to be selfish.«

I take about 5 hours for myself each day.

It’s a necessary indulgence.

Let me try to explain what my time away does to benefit me.

When I get to the gym, I have a chance to enjoy a physical outlet. The endorphins are helpful, I am told.

I meet friendly faces and chitchat about easy things. 

If I go to a museum or grab lunch with friends, I can look to neutral subjects to distract.

From a wide range of these palate-cleansing activities, I come home calmer. And kinder.

Each day’s respite inspires my patience and clears my soul. It’s restorative.

It’s restorative in ways that loving my beloved can not be. That love is tinged with sorrow about his state; wishing he were otherwise accompanies the gratitude I have for the pleasure of caring for him.

It is a pleasure and a chore. The sorrow is tinged with love.

I take an art group or share in a support group. I complete tasks that need doing, too, and run errands. Or just go on a pleasant outing for myself. Some days have focus. Others give over to leisure.

I come back from my walk, ready to sit and listen with my fullest attention to stories whose words make no sense.

I have gained so much patience from time for relaxing activities.

I immerse myself in them. I crave and absorb their variety.

Then I come back to where I fully belong.