I am no longer surprised when tears come to the eyes of an unpaid “carer” upon recognition of them as such; affirmation of their hardship, exhaustion, constant care and vigilance is not an experience they have shared in before.
Caring for a loved one with mental ill health or challenges is diverse and ever changing, situated within a world where recognition is often silenced by the strength of existing stigma. When asking people if they identify as a carer in mental health, a lot of people will say no, equating the recognition of being one as measured by the governmental allocation of supportive payments.
I identify as a Carer, Service User and a Mental Health Workforce Member. I have always been as open as I safely can be in relation to those identities. Today I choose to highlight the diversity of people who are largely unpaid, under recognised and often unvalued in their caring roles. #ICanLookLikeACarer is a great initiative by Tandem Carer Support to acknowledge and celebrate the habitually unseen human diversity in mental health caring.
My husband and my sons look like carers, just as many other husbands and sons do. Like many of them, I doubt my husband or sons truly see or value themselves as carers. Why would they? Our community has a tradition of not valuing even the most stereotypical “accepted” female carer, let alone seeing, hearing and valuing anyone who does not fit that rigid, outdated typecast.
“Caring” for me has looked so different over the years, but upon writing this it is a surprising realisation that out of the 30 years my husband has known me, 22 years of those have been taken up in him playing some type of caring role. I don’t think my boys will ever remember a time prior to my ill mental health. That’s f…ing huge. Prior to a late adult diagnosis of Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, I cycled in and out of depression, post-natal depression and just being born wrong.
I can recognise their love and care for me has not always been in a context of needing to be looked after, but they certainly had a wife and mum who knew not than what she now knows; that within my mental health difference there is a powerful opportunity to be seized and celebrated, not pathologized, seen as weak with the need for a quick and covert medication fix to quieten my frenzied brain.
There are loads of life lessons from those days; every time I hear the word “parentification” my little heart skips a beat. But I can also say, hand on heart, that their care of and for me and I of them, has enabled us to all seize the under recognised strengths and greatest learnings from our time navigating mental ill health together. They gave me the ultimate gift of safety to learn, experiment and find out who I truly am, with passion, patience and (sometimes) advice I was not wanting to hear.
Sometimes I still feel really unwell. At those times a hope for a lighter and happier life for my family propels the contemplation of death. At those times I talk to my husband, he acknowledges my pain and together we agree that this time will pass, with the help of strategies, body identical hormones and medication we have tried, tested, re-tried and retested over the years. We accept that there are bad days and maybe even a bad week. We know other people are without those who care for them and feel grateful to keep living our bent, scarred and beautiful family life together.
That is what care looks like for me; for us. Today I recognise and thank them, alongside the multitude of carers who are not traditionally seen, acknowledged or supported as such.
I see you and acknowledge all the care you give.