Bless our Uncompensated Hearts
I have been called many things. Most recently, it was determined I was an uncompensated caregiver, which I didn’t even know was a title. It’s rather part and parcel of being a human with any shred of empathy, we hope. It’s not like I’ll add it my resume or LinkedIn, or how I introduce myself at gatherings (remember gatherings?). But I look around, and that’s all I can see now — uncompensated caregivers everywhere, keeping homes and communities and families and churches and neighborhoods and green spaces thriving, like some weird combination of emotional pack-mules and Johnny Appleseed: carrying what can be carried, sharing what can be shared.
Make no mistake: it is hard to care at this level where we are. So, really, we let some stuff go. Dress shoes, for instance. Cannot care about that right now. Because we all have stuff we DO care about — oh my entire gosh, we have so much on all the plates: keeping the lights on, the kids fed, logging on, checking in…we show up, we bake, make, take, create, sing, march, park, write, call, feed, hold, mold, rock, stock, meet, zoom, bond, respond, recycle, reuse, cheer, teach, reach, raise, praise, read, feed, lift, build, serve, pay, and pray. Of course there’s more, and then there is the beyond-more.
There is a woman in my neighborhood who walks stridently and purposefully every morning, carrying a grabber-pole and a garbage bag, picking up trash. Because she can. On a picnic table at the park, there was a collection of painted rocks with a note that said “take one” — creative artists are doing their thing, however they can. Some people in my city run a food bank 24/7 out of their alley garage, and include access to a hotpot and instant cocoa or tea — because I don’t know where you are, but it’s freaking cold here, and care looks like something warm, no questions asked.
Someone notices a single neighbor hasn’t opened her front drapes in a few days, and checks on her, and it’s a good thing they did. Bless those who wait in hospital waiting rooms and video-call out to family members in the parking lot, or across the country. Bless those alone in halls of courtrooms or crematoriums or chemo clinics or emergency veterinarian clinics. You’ve heard me say it: things are fine until they are not, and when the solid ground of daily life breaks away to the unknown, it is the little things that rescue your spirit. Someone holds the door, smiles and nods, compliments your coat or your mask or your strength or your attitude, gives a minute, shares a thought, renews your hope. It might seem a small exchange yet it is no small thing at all.
For those of us who haven’t seen our family members in a year, I hear you — I hear you ask, how is that even possible? How are we possibly impossibly doing? For everyone missing someone they love, due to distance or loss, this Valentine season feels not about us at all. For the caregivers of the sick and infirm, the impatient patients, the ones we only see through windows and video screens, or the ones we share a roof with, this should be their national holiday. For the givers, the providers, the mainstays and the rockstars who were thrust unexpectedly into this role, this is your day. You are the valentine.
For parents without children, and children without parents. For partners without partners, and beloveds apart. For teachers without classrooms and kids without classmates. For anyone feeling ‘without’ — without a net, without support, without answers, without a clue, without energy or reserves, who are doing it anyway, who are figuring it out and are their own troubleshooters and tech support, your superpowers are that you keep on keeping on. Believing on that level certainly deserves a heart-shaped medal. This is your season, and self-care can look like ice cream for breakfast or pancakes for dinner: treat yourself because you deserve it.
And a quick moment for all those cheering for others. Just recently, some college sports are allowing fans (mostly family members of players and staff) into venues. At one basketball game, there was a lone woman sitting it what would be the student section. All game, she was cheering, stomping her feet on the metal bleachers, swinging her arms wildly during the opposing team’s free throws, applauding, whistling and chanting (through her mask). Surrounded by no one. All by herself. We wondered, how long will she keep this up? How long can she sustain this level of enthusiasm and care and support? Til the buzzer, people. Til the clock runs out.
That’s the thing about uncompensated caregiving: the motivation cannot be tamped down. Sure, it’s exhausting, and maybe it’s not what we signed up for, but if we are handed the baton (to notice, to care, to reach out), we are not going to sit this one out. We are everywhere; we don’t have t-shirts or logos or organizational dues. You can join in; you have everything you need to do this work — even if you think you don’t have the energy or time. Spoiler: most of us didn’t think we had the energy or time either, and (happy surprise) we actually do. We are all ragged at the edges right now, and zero of us want to be the reason for someone else’s distrust or brokenheartedness. So we say, if we can help in any sort of way, we will. That is our platform. Hello, and welcome to the UC Club: we heart us, and we heart you, too.
