What It Really Means to Be a Caregiver

A raw, honest look at what caregiving truly feels like the emotional weight, the loneliness, the end‑of‑life truths, and the unseen strength caregivers carry every day. Written to help others walking the same path.

Caregiving is one of those roles people think they understand  until they’re living it. From the outside, it looks like errands, appointments, medications, and patience. But the truth is far deeper, far heavier, and far more invisible than anyone ever warns you about.

Caregiving isn’t a job.
It’s a life you step into, often without preparation, training, or a choice.

 

You Carry Two Emotional Lives — Yours and Theirs

People imagine caregiving as physical tasks, but the real weight is emotional. You don’t just manage your own feelings; you absorb the moods, fears, and frustrations of the person you love.

Some days they’re hopeful.
Some days they’re angry.
Some days they tell you they’ve accepted their fate, that they’re done fighting.

And you stand there, heart cracking, trying to be steady for both of you.

You cry in the shower because it’s the only place you can fall apart without frightening anyone. Then you regroup, wipe your face, and step back into the role because love and vows demand it.

 

The Loneliness No One Talks About

Caregivers are surrounded by responsibilities but starved for connection. Friends fade. Invitations stop. People assume you’re “busy” or “handling it.”

Meanwhile, you’re carrying a weight that would buckle most people.

You’re the lifeline.
You’re the constant.
You’re the one who doesn’t get to fall apart.

Sometimes you need a hug, but there’s no one there to give you one. And that emptiness is its own kind of heartbreak.

 

The Emotional Whiplash

There are days you feel strong capable, organized, steady.
And there are days when a light wind could knock you over.

A joke from your spouse might make you laugh for a moment, a tiny spark in a long stretch of darkness. But those moments are rare, and you cling to them like oxygen.

Then, without warning, the person you love lashes out. Not because they don’t appreciate you, but because they’re overwhelmed by a life they never asked for. Their anger isn’t about you  but it still hurts.

You want to scream, “I’m trying. I’m doing everything I can.”
But instead, you swallow the hurt and keep going.

 

The End‑of‑Life Truth: When the Soul Begins to Unburden Itself

There comes a point in caregiving when the journey shifts. It’s no longer about routines, medications, or schedules. It becomes something quieter, heavier, and strangely sacred. It becomes the space where a person begins to unburden their soul.

No one prepares you for this part.

You think you’re ready you’ve handled the crises', the long nights, the fear, the exhaustion. But nothing prepares you for the moment when the person you love begins to speak truths they’ve carried for decades. Regrets. Memories. Confessions. Hopes they never voiced. Fears they never admitted.

They need to tell it all.
And you are the one who must hold it.

Sometimes their honesty knocks the breath out of you.
Sometimes it breaks your heart in ways you didn’t know were possible.
Sometimes you cry until your chest aches.
Sometimes you sob quietly so they don’t hear.

But you stay.
You listen.
You carry what they need you to carry.

Because this is what love looks like at the end of life not pretty, not polished, but real.

There are moments when you feel like you can’t take another word, another confession, another wave of emotion. But somehow, you do. You carry on because they need you to. Because you are the one they trust with their final truths.

This is the cleansing of a soul.
Theirs  and in a strange way, yours too.

The Fear You Carry Quietly

Caregivers pray in a way others don’t understand.
Not for miracles  but for steadiness.

For clarity.
For strength.
For the ability to get through one more day without missing something important.

You live with the constant fear of doing something wrong, of not catching a symptom, of not being enough. It’s a pressure that never fully leaves your chest.

 

Finding Your Own Lifeline as a Caregiver

Caregiving can swallow your identity if you let it. The days blur together, the responsibilities pile up, and you start to forget who you were before everything changed. That’s why every caregiver needs something  anything  that belongs only to them.

For me, that lifeline is writing and creating.

I find comfort in putting my thoughts into words, in designing, in making something beautiful when life feels anything but. My Zazzle store has become a small corner of the world where I can breathe, focus, and remember that I am more than the stress, the fear, and the constant vigilance.

If you’re a caregiver, you need something like that too.
Not because it fixes everything, but because it gives you a moment of yourself back.

It might be:

• writing
• crafting
• gardening
• painting
• reading
• designing
• or simply sitting outside with a cup of coffee

Whatever it is, let it be yours. Let it be the thing that steadies you when the rest of your life feels like it’s tilting.

Caregiving takes so much.
You’re allowed to take something back.

 

The Friends Who Have Supported Me Through This Trying Time

Caregiving can strip your world down to its barest edges. People you thought would stay often drift away, not because they don’t care, but because they don’t know how to walk beside someone carrying this much weight. But in the middle of all that loss, I have been blessed with two true friends who never left my side.

Brian Harmony has been my anchor in the storm. He is the friend who shows up in person with a hug, a joke, a lunch invitation, or simply the kind of presence that reminds you you’re still human. He understands caregiving because he has lived it twice: first for his dad, and now for his mom.

And then there is Darla Hanger, the owner of the this  blog, who has been a steady, unwavering friend for over two decades. We’ve never met face‑to‑face, but that has never mattered. We talk daily. We’ve shared long phone calls. She understands the emotional terrain of caregiving in a way only another caregiver can. Her compassion, her consistency, and her ability to listen without judgment have carried me through some of my darkest days.

They say if you have three true friends in your lifetime, you’re lucky. I have two  Brian and Darla  and their support has been a lifeline. One shows up at my door. One shows up through the phone. Both show up with love, understanding, and the kind of loyalty that doesn’t fade when life gets hard.

Caregiving is lonely, but I have never been completely alone. And that is a gift I don’t take lightly.

About the Author

Susang6 is a full‑time caregiver, writer, and advocate. She cares for her husband, who lives with COVID‑related myocarditis and an ejection fraction of 15–20%. Their journey through electrical heart failure reshaped her understanding of love, resilience, and the unseen emotional labor caregivers carry.

She finds comfort in writing, designing, and creating  small acts that help her stay grounded in the middle of overwhelming days. She wrote this article to help others who find themselves in the same position: overwhelmed, isolated, and doing their best in a role no one is ever truly prepared for.

Her hope is that caregivers everywhere feel seen, validated, and a little less alone.