Week 1: Redefining Joy in the Midst of Caregiving
When you think of joy, what comes to mind?
For many, it’s laughter with friends, a carefree vacation, or a peaceful morning without a to-do list. But when you’re a caregiver, those moments can feel far away—almost unreachable.
I used to think joy had to be big to count. That it had to feel like freedom or escape. But caregiving taught me something else entirely:
Joy doesn’t always arrive with a smile. Sometimes, it comes with a sigh of relief.
In the early days of caring for my brother Clint and our mother, Carol, I was just trying to survive. I didn’t have time to chase joy—I was chasing stability. I was learning diagnoses, juggling appointments, managing medications, and doing my best to stay upright during the emotional storms.
But one day, I noticed it.
A flicker of peace. Not happiness exactly—but a deep, quiet moment where I felt… grounded. Present. Even connected.
It happened during one of Clint’s hardest days. He had been living in an assisted living facility for nearly three months when a decision to remove him from that facility was made by the family. He had suffered excessive amounts of medication he should not have received and neglected for weeks before I could make arrangements to bring him back home.
The day he came home, though, it was a brand-new home and his first time seeing it. I pushed him around in a wheelchair to show him the house, and even though he struggled to talk (from the disease), the expression on his face was priceless. I sat him in a recliner that was designated as “his” chair, and he smiled from ear-to-ear, and there was a sigh of relief. It was in that moment I knew he finally felt safe and cared for.
Mom and I both smiled, and cried a little, too. But I smiled because in that moment, joy returned. Not just for me but for Clint too.
Not because the situation was easy. But because I was present for something real. Something sacred.
Caregiving may not always offer us the carefree kind of joy, but it gives us another kind— The kind that looks like:
A quiet coffee shared in the early morning hours
Eye contact when you weren’t sure they’d remember your face
A soft “thank you” when you least expect it
The peace of knowing you’re doing your best—even when it’s hard
If you’re in the thick of caregiving, you don’t have to chase joy. You just have to notice it.
Redefine it. Reclaim it. Let it find you in the small, sacred pauses of your day.
Because you deserve joy, too.
Note: This weeks picture is of Mom pushing him in his wheelchair, out for a walk in the sunshine and fresh air the day he came home. Both full of joy that Clint was home-safe.
