The Kitchen
Somehow everyone still needs feeding.
Caring doesn't pause the groceries, the dishes, the school lunches, the bills or the eternal question: “What's for dinner?”
Ordinary life has terrible timing.
Something enormous can be happening in your family and somebody will still need clean plates.
Caring often happens in between all the things you were already doing.
Sometimes the kitchen is where you keep everybody going. Sometimes it's where you realise you haven't eaten. Sometimes it's where you stand for a minute because nobody else followed you in.
You don't need to be grateful that you can still keep everything running.
Sometimes keeping everything running is exactly what is exhausting you.
The Carer's Cupboard
Before we work out what we're making, perhaps we should see what we've actually got.
Your cup doesn't stay in one place. It moves depending on what life has asked of you, what you've been pouring out, and whether anything has been pouring back in.
Cup in the Cupboard
I'm okay. I just don't want to be used today.
Cup in the Dishwasher
I'm recovering, processing and resetting.
Cup Being Refilled
Things are improving, but I'm not quite full yet.
Cup With a Crack
No matter how much I pour in, I keep losing energy.
Someone Else Is Drinking From My Cup
I've been giving so much to everyone else that I've forgotten about myself.
Cup Gone Cold
The energy is technically there, but I just can't seem to warm up.
Favourite Mug
I know some of the people, places, activities and routines that help refill me.
What can we make with what we've got?
These aren't recipes for fixing caring. They're just combinations that might make today slightly easier to digest.
A Small Serve of Not Doing This Alone
Serves one exhausted human. More if shared.- One person who has never required you to pretend
- A generous helping of honesty
- One sentence beginning with “Actually...”
- A little permission to not have the answer
Contact the person. You do not need to prepare the entire story first. “Can you sit with me for a bit?” is a complete invitation.
Five Minutes That Belong to Me
Preparation time: preferably none.- Five minutes
- Something you genuinely like
- No requirement for it to be productive
- Absolutely no guilt, where available
Combine. Do not turn it into self-improvement. Five minutes of terrible television still counts.
A Familiar Person
Best served without judgement.- One person who knew you before all this
- A sprinkle of shared history
- One reminder that you are more than the role you are carrying
- Optional inappropriate humour
Spend a little time being yourself around someone who does not require a carer update before the conversation can begin.
The “Good Enough” Dinner
Michelin stars awarded: zero. Everyone survives.- The easiest thing available
- No unnecessary expectations
- A side serve of “today was a lot”
- Permission to use the fucking freezer
Feed whoever needs feeding, including yourself. Nutrition does not require a performance.
Understanding IPS
A recipe by Cat — pending permissionThis space is being kept for Cat's existing recipe-style explanation of Intentional Peer Support.
Your Recipe
Because nobody else's instructions perfectly fit your kitchen.- A little more of __________________
- A little less of __________________
- Someone I can add __________________
- Something I can leave out today __________________
Adjust quantities whenever required. You are allowed to change the recipe.
Recipes aren't rules.
What helps one carer may do absolutely nothing for another.
You are allowed to substitute ingredients. Leave things out. Change quantities. Throw the whole bloody recipe away.
The goal isn't to make caring perfect. It's to make today a little more possible.
And what if there's nothing in the cupboard?
Sometimes there isn't enough energy, time, support or capacity to make something from scratch.
That's not a character flaw.
Sometimes the answer is takeaway.
Metaphorically and, frankly, sometimes literally.
Ask somebody else. Use the service. Accept the shortcut. Buy the easy option. Leave something undone.
You don't receive extra carer points for making everything from scratch.
Where do you need to go next?
The dishes can wait. They have demonstrated remarkable patience throughout history.
The Lounge
I've made enough decisions. I'd like to sit down now.
Go put your feet up →The Laundry
Something ordinary has been feeling unexpectedly heavy lately.
Go to the laundry →The Room With the Closed Door
There's something I've been swallowing that probably needs to come out.
Close the door behind you →The Basement
I don't have ingredients. I don't have a recipe. Everything is too fucking much.
We'll just turn on the light →