Self-Care Is Not a Detour

I left Florida and headed north to get away from the heat, reconnect with my old life, and spend some time by the lake to contemplate what’s next and finish my book, My Caregiving Essentials.

I thought I would be in book mode this week. I thought I would be polishing chapters, checking off sections, reviewing edits, and pushing hard toward the finish line. I thought I would arrive here, settle in, open the manuscript, move steadily through the next layer of work, and be ready to publish by the middle of July.

Instead, I seem to be in self-care mode.

At first, I judged myself a little. I’ve had more free time than usual, and much of it has been spent letting my mind wander as I looked out over the water and shared special time with friends and family. There is still so much to do. But the truth is, there is always so much to do. I have a book to finish. I have a fall event to build. I have a new offer to share. I have a caregiving platform that is finally starting to come together in a way that feels aligned and alive. I have follow-up tasks, launch pieces, website updates, emails, social posts, and all the practical details that come with creating something real.

And still, when I got here, something in me exhaled.

Maybe it was the lake.Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the sound of the loons, the familiar roads, the cooler mornings, the way my lungs feel when they breathe in the fresh mountain air, or the way my body feels when I am looking out over the lake and mountain views among the pine trees. 

Whatever it was, I could feel myself softening.
Not collapsing. Not giving up.
Softening.
There is a difference.

For so long, I have been living in a state of readiness. Ready for the next phone call. Ready for the next decision. Ready for the next care conversation. Ready for the next family update. Ready for the next unexpected expense. Ready for the next thing that needs my attention before I have fully recovered from the last thing that needed my attention.

That kind of readiness can start to feel normal after a while. You keep going because people need you. You keep going because the logistics matter. You keep going because someone has to ask the questions, notice the medication changes, read the paperwork, make the call, schedule the appointment, and follow up when something does not make sense.

If you are a capable woman, you may not even notice how much you are carrying until you finally set some of it down. The truth is, I do not remember the last time I had no real responsibility or didn't have a must-do list pressing on me.

That is what I am noticing now.

My dad is finally settled into an extended care assisted living facility. He is being cared for. He has adjusted to his new environment. He is safer than he has been in a long time. I am still very involved. I am still coordinating, communicating, watching, asking, and advocating. But the urgency has shifted. There is more space now. There is more free time now. And when time and space appear after a long season of stress, they do not always immediately turn into productivity.

Sometimes it turns into sleep. Sometimes it turns into staring at the water. Sometimes it turns into a quiet walk, a long conversation, a simple meal, or an afternoon where you meant to write and instead found yourself breathing.

I think many of us misunderstand the quiet moments. We think, “Now that things are calmer, I should be able to do more.” But sometimes when things are calmer, the body finally feels safe enough to tell the truth. It tells us we are tired. It tells us we have been holding our breath.It tells us we have been more overwhelmed than we let ourselves admit. It tells us that before we push into the next big thing, we may need to come back to ourselves.

This is where the self-care conversation can get uncomfortable, especially for people who are used to being responsible. Self-care can sound soft. It can sound optional. It can sound like candles and bubble baths and things we will get to when everything else is done.

But everything else is almost never done.

There is always one more call to make. One more chapter to edit. One more bill to pay. One more appointment to schedule. One more person to support. One more detail to manage. One more problem to solve.

If self-care is something we only allow ourselves after the list is finished, we may never get to it. And that is a problem. Because self-care is not a detour from the work. Sometimes self-care is the work that makes the rest of the work possible.

I have been thinking about this a lot as I finish writing my latest book, My Caregiving Essentials. In the ICARE method, the E stands for Empowered Caregiver Support. It is the part that many capable women tend to skip.

We do not skip it because we do not care. We skip it because everything else seems more urgent.
The medication list seems more urgent.
The legal paperwork seems more urgent.
The safety concerns seem more urgent.
The difficult conversations seem more urgent.
The appointments, transitions, family dynamics, and daily care decisions seem more urgent.
And they are urgent.

But the caregiver’s capacity is also urgent. Her health matters. Her sleep matters. Her clarity matters. Her finances matter. Her relationships matter. Her future matters. Her ability to keep showing up without disappearing matters.

A caregiving plan that depends on one exhausted person is not really a plan. It is a slow erosion of the person everyone is counting on.

I know that may sound strong.But I also know how true it is. I know how easy it is to think, “I’m fine,” because no one has time for you not to be fine. I know how easy it is to keep adapting, keep adjusting, keep making room, keep being flexible, keep being understanding, and keep telling yourself it is just a season.

Sometimes it is a season. But seasons still take a toll. There comes a point when the loving thing is not to push harder. The loving thing is to tell the truth.

I am tired.
I need rest.
I need quiet.
I need help.
I need space.
I need to remember that I am a person, not just a role.

That last one feels important. Because caregiving can blur the edges of who we are. So can building a business. So can writing a book. So can making a major life transition. So can trying to create a meaningful next chapter while still carrying responsibilities from the previous one.

Often the roles multiply. Daughter. Caregiver. Writer. Advocate. Entrepreneur. Coach. Planner. Problem-solver. Decision-maker. The one who knows what is going on. The one who can handle it. The one who keeps moving.

But beneath all of those roles, there is still a human being who needs to breathe.

That is what this season is reminding me. I thought I came here to finish a book. Maybe I did. But maybe I also came here to let my nervous system catch up with everything I have been through. Maybe I came here to remember that rest is not the opposite of progress. Maybe I came here to learn, again, that pausing does not mean I have lost momentum.

Sometimes the pause is what allows the next chapter to take root. That feels especially true right now because the work is moving. The book is moving. The caregiving platform is moving. The fall event is starting to take shape. A new offer emerged and launched faster than I could have imagined.

For a moment, everything clicked. And then, almost immediately, my body said, “Now breathe.” I am trying to listen. Not perfectly. Not without resistance.

I am listening. I am letting the lake do what the lake does. I am letting the quiet work on me. I am letting myself take a walk, sit outside, notice the breeze, have the conversation, put the computer down, and trust that the work will still be there when I return to it.

Because it will.

The work that is truly ours does not disappear because we rested. It may even become clearer.

So maybe this is the next lesson in the caregiving journey and in the creative journey. Self-care is not extra. It is not a reward for finishing everything. It is not a detour from the path. It is part of the path. It is the infrastructure that allows us to keep loving, creating, advocating, writing, building, and becoming without losing ourselves in the process.

And maybe, for today, that is enough.

​A little less pushing.
A little more breathing.
A little more trust that rest can be productive in ways we cannot always measure.
A little more willingness to believe that we are allowed to be cared for too.

Click here to explore more of my A Matter of Magic blog.
Click here to learn more about my upcoming book My Caregiving Essentials.

---