When I look back I can see that things began to go awry with my health a few years ago. I put some serious weight on when I started caring for my elderly Mum and Dad. Gradually, caring took up more and more of the time I'd had for me and I spent less time with friends and keeping myself fit and healthy. I got seriously trapped in the caring crunch and my health suffered.
So much of caring is about food that it can become an obsession. Mum wasn't eating properly as Alzheimer's took hold, Dad was in a care home, battling Parkinson's. I'd come from 200 miles away every month with a shopping bag full of the finest foods Marks and Spencer could provide. I wanted to brighten their days, whet their appetities, make them happy. A double choc muffin was Dad's idea of heaven and not even Parkinson's took that from him. For the three of us, sharing a cup of tea and a cake was being a family again, and we had some happy times. I could head back north a couple of days later knowing that they had an apple pie or a scone to look forward to. An obvious way to show love, and a language we all understand.
Over those years, my weight ballooned and I got a serious unhealthy eating habit with no exercise. You give your all when you're caring for others and this can make it hard to find the time and energy to care for ourselves. I don't like the phrase 'comfort eating', but that's what I did. I cared for Mum and Dad with food and I cared for me with food, it was an easy and quick fix, it filled the void. I'm not sure it did give me comfort, but it did make me fat and gave me gallstones.
But life moves on, Mum and Dad moved closer to us, and eventually Dad died. Caring now took up less of my time than it did and Ali and I had a future to think of. I will never criticise myself for getting by and coping using food. Sometimes that's all you can do. But it takes its toll. When Dad died I was 4 stones overweight and morbidly obese. I was not far off being less fit and less active than my parents, I needed to start caring properly and stop killing us all with my chocolate covered kindness.
I'm still caring for my Mum and as her memory worsens, I can feel the crunch building up. I still use food as a shorthand for love more than I should, but I make sure Mum gets lots of fruit now. But I am not using food as my comfort and reward. I am caring for me by keeping a little bit of precious time for myself to spend with Ali, make time for a walk, to go for a run, to train for that marathon one day. I won't deny myself the simple joys of a good fruit loaf, but I will savour it and taste it. Sounds like progress eh? Fingers crossed!
Here's a photo of Mum and Dad on their last Valentine's Day together - 52 years together. Don't be fooled by Dad looking asleep, that's the Parkinson's or the Lewy body dementia - he knows exactly what's going on!
Take care
Sue
So much of caring is about food that it can become an obsession. Mum wasn't eating properly as Alzheimer's took hold, Dad was in a care home, battling Parkinson's. I'd come from 200 miles away every month with a shopping bag full of the finest foods Marks and Spencer could provide. I wanted to brighten their days, whet their appetities, make them happy. A double choc muffin was Dad's idea of heaven and not even Parkinson's took that from him. For the three of us, sharing a cup of tea and a cake was being a family again, and we had some happy times. I could head back north a couple of days later knowing that they had an apple pie or a scone to look forward to. An obvious way to show love, and a language we all understand.
Over those years, my weight ballooned and I got a serious unhealthy eating habit with no exercise. You give your all when you're caring for others and this can make it hard to find the time and energy to care for ourselves. I don't like the phrase 'comfort eating', but that's what I did. I cared for Mum and Dad with food and I cared for me with food, it was an easy and quick fix, it filled the void. I'm not sure it did give me comfort, but it did make me fat and gave me gallstones.
But life moves on, Mum and Dad moved closer to us, and eventually Dad died. Caring now took up less of my time than it did and Ali and I had a future to think of. I will never criticise myself for getting by and coping using food. Sometimes that's all you can do. But it takes its toll. When Dad died I was 4 stones overweight and morbidly obese. I was not far off being less fit and less active than my parents, I needed to start caring properly and stop killing us all with my chocolate covered kindness.
I'm still caring for my Mum and as her memory worsens, I can feel the crunch building up. I still use food as a shorthand for love more than I should, but I make sure Mum gets lots of fruit now. But I am not using food as my comfort and reward. I am caring for me by keeping a little bit of precious time for myself to spend with Ali, make time for a walk, to go for a run, to train for that marathon one day. I won't deny myself the simple joys of a good fruit loaf, but I will savour it and taste it. Sounds like progress eh? Fingers crossed!
Here's a photo of Mum and Dad on their last Valentine's Day together - 52 years together. Don't be fooled by Dad looking asleep, that's the Parkinson's or the Lewy body dementia - he knows exactly what's going on!
Take care
Sue
