Originally, I didn’t want to say anything about my stepfather being unwell. When I explored why prior to my therapy session, I admitted to myself that being cared for by people that love me would feel like a burden. Not that I would feel like a burden (progress!), but that being fretted over would feel more suffocating than comforting. When I dug deeper, I discovered that if I were cared for, it needed to be in very particular ways or else I would bristle. I would shut down. I would push away. And I didn’t want it to get to that.
So at first, I sorta told everyone I’d be MIA, that I would appreciate privacy, and that I’d reach back out when things made sense.
Granting myself that space (progress!!) made room to think about what would feel like actual support and what wouldn’t. Important note here – it would change. It’s going to change. And it’s up to me to say so.
Let’s start with things that did NOT feel like care even though the intention may have been very caring:
Daily check-ins. I didn’t have the capacity to respond.
Reminders to “take care of myself.” Usually, I receive this reminder well. But given the circumstances of worrying, caring for, and handling some things on behalf of my parents, it landed as another to-do on an already overwhelming list. I had the capacity and ability to be there for them, they were priority. This was not a time to put myself first.
Being asked almost any question. Due to the ever changing nature of my stepdad’s condition and not always having answers myself, I didn’t want to open the door to this becoming some sort of live feed. Which leads me to…
…people specifically asking me to tell them what I need. Again, it became another task. Another exercise for an overloaded brain. (I’ll say what was helpful regarding this below.)
Bad weather friends. You know how people resent having fair-weather friends - the pals that only show up when things are great? Well, I’m not thrilled by people who come out of the woodwork when something dramatic/painful/scary happens. It’s very much giving those people who hold up traffic because they want to rubberneck at the scene of an accident. It makes me feel like a spectacle.
Unsolicited advice. One of my roles in taking care of my parents was handling phone calls and texts. I called a family member who immediately went into problem-solving mode because they work in the medical field. Skipped right over the humanity part. I dealt with a number of people I had to be in communication with who would make suggestions on how my stepfather should handle his condition, what I needed to convince him to do, how I could make my parents more comfortable, how I should advocate for my parents, and on and on and on. The bristling was very real. The ignoring was even realer.
Things that felt like care and are subject to change:
Getting messages that clearly stated there was no expectation for a response on my behalf. [chef’s kiss]
One friend shared art with me and it was inspiring after not having made art in so long. She texted me images of powerful collages she was working on as part of her healing journey. She said she just wanted to share. It was moving and inspired me to give into the ache of getting back to visual art. Thanks
.
Things I’ve drawn since Ash shared her collages with me. If the question was asked, quickly moving on. There were a couple of times I couldn’t escape the questions about my pops, but luckily there were people that moved right on to something else knowing I didn’t want to delve into it. They sensed they brushed up against a boundary and didn’t pry. I cried a number of times because my boundaries were, for the most part, heavily respected during those trying weeks. It made me feel loved.
Being given information from folks when asked. My partner has family who went through a similar medical situation. Being able to get on a call and ask all sorts of questions and having direct answers, suggestions based on their lived experience helped me immensely. It didn’t become a “poor you/ poor them/ poor him” conversation. It was information that was invited in.
“If I don’t ask what someone needs, how will I know what they need?” Fair question. In this instance, for me, what helped was when people would offer what they already had. I had a sale on my website (a publicly stated way that people could help) and some folks reached out to tell me they were going to buy paintings, prints, and/or books.
Most times all I could manage to do was react to messages or send hug emojis. 
They told me they couldn’t or didn’t want to buy things but were happy to donate. They told me they didn’t know what to say but could send silly videos, send music, send hearts, put us on buddy passes for airlines so we could fly cheaper to get to my parents, that they were willing to be on the phone if I ever felt up to a call and absolutely not talk about what was going on. Folks offering what they could instead of asking me, eased the mental burden of my having to come up with ways they could show up when I was already grieving/numb/overwhelmed. I’m sure this also made room for loved ones to show up based on their actual capacity.
Speaking of the sale – money. Money helped. I know it isn’t cutesy, but capitalism never sleeps, baby. People buying paintings, prints, and books helped. People donating helped. It helped me travel to get to my parents. It helped me get protein shakes my stepfather’s doctor was begging him to drink, but he hated the hospital ones. It helped me feed my mom and get her outside after not seeing the sun for a week. It helped me run errands with her or on their behalf. It helped me send funds to her when I wasn’t there in person. I cried a number of times with the overwhelming support from people all over the country I’m blessed to be connected to.
If you helped, if you’ve been there, if you’ve been loving up on me during this really hard time, if you didn’t know what to say but tried showing up anyway, thank you.
🫂
🖤🖤🖤