09/08/2026
'On Monday, I broke down at work.
For the first time in my life, I have signed myself off work for the week. That wasn’t an easy decision because I’m someone who just keeps going, but I’ve realised I have to start looking after me too.
Yes, it means another thing to worry about. I’ve used all my annual leave, so there are financial worries too… but we’ll survive. We’re quite partial to beans on toast anyway.
The truth is, this didn’t happen because of one bad day. It was the result of months of trying to be everything to everyone, until I simply had nothing left to give.
I’m 49, working full-time in a physically demanding job, navigating perimenopause, trying to support my husband, and helping my mum and dad through Mum’s Alzheimer’s.
Like so many carers, I convinced myself I just needed to keep going.
I told myself I needed to do more.
I told myself everyone else was coping better than I was.
I beat myself up because I never felt like I was doing enough.
The reality is, there is no such thing as “enough” when someone you love has Alzheimer’s. There is always another phone call to answer, another appointment to arrange, another problem to solve, another worry waiting around the corner.
From the outside, people see the practical things… the visits, the shopping, the paperwork, the appointments, the endless phone calls.
What they don’t see is the mental load.
The conversations that replay over and over in your head.
The guilt when you try to have one afternoon to yourself.
The dread when the phone rings because you’re frightened of what might have happened this time.
The constant feeling that you should be doing more.
The truth is, I’ve felt incredibly alone.
Not because I don’t have people who love me. I have a wonderful husband, amazing children, family and friends who care deeply.
But at the end of the day, it’s me, Mum and Dad trying to navigate one of the hardest journeys a family can face.
And that’s a lonely place to be.
This week I realised something.
I’ve spent so much time telling other carers to ask for help that I forgot to listen to my own advice.
So this week, I’m trying.
I’m resting, even though it feels unnatural.
I’m asking for help, even though it feels uncomfortable.
I’m accepting that I can’t carry everyone on my shoulders forever.
If you’re reading this while caring for someone with dementia and you’re sitting in your car crying before work…
If you’re exhausted but still telling yourself to keep going…
If you’re lying awake at night wondering whether you’re doing enough…
Please hear me when I say this.
You are not failing.
You are not weak.
And you are definitely not alone.
Sometimes the strongest thing we can do isn’t carrying on until we break.
Sometimes the strongest thing we can do is admit that we need help before we lose ourselves completely.
If my words help just one person feel a little less alone today, then sharing this will have been worth it.
Please be kind to yourselves.
Love, Fiona 💙'
[Image description: A beige graphic with forget me not flowers and text that reads: "You are not alone. I’ve gone back and forth about whether to write this because I don’t want sympathy, and I certainly don’t want people feeling sorry for me. I’m writing it because if one person reads this and realizes they’re not the only one feeling this way, then it’s worth sharing." A smaller font reads: "Open the caption to read more" followed by an upwards arrow emoji.]
