When You Are Caring for Someone Who Is Ill and Running Low
The alarm goes off at two in the morning, and it isn't for you. A glass of water gets carried down the hall. You lie back down, and your mind starts going through tomorrow's schedule and the thing the doctor said that you can't stop turning over.
Maybe you ate dinner standing at the counter. Maybe you can't remember whether you ate lunch.
If you're caring for someone who is ill, I want to say plainly that this is hard on your body and hard on your heart. You don't have to act like it isn't.
What it does to your body
We often talk about caregiving as emotional work, and it is. It's also physical. Sleep comes in pieces. Your shoulders live up near your ears. Your back aches from lifting, or from sitting in hard waiting room chairs. Your own appointments get pushed to next month, and then the month after that.
Some days you run on adrenaline and don't feel anything until the house is quiet. Then it all arrives at once.
Being worn out here isn't a flaw in you. It's what happens to a body that is asked to keep going without enough rest.
What it does to your heart
Fear tends to move in without asking. A new test result, a good day followed by a hard one, a change in how they look or sound, and your stomach drops.
Grief can show up too, even while the person is still right there in front of you. You may be missing the way things used to be, or the plans you had, and feeling strange about grieving someone who hasn't gone anywhere.
There are decisions, too. Treatments, insurance, whether they can stay home, who covers which shift, when to say yes to more help. Many of them don't have a clearly right answer, and you're making them tired.
And sometimes there's a thought you would never say out loud, a wish for one single day when nothing is needed from you. Then guilt comes right behind it. People who love someone deeply have that thought. It doesn't make your love any smaller.
A verse from someone who ran out
Psalm 73 was written by Asaph, and it's one of the most honest psalms in the Bible. He begins by admitting that his feet had nearly slipped. He was envious, he was bitter, and he says he felt he'd kept his heart clean for nothing. He doesn't tidy any of that up. Then he goes into the sanctuary of God and begins to see things differently, and near the end of the psalm he says this:
"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever." (Psalm 73:26, ESV)
Asaph wasn't writing about caregiving, and I won't pretend he was. He was working through a season when life felt unfair. But I notice the two things he names, his flesh and his heart. Body and heart are the very two places a caregiver feels things giving out.
He says plainly that they may fail. He doesn't tell himself he'll hold up, and he doesn't say that everything around him will turn out well. What he says is that God is the strength of his heart, even when his own is gone. In some translations that word is "rock," which is what the ESV footnote gives as the Hebrew. And "portion" means the share that is truly yours, the thing you live on when everything else is uncertain.
I find it a relief that the verse lets the failing be part of the story. You aren't told to be strong. You're pointed to where strength comes from when yours has run out.
What this doesn't change
A verse won't change a diagnosis, and it won't do the laundry or sit with your loved one so you can sleep.
Strength from God and help from people aren't in competition. If someone offers to bring a meal or stay with them for an hour, you're allowed to say yes. If you aren't sleeping or eating, or the heaviness starts to feel like too much, please talk to your own doctor or a counselor. You deserve care too.
For tonight
Sometime today, maybe in the car or while the kettle heats, say the first half of the verse slowly. "My flesh and my heart may fail." You can stop right there if that's all you have. It's true, and it won't shock God to hear you say it.
Then tell Him which part is heaviest right now, your body, the fear, the grief or one particular decision. You don't need good words for it.
A prayer for tonight
Lord, You see how tired I am, and You see what I'm afraid of. My body is worn down and my heart is carrying more than it knows how to hold. Be the strength of my heart tonight. Send help I haven't thought to ask for. Stay close to the one I'm caring for, and stay close to me. Amen.
Reflection: What is the heaviest part of this week for you, and is there one person you could let help with it?
If you've been pouring yourself into someone else's care and feeling far from yourself, Coming Back to Yourself is a free 7-day journey with Scripture, gentle reflection, and prayer. It's a place to slow down and make room for what you've been carrying.