Sunday, October 15, 2006
What Relationships?!?
Today, Karma left a post on her JuBuQuest journal asking the following question: "How has caretaking affected your relationships with others (other than the person you're taking care of)?"
The question intrigues me, especially since I've, very recently, been allowing all my relationships to lag. I'll try [that's "try", not "successfully accomplish"] to keep it short, since I've already written a lot, both directly and indirectly, about my relationships and how being my mother's companion has affected them.
Relationships with Sisters
Me being my mother's companion has been hard on my relationships with sisters. It didn't start out that way. The tension began when companionship transformed to a need for care, then, quickly, to a need for intense care, then I began to need help; not just solace and advice. I've gotten a little help here and there (very little in quantity, although often appropriate and appreciated in quality) but, overall, I've learned, first, not to count on it, and, second, not to ask for it or, at least, do everything I can possibly do to try not to ask for it.
For a long time I was extremely understanding, accepting and not at all judgmental about this familial affair. Over the years, though, my abilities to understand, magnanimously accept and withhold judgment have eroded. The more they've eroded, the further my sisters have backed off.
The other caregiving issue that has caused problems has to do with adaptability. For years, Mom and I adapted, both when we visited my sisters' families and when they visited us. I used to continually assure my sisters that "we are the flexible ones"; and I believed this. During visits, either to us or from us, I limboed very, very low for my sisters and their families. Finally, after eight years of doing this, in the course of a particular visit during which my mother was working herself up to her first anemia crisis (unbeknownst to all of us), a sister who was visiting complained that, even though I'd made my mother and myself incredibly tense by trying to make sure she didn't smoke (which was only partially successful), the house still smelled like cigarette smoke, regardless...and I blew. Although she and I talked about it afterward and I thought we'd resolved it, apparently it wasn't resolved to her satisfaction. This was the beginning of her silence. It was then I decided that I was no longer going to insist that Mom and I always be "the adaptable, flexible ones." Two of my sisters (one of them through the other) have admitted that they are afraid to approach us, now, because they're afraid I'll become angry. I have told them, depending on what they say or do, I might. The situations that would anger me are no secret, nor are they unpredictable. My other sister has simply slipped back, pleading a busy life. I believe her, although I suspect that one of the circumstances that keeps her busy is that I have been unfailingly vocal, over the last six months, about my refusal to any longer bend backwards for those who are not willing to do the same for me and that I won't take anything silently, anymore.
Curiously, my life is easier now that I've accepted that I can rely on no one but me. I feel more competent. I still suffer episodes of caregiver burnout, but, somehow, I get through them more easily knowing that I must handle them myself, without the help of my family. I spent years doing everything I could to make sure that I didn't alienate my sisters, in case I really needed them. When I finally realized that I've never had my sisters at my back through this, anyway, stopped worrying and put Mom and me first when it comes to our interactions with the family, well, our life goes much more smoothly, now, and I am emotionally stable. I'm not worried about what my relationships with my sisters will be like when Mom dies. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I want to. There is a distinct possibility that I will not want to.
Relationships with Friends
I retain one very long time, long distance friend and two long time "local" (both live in the Phoenix metroplex, where we no longer live) friends. I have a few "silent" friends here in Prescott from whom I hear now and then. I have retained no contact with social groups, but, then, I was only involved in one social group, a book club.
In the first four years of my companionship of my mother, much to my surprise, I discovered that several friends in Mesa (from 1993 - 1997 we lived only there) whom I had retained through many years and many moves did not understand that I was serious about my companionship with my mother, it would be my first priority and they would need to adapt to this. None of these friends was able to adapt and all these relationships dwindled. The problem wasn't that I talked a lot about my mother and our relationship. For part of that time I was working full time and my mother continued to pursue her interests full time. Her health was excellent. We were both busy and involved outside our home. I insisted, though, that we spend evenings and weekends together; after all, my mother asked me to be her companion, not her security company to merely check in to make sure she hadn't "fallen and [couldn't] get up." Besides, my mother and I enjoy each other's company, so this was not only easy but interesting and satisfying for me. I invited my friends to join us often. Each did. A few times. All of them knew and enjoyed my mother, as well. But, I guess, they wanted me to themselves, as well, and as available to them as I'd previously been. As I explained in depth to each one several times, this was no longer possible under this circumstance of being my mother's companion. I changed the territory of the relationships and each one, finally, left that territory. Again, this didn't bother me; still doesn't. Lives change. People change. I've never had trouble with this. I guess the lesson I learned is that, if you're very adaptable and, suddenly, can't be quite as adaptable anymore, expect your friends to be disappointed to the point of turning away from you. At any rate, three of them have stayed with me, even through my silences.
Sexual Relationships
My sexual relationships while I've been my mother's companion have been affected much more by me going through menopause than by my companionship of my mother; in large part, probably, because I've never looked for a mate, partner, soul mate, call it what you will, and wouldn't know what to do with one if I found one.
There was a period of time, when my mother's needs became more and more intense and I was carrying on some liaisons here and there, when things became ticklish. Then, when I began going through menopause and my hormones upped their stakes, I had a good year of going out of my mind stealthily looking for sex partners while making sure this didn't take me away from my mother any more than necessary. For the most part, this was unsuccessful. When my hormones finally settled down, so did I. Sexual desire was no longer driven by my body's (and only my body's, believe me) desire to procreate. Now, I consider the possibility of sex partners of any kind, with or without a "relationship", not worth the hassle as long as I remain my mother's companion. This would take necessary attention away from my mother. I would not be able, as well, to put the desired amount of attention toward any kind of a coupling, including so called casual sex. I will not, as well, take the risk of endangering my mother by introducing people who are strange to her and not all that well known to me into our home.
Summary
I am a peculiar combination: I am an intense loner who is socially comfortable, genial, and always intensely interested in people, when I'm among them. Thus, my problem, even when I appear, from social standards, to have few friends, is that I always have more friends than I can handle and have never, ever, been able to get enough alone time to satisfy myself: By this I mean, alone in my home space, no one in that space nudging at my senses, requiring either direct or peripheral attention, doing what I wish and/or need to do and enjoying my own company and thoughts. As well, I've never been lonely. Far from it. I've never been enough alone.
When I was not my mother's companion and during the first six years of being my mother's companion, I knew that relationships require attention and was as diligent as I could be (which was pretty damned diligent) about rendering this attention. Being my mother's companion, though, has put me waaay into alone time deficit. The last time I was completely alone, the kind of alone that is my preference, was for about a week when my mother took a trip to Iowa in the late spring of 1996 to attend a high school reunion. Under normal circumstances, when living alone, I manage to balance alone time with relationship time so that everyone is satisfied, I am able to keep friends, enjoy unusual and stimulating friendships and I don't have a lean and hungry "I vant to be alone" look. I am sure, now, that I always have that look; at any rate, I always feel as though I do.
Alternately, being my mother's full time companion/caregiver and, thus, especially in the last few years, having lots of time to (sort of) do with what I will, I find the fewer outside relationships I have, the better. I am, now, pretty good at tricking myself into feeling as though I'm alone when my mother is sleeping and, as you know if you're a regular reader, her health conditions lure her into prodigious sleep cycles which increase, slowly but predictably, as time continues. However, being alone as my mother's companion/caregiver, is, for me, not really being alone. I am always tuned into her. I am always available to be with her, by her, for her, on her schedule. Once in awhile I have to back off, but when I do this I am still here, still at her beck and call rather than mine. This might seem as though it would be torturous for me. It would be, except for two circumstances:
The question intrigues me, especially since I've, very recently, been allowing all my relationships to lag. I'll try [that's "try", not "successfully accomplish"] to keep it short, since I've already written a lot, both directly and indirectly, about my relationships and how being my mother's companion has affected them.
Relationships with Sisters
Me being my mother's companion has been hard on my relationships with sisters. It didn't start out that way. The tension began when companionship transformed to a need for care, then, quickly, to a need for intense care, then I began to need help; not just solace and advice. I've gotten a little help here and there (very little in quantity, although often appropriate and appreciated in quality) but, overall, I've learned, first, not to count on it, and, second, not to ask for it or, at least, do everything I can possibly do to try not to ask for it.
For a long time I was extremely understanding, accepting and not at all judgmental about this familial affair. Over the years, though, my abilities to understand, magnanimously accept and withhold judgment have eroded. The more they've eroded, the further my sisters have backed off.
The other caregiving issue that has caused problems has to do with adaptability. For years, Mom and I adapted, both when we visited my sisters' families and when they visited us. I used to continually assure my sisters that "we are the flexible ones"; and I believed this. During visits, either to us or from us, I limboed very, very low for my sisters and their families. Finally, after eight years of doing this, in the course of a particular visit during which my mother was working herself up to her first anemia crisis (unbeknownst to all of us), a sister who was visiting complained that, even though I'd made my mother and myself incredibly tense by trying to make sure she didn't smoke (which was only partially successful), the house still smelled like cigarette smoke, regardless...and I blew. Although she and I talked about it afterward and I thought we'd resolved it, apparently it wasn't resolved to her satisfaction. This was the beginning of her silence. It was then I decided that I was no longer going to insist that Mom and I always be "the adaptable, flexible ones." Two of my sisters (one of them through the other) have admitted that they are afraid to approach us, now, because they're afraid I'll become angry. I have told them, depending on what they say or do, I might. The situations that would anger me are no secret, nor are they unpredictable. My other sister has simply slipped back, pleading a busy life. I believe her, although I suspect that one of the circumstances that keeps her busy is that I have been unfailingly vocal, over the last six months, about my refusal to any longer bend backwards for those who are not willing to do the same for me and that I won't take anything silently, anymore.
Curiously, my life is easier now that I've accepted that I can rely on no one but me. I feel more competent. I still suffer episodes of caregiver burnout, but, somehow, I get through them more easily knowing that I must handle them myself, without the help of my family. I spent years doing everything I could to make sure that I didn't alienate my sisters, in case I really needed them. When I finally realized that I've never had my sisters at my back through this, anyway, stopped worrying and put Mom and me first when it comes to our interactions with the family, well, our life goes much more smoothly, now, and I am emotionally stable. I'm not worried about what my relationships with my sisters will be like when Mom dies. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it, if I want to. There is a distinct possibility that I will not want to.
Relationships with Friends
I retain one very long time, long distance friend and two long time "local" (both live in the Phoenix metroplex, where we no longer live) friends. I have a few "silent" friends here in Prescott from whom I hear now and then. I have retained no contact with social groups, but, then, I was only involved in one social group, a book club.
In the first four years of my companionship of my mother, much to my surprise, I discovered that several friends in Mesa (from 1993 - 1997 we lived only there) whom I had retained through many years and many moves did not understand that I was serious about my companionship with my mother, it would be my first priority and they would need to adapt to this. None of these friends was able to adapt and all these relationships dwindled. The problem wasn't that I talked a lot about my mother and our relationship. For part of that time I was working full time and my mother continued to pursue her interests full time. Her health was excellent. We were both busy and involved outside our home. I insisted, though, that we spend evenings and weekends together; after all, my mother asked me to be her companion, not her security company to merely check in to make sure she hadn't "fallen and [couldn't] get up." Besides, my mother and I enjoy each other's company, so this was not only easy but interesting and satisfying for me. I invited my friends to join us often. Each did. A few times. All of them knew and enjoyed my mother, as well. But, I guess, they wanted me to themselves, as well, and as available to them as I'd previously been. As I explained in depth to each one several times, this was no longer possible under this circumstance of being my mother's companion. I changed the territory of the relationships and each one, finally, left that territory. Again, this didn't bother me; still doesn't. Lives change. People change. I've never had trouble with this. I guess the lesson I learned is that, if you're very adaptable and, suddenly, can't be quite as adaptable anymore, expect your friends to be disappointed to the point of turning away from you. At any rate, three of them have stayed with me, even through my silences.
Sexual Relationships
My sexual relationships while I've been my mother's companion have been affected much more by me going through menopause than by my companionship of my mother; in large part, probably, because I've never looked for a mate, partner, soul mate, call it what you will, and wouldn't know what to do with one if I found one.
There was a period of time, when my mother's needs became more and more intense and I was carrying on some liaisons here and there, when things became ticklish. Then, when I began going through menopause and my hormones upped their stakes, I had a good year of going out of my mind stealthily looking for sex partners while making sure this didn't take me away from my mother any more than necessary. For the most part, this was unsuccessful. When my hormones finally settled down, so did I. Sexual desire was no longer driven by my body's (and only my body's, believe me) desire to procreate. Now, I consider the possibility of sex partners of any kind, with or without a "relationship", not worth the hassle as long as I remain my mother's companion. This would take necessary attention away from my mother. I would not be able, as well, to put the desired amount of attention toward any kind of a coupling, including so called casual sex. I will not, as well, take the risk of endangering my mother by introducing people who are strange to her and not all that well known to me into our home.
Summary
I am a peculiar combination: I am an intense loner who is socially comfortable, genial, and always intensely interested in people, when I'm among them. Thus, my problem, even when I appear, from social standards, to have few friends, is that I always have more friends than I can handle and have never, ever, been able to get enough alone time to satisfy myself: By this I mean, alone in my home space, no one in that space nudging at my senses, requiring either direct or peripheral attention, doing what I wish and/or need to do and enjoying my own company and thoughts. As well, I've never been lonely. Far from it. I've never been enough alone.
When I was not my mother's companion and during the first six years of being my mother's companion, I knew that relationships require attention and was as diligent as I could be (which was pretty damned diligent) about rendering this attention. Being my mother's companion, though, has put me waaay into alone time deficit. The last time I was completely alone, the kind of alone that is my preference, was for about a week when my mother took a trip to Iowa in the late spring of 1996 to attend a high school reunion. Under normal circumstances, when living alone, I manage to balance alone time with relationship time so that everyone is satisfied, I am able to keep friends, enjoy unusual and stimulating friendships and I don't have a lean and hungry "I vant to be alone" look. I am sure, now, that I always have that look; at any rate, I always feel as though I do.
Alternately, being my mother's full time companion/caregiver and, thus, especially in the last few years, having lots of time to (sort of) do with what I will, I find the fewer outside relationships I have, the better. I am, now, pretty good at tricking myself into feeling as though I'm alone when my mother is sleeping and, as you know if you're a regular reader, her health conditions lure her into prodigious sleep cycles which increase, slowly but predictably, as time continues. However, being alone as my mother's companion/caregiver, is, for me, not really being alone. I am always tuned into her. I am always available to be with her, by her, for her, on her schedule. Once in awhile I have to back off, but when I do this I am still here, still at her beck and call rather than mine. This might seem as though it would be torturous for me. It would be, except for two circumstances:
- I am thoroughly involved in being her companion, thoroughly enchanted by her and this experience and am much too aware of the fragility of life to want to waste even a second of the possibility of knowing her as intimately as I do through her final years;
- I have had no trouble, because of my nature, with scaling my social life waaaay back so that, when I get a chance, here and there, I can successfully pretend that I am indulging in alone time.
Comments:
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Originally posted by Anonymous: Mon Oct 16, 10:16:00 AM 2006
I found this really intersting. One of my biggest fears for awhile was who is going to be there when my mom isn't anymore. I also find great frustration and disappointments with caretaking - with Mom's facility, with Mom's decline....and I feel a deep need to share that with someone. I find that my relationship with my mom is very focused around what she needs and me taking care of her, and that I need someone in my life to take care of me sometimes. Or at least, I want that. It is amazing how strong you've become to take responsibility for all aspects of taking care of your mom and having your priorities.
Originally posted by Mona Johnson: Mon Oct 16, 06:38:00 PM 2006
Gail, you've outdone yourself with the last two posts. Whenever I need a new way to think about caretaking, dementia, or life in general, I know I can come here. Really interesting reading...
Originally posted by Anonymous: Mon Oct 16, 08:55:00 PM 2006
I agree with Mona. You are so thoughtful about your posts. And thorough. I really appreciate that about you.
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I found this really intersting. One of my biggest fears for awhile was who is going to be there when my mom isn't anymore. I also find great frustration and disappointments with caretaking - with Mom's facility, with Mom's decline....and I feel a deep need to share that with someone. I find that my relationship with my mom is very focused around what she needs and me taking care of her, and that I need someone in my life to take care of me sometimes. Or at least, I want that. It is amazing how strong you've become to take responsibility for all aspects of taking care of your mom and having your priorities.
Originally posted by Mona Johnson: Mon Oct 16, 06:38:00 PM 2006
Gail, you've outdone yourself with the last two posts. Whenever I need a new way to think about caretaking, dementia, or life in general, I know I can come here. Really interesting reading...
Originally posted by Anonymous: Mon Oct 16, 08:55:00 PM 2006
I agree with Mona. You are so thoughtful about your posts. And thorough. I really appreciate that about you.
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