Caregivers, Are You OK?

Written By James Adams

Who’s Taking Care of the Caregivers?

UnMedical is written for family and friends who end up caring for someone at home without training. My goal is to bridge the gap between skilled medical professionals and untrained caregivers using common sense skills and simple language through a blog, a book, and an organizational binder and communication system that improve life for both the caregiver and their person.

I came across a post from a woman caring for her husband after a brain injury. She’s disabled herself. During a recent appointment, out of nowhere, the doctor turned to her and asked,
“But how are you doing? Are you okay?”

She said it felt like someone broke the fourth wall.

Like she’d been living in some strange, exhausting episode where everyone sees the patient and the doctor… but never her. She’s doing everything — running the show, holding the stress, making sure he stays alive, and still, it’s like she’s invisible in the room.

That simple question — shook her. And if you’ve ever been a caregiver, I imagine you know exactly why.

You’re in the Room. But Are You Really Seen?

Every appointment tends to have the same setup: there’s the patient, the professional, and then there’s you.

You’re not the one lying in the hospital bed, and you’re not wearing a badge. But without you, the entire thing would fall apart. You’re the one driving them there, filling in the gaps, repeating the same medical history for the fifth time because your person can’t remember.

Still, almost every question, every form, every update goes around you. You’re part of it, deeply part of it, and yet somehow not recognized as fully in it.

And that’s not just frustrating. It’s isolating in a way that’s hard to explain.

Because you know the truth: while they’re looking at the patient and printing out discharge instructions, you’re already doing mental triage about meds, supplies, sleep, symptoms, and how the hell you’re going to juggle it all tonight. Again.

The Kind of Help People Offer Doesn’t Always Help

Most caregivers have heard some version of:
“Wow, you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”
Or, “Let us know if you need anything.”

And then… nothing.

It’s not that people are cruel. It’s that most people genuinely have no idea what practical help looks like in your world. They don’t see the logistics. The coordination. The emotional load. The constant low-grade anxiety. The guilt that flares up if you even think about stepping away for a minute to rest.

So they say the thing they’ve been taught to say. And you’re left holding all of it.

Eventually, you start to wonder if it’s even okay to admit out loud that you do need something. That no, you’re not a superhero. You’re tired, and scared, and burned out, and sometimes you need more than someone’s well-meaning words — you need a break, or a ride, or someone else to remember the second pharmacy call.

That doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.

We Shouldn’t Have to Wait Until You Break Down

Here’s what hit me hardest from that caregiver’s story.

She said the only “real plan” anyone ever offered her was this:
“We’ll step in when you can’t do it anymore.”

That’s it. Burn out completely, and maybe then someone will come help.

We don’t do that with surgeons.
We don’t do that with pilots.
We don’t even do that with teachers.

But caregivers?

We get praise for being “strong,” while quietly collapsing.

There’s this weird cultural script that says, “This is just what you do for family,” as if devotion means you don’t deserve care yourself. And then we applaud the people breaking down in silence, while offering them zero real support until they crash.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

You Deserve a Plan That Includes You

I know the idea of making a “self-care plan” sounds indulgent or unrealistic when you’re in crisis. I’m not talking about a beach vacation or a dream spa day. I’m talking about a basic, real-world system that accounts for the fact that you’re not a machine.

Start with this.

Ask yourself: If life stays like this for six more months, what’s going to give?

Actually pause and think: what’s the first thing that will break?

Will it be your sleep? Your money? Your back? Your relationship?

Whatever answer pops up first that’s your signal. That’s the part of your life quietly telling you, “This can’t hold much longer.” Don’t ignore it just because someone else has it harder. Pain is not a competition. If it’s breaking you, it matters.

Find someone who gets the unfiltered version of your day

It doesn’t have to be someone in the medical world. Just one person who can handle honesty, and not just the polite updates.

Send them something like:
“Caregiver status: This Sucks. I’m tired and I don’t want to do today.”

You don’t need them to fix it. You just need not to be the only one who knows how bad it’s gotten.

Protect one small thing for your body

Maybe it’s a walk. Maybe it’s eating a real lunch. Maybe it’s just setting a time to stretch before bed. Whatever it is, treat it like a prescription. Because if your body goes down, so does the care.

Don’t try to be a one-person system

If no one else knows how your person’s routine works, that’s not dedication — that’s a house of cards.

Even one extra person who knows how to handle a shift can be the difference between keeping it together and crashing. Maybe it’s a neighbor. A sibling. A church friend. A professional if you have the resources. It doesn’t have to be fancy. It just has to be real.

And if someone does offer to help you need a way to show them how, not just tell them. Keep a one-pager. Keep meds organized. Make it so you don’t have to train someone from scratch every time. That’s how you start building a team.

You Being Not Okay Isn’t a Footnote

This isn’t about making your life more luxurious. This is about keeping you — the backbone of someone’s survival — from collapsing under the weight of it all.

If you’re overwhelmed, if you’re resentful, if you’re sad or numb or snapping at everyone that doesn’t mean you’re doing a bad job. That means you’re carrying all that responsibility without support.

And if no one has said it to you yet, let me be the one to say:
I see you. I see what you carry.
You’re not a ghost in the room.
You’re the reason the room hasn’t fallen apart yet.

If all you can manage today is to whisper to yourself,
“No, I’m not okay…”
That’s not defeat.
That’s the first honest check-in anyone’s done on you in a long time.

You Don’t Have to Fix It All Today. But You Deserve Something Now.

Maybe the idea of changing anything feels too big.

So don’t do it all.

Just pick one thing:

  • Answer the “six months from now” question.

  • Send a real update to someone who loves you.

  • Choose one rule that protects your body.

  • Find one task you could hand off — and write down how to do it.

Not all of it. Just one thing.

Then tomorrow? Maybe another.

You’re Not Background Scenery

You’re not a side character in someone else’s care plan. You are a central part of it. Whether your name is on the chart or not. And it’s time we started treating you like it.

I hope you, your family, and your person are happy, healthy, loved, and safe. And remember, if a clown like me can do it, you’ll be fine (if not better).

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Disclaimer: I am not writing this from the perspective of a medical professional. The information in this article is for general caregiver support and educational purposes only. It should not be taken as medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult a qualified healthcare provider with questions about your loved one’s health or recovery.

James Adams
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