James' World 2

Click the link below the picture

.

When it was all over, Amanda Cruz felt like a phoenix, a new person rising from what had been. First, though, she had to go through the fire.

Pre-caregiving Amanda was a talker. When she was 2 years old, she always waved to everyone on the bus. In her 20s, she moved to Denmark for graduate school knowing nobody and loved it. Later, she worked for city government in a job connecting with constituents. She learned to speak Spanish so she could chat with more people.

In 2023, her mom was dealing with a cancer relapse that had progressed into her spine. That July, right before Cruz’s parents moved to her neighborhood in South Carolina to be near her, her mom also had a stroke.

Cruz helped all along, but in early 2024, she took on a lot more — meal prep, meds, following up on appointments, trips to water aerobics. She still worked at a small construction company, she still went to the YMCA for yoga and Pilates. But as she became more involved in her mother’s life, Cruz began to change.

She became quieter, and she began to listen more. She was learning to hear beyond the words her mother said to understand what she really meant. Listening to judge whether her mother needed more pain meds, or to figure out what she really wanted at that moment, even if it was just a soda from the gas station. Her own words were saved for the daily rituals of bathing, medicine, questions about pain, and gently encouraging her mother to start saying her goodbyes.” I must pull myself back to put her forward,” she said to herself.

They sheltered together in this pool of quiet while the world seemed to accelerate around them. There was another stroke in November. Afterward, on the way home from the hospital, her mother fell silent. She did not speak at all during dinner that night. Cruz knew in her gut that the words were not coming back.

Now listening became a whole-body experience, to gauge her mom’s expressions and anticipate her needs. At times, her mother screamed in pain, and she had to listen to that too.

Along the way, she lost herself. “I was erased from myself by caring for this person,” she says. “I wasn’t my personality. I didn’t do things I liked anymore.” She was a people person, but there wasn’t time or space to engage with anyone besides her mother. To tell the truth, she wasn’t even interested. She found it hard to eat. The world seemed to be monochrome.

It’s well-known that family caregiving for sick or elderly adults can bring on stress, anxiety, and depression. It can also turn you into someone you don’t even recognize. Caregivers say it scrambles old habits and patterns, rearranges intimate relationships, and forces you to confront your limits. It can excavate and reorganize the soul, what one caregiver calls mind and body fracking.

Amanda Cruz felt her whole identity was shifting. She felt entwined with her mother, body and soul, but mostly all she could do is watch her suffer. She says now that God was pressing her through her fear. Only after her mother died in December would she find out what was on the other side.

The c-word

In 2009, two researchers proposed an explanation for why caregiving for an adult who is ill or disabled can be so profound. Their argument, simply called “caregiver identity theory,” is now widely accepted among psychologists and social workers who study and help caregivers.

.

.

.

Click the link below for the complete article:

.

__________________________________________