Tag: stress

Anxiety trip

Feb 16th, 2026

My eyes darted to my phone as a reminder on the screen popped up: GM docs 8.45 Friday/ urine sample.

Eugh, yes I know…god I even annoy myself! I thought. This reminder is to tell me that grandma has a check up at the doctor’s surgery on Friday morning, they are going to do a blood test and a general check up as she’s in heart failure. She’s doing OK at the moment but I’ll take any medical attention I can get for her.

The reminder, set on Monday, also serves as the kick off to the dread and anxiety spiral I will descend into until the visit is over.

In short, it will be a huge faff.

I’ll be working out the logistics of what I need to do, when, and how to balance it with the small matter of my full time job. I always try to book appointments as early in the morning as possible so the disruption to my work day is minimal.

It will be disruptive no matter what I do, I’ll have to get up extra early to get myself ready before getting her up, fed, medicated, showered, dressed and collect a urine sample – I’ll spare you the gruesome details of that task- before 8am. When you’re 101, everything is slow and a huge effort on both sides. I try to make it as stress free as possible for grandma as she’ll be stressed enough going to the doctors in the first place.

Once all that is done, there is the matter of getting her out of the house and to surgery. This is when I become a guide granddaughter to half-carry her out of the door and into the car, grandma is blind too so I have to describe everything as I go. Her heart failure means she’s out of breath after a few steps, so we go very slowly and carefully.

I do all of this while checking my phone every few minutes and answering messages or emails. I usually let my (wonderful) team know I’ll be working from my phone first thing in the morning but the work never stops and I refuse to let my caring responsibility encroach on my job as it is the only thing I have left.

The multi-tasking will continue to get her into the GP’s building and guide her to a seat while we wait and I can check my emails again. Unlike grandma, I won’t be worried about the appointment itself, it is just a check up with a nurse, I’ll be thinking about the logistics of getting her back home safely.

This anxiety/ dread loop will run in my head all week until the appointment actually happens, it is exhausting.

Some of you might think this a small thing and that it doesn’t warrant getting all worked up – maybe – but doing anything with a 101 year old is a big endeavour; and when you’ve been caring on high alert for six years, even the door bell ringing quickens my heart rate.
It’ll do

Dec 5th, 2025

‘Well, the tree is up. Can you see it, grandma?‘

‘No, I can only see some of the lights on it.‘ Grandma answered from her chair, looking cosy in her favourite blanket.

‘It doesn’t look great, I’m not very good at trees and decorations.’ I sighed.

‘It doesn’t matter, it’ll do!‘

‘Yup… it’ll do. That’s the spirit grandma!‘ I giggled.

I’ve been thinking about that recently, I hate to admit it, but I think she’s right. Sometimes, things may not be perfect but they’ll do. This feeling goes against every fibre of my perfectionist being, but I’m learning to accept it… for some things. I run a tight ship by necessity to juggle my busy job with my intense caring role and getting things ticked off my various to-do lists gives me the satisfaction of a job well done – a rare dopamine hit.

As Christmas fast approaches and festive tasks appear on my list, a feeling of intense tiredness creeps up. I’m not a Grinch, I love this time of year but, like many carers, I only enjoy it from a distance – I don’t have parties and friendly catch ups to attend (and couldn’t go anyway) . The extra christmassy things to do are just that, extra work that I’m meant to enjoy doing and get into the festive spirit. I guess I might if I wasn’t already exhausted.

As I think about all the things I need to do, I try to remember that it doesn’t matter too much if some of them drop down the priority list, or aren’t done perfectly. As long as the basics are covered and grandma is well looked after, a dodgy-looking tree, missing decorations, a fuller-than-usual-laundry basket, or even a few weeks without a blog aren’t important.

As a festive treat to us carers, let’s give ourselves a break. Most of us can’t take a real one but maybe we can gift ourselves some grace and learn to be OK with some jobs not being done, or not being done to perfection. As the end of the year looms, I feel more tired than ever and my body is struggling to cope too; I’ve had a lot of stress-related symptoms flare up recently from a painful lower back and painfully tight jaw, to stress-induced rashes to name just a few. I feel us carers need to conserve our energy to make it to the end of year, because only the promise of more work, worry, and exhaustion awaits us in 2026.

I’m told the issue with my tree is the multi coloured lights, warm white ones would make it classier, I agree but … it’ll do!
Miserably Misunderstood

Oct 15th, 2025

You know that quote by the former boxer Mike Tyson? He said: ‘Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face.” I’ve been thinking a lot about that over the last few weeks.

I’ve been struggling recently (more than my usual baseline that would send most not-yet-carers to seek medical help immediately); with a feeling of being misunderstood.

It feels like a lot of the people around me (digitally, obvs) are questioning my decisions or feelings. It’s difficult to describe, maybe I don’t mean questioning, I feel like their advice or reactions are rooted in the fact they simply don’t or can’t understand the situation I’m in. It is so frustrating and contributes to my already-crushing isolation and loneliness.

To be clear, and fair to the people who still bother to answer my texts, I’m grateful for their interest and I’m not adverse to receiving advice – in fact, I often ask for it. But lately, it feels like I’m speaking a different language to all the non-carer people in my life.

As a carer, I don’t matter. Don’t roll your eyes. It is confronting, I know, but true. I only matter in relation to the person I care for, that is unimaginable to people who aren’t yet carers, and who – rightly- have at least some level control over their lives. I mean basic things, like eating or sleeping when they want to or being able to plan a trip or meeting up with a friend, for example. Those basic things require meticulous planning or are mostly impossible for carers- yes, even eating – I regularly don’t have time to feed myself in between caring for my grandmother and work.

Because of this, on the rare occasions I’m able to do what I want (usually in very restricted circumstances) I’m insistent about it. Because, damn it, I am allowed to express what I feel and want. I don’t want or need your opinion on how I’m feeling or why I feel it. I just need you to listen, and importantly, believe me.

A recent short film from the University of Birmingham on the struggles of parent carers, highlights this feeling of being invisible, misunderstood and so alone. I think many other carers can relate to the heart-wrenching testimonies. As said in the film: ‘we don’t need you to pity us -we need you to believe us‘.

To go back to Mike’s quote, carers like me have not just been punched, they’ve been hammered by life. They live a reality you can’t fathom. All I (we?) ask is that you listen and believe us… and give your opinions/advice when we ask for it. You don’t get it. We know that. You most likely will in the future but for now – to quote the film again: ‘when we say we’re drowning, throw the damn lifeboat‘… and sit in it with us. We’ll do the same when it is your turn to care.
Not So Great Britain

May 14th, 2025

I’m baffled. I simply don’t understand it, so I’m going to write down what I think has been announced this week in an attempt to get some clarity.

This week, the UK government said that they were going to ‘crackdown’ on low-skilled visas, including visas for care workers, which means that care companies will no longer be able to recruit care workers from abroad. Instead, those companies will have to hire British nationals or from the pool of already-available care workers on visas. This is apparently all in an effort to reduce net migration, to have more control over immigration, and to make it easier for “high-skilled, high-contributing” people to live and work in the UK.

I’m not going to get into the politics of this plan, I’m more concerned about the stopping of visas for overseas care workers. The UK already has a big shortage of care workers, around 131,000 according to most estimates. That’s because care jobs are badly paid and extremely stressful, not exactly what you’d call an attractive employment proposition.

The folks in charge are aware of this, right? They also know that stopping care visas will increase that already-massive gap, yes? Is there a plan to address this?

Of course there is! PHEW.

Yvette Cooper has promised “to bring in a new fair pay agreement for care workers” to make care jobs more attractive to UK workers and reduce overseas demand.

Great– when is that happening? She didn’t specify.

So the plan is to deliberately make the caring situation worse? And have no plans to fix it? Got it.

I’m not trying to be difficult here, but this begs the question of who is going to do all the caring then? If we can’t recruit the folks from abroad who want to do the job and won’t make the job more attractive to those in the UK, who is going to look after us?

I didn’t find the answer to that question, because the answer is YOU. The Great British public will become a nation of unpaid carers. Even more than they already are.

I’m baffled by the relentless vilification of caring and care workers. Calling caring low-skilled is untrue and insulting; it is also an essential function in our society. Why is caring seen as subpar, unimportant work when we’ll all need it at some point in our lives?

Why can’t visas be categorised by what functions we need filling? Rather than framing it by what ‘skills’ we need. It feels like it would achieve the same thing, but you know, be a better approach. Incidentally, if this plan is to get more of these in-demand highly-skilled individuals into the country, it would be a good idea to make the UK an attractive place to live in. Unless the folks we’re trying to attract like queuing outside a GP’s surgery in the rain to be told they can’t see a doctor, taking a bus replacement service instead of a train, or sewage-filled water networks, I don’t see many reasons they’d want to live here in the first place. Welcome to Not So Great Britain.

What do I know though? I’m just a low-skilled carer. Yes, I work full time in a high growth sector of the economy, speak fluent English and French, and (rusty) Mandarin but the literally vital job all paid and unpaid carers do every single day is considered worthless and low-contributing on a visa application.

I’m baffled. Je suis déconcertée.我很困惑.
Hair-xiety

Apr 23rd, 2025

‘Do you want to come through, love?’

‘Oh great! I might leave on time.‘ I thought as I got up and followed the hairdresser to my assigned seat. I had cancelled and postponed my already-overdue appointment for months as I couldn’t find the time for it so I was bracing myself for the gentle scolding I was going to receive.

‘Erm… it has been a while, I can’t remember the last time we saw you!’

‘Yes, I wasn’t really able to find the time…’

‘So we’ll definitely need to do the usual, it is so long! And shall we try a balayage? We talked about it last time.’

‘Erm… I don’t know. I don’t really have much time and…’

‘It won’t take more time and I just think your style is currently a bit boring. It’s on sale too!’

‘OK… go on then! As long as it is subtle.’ I said, not really caring enough to keep the conversation going.

‘Excellent! I’ll go mix your colour.’ Said the visibly delighted hairdresser.

My reluctance to try something new in the hair department is mainly due to the time it takes. Grandma is on water pills to evacuate the excess fluid in her body as she’s in heart failure, this means she needs to go to the loo more often but can’t go by herself. If I time it correctly, I can leave the house for about two or three hours at a time, maximum. This salon is conveniently close but takes a notoriously long time as they’re busy and understaffed so instead of relaxing, I’m constantly worrying about the time my appointment will take.

As the hairdresser had started on time, I was hopeful this would continue. Unfortunately, half the village seemed to have booked their complicated-sounding hair appointments 30 minutes after mine so the balayage plan was considerably slowed down. For the next two and a half hours, my hair was coloured and I was moved from my seat, to the wash basin and back again with long periods of waiting in between. My anxiety bubble growing bigger and bigger inside my chest. Finally, my hair was coloured, cut, and blow dried. The hairdresser then took the straighteners out which I had to decline – my allocated time outside of the house was running out.

I rushed back home arriving just in time to find grandma trying to get out of her chair by herself. Very dangerous as she’s 100, blind, with very little balance.

My hair was already up in a ponytail and I hadn’t even bothered to have a look at the difference the balayage made.

I share this experience, one that many carers will be familiar with, to show the restrictions imposed upon us. This is why I can’t see friends or go into the office. Leaving the house is becoming more and more difficult and not worth the effort for the most part. I keep doing it so I don’t become a full recluse and keep some connection to the outside world, even if it means being called boring and having goop put in my hair from time to time.

For the record, I am boring and I’m happy to have a hairstyle that matches my personality!
Grand con

Mar 7th, 2025

My workspite trip ended last week and I’m back to caring. I don’t know who is more distraught about it, me or grandma.

I’m struggling with going back to the isolation and the constant worry, care and work; and grandma is unhappy she can’t fool anyone at meal times anymore.

I spotted the con immediately.

I hadn’t even taken my coat off, I walked into the house where grandma and my father were having lunch. Except grandma was hiding her food under her mash potato – which is quite impressive as she’s blind.

‘GRANDMA! What are you doing?’

‘I’m having my lunch.’ She said, innocently.

‘Nice try, you’re hiding your food and you’re spitting it out in your tissue too I see..’ I said, looking over at dad.

‘What?! Mum, is that what you’re doing?’

‘Nooooo, that is a piece of gristle.‘ was the indignant answer.

‘Nope- what’s all the other bits in the bin then? Bad grandma. You have to watch her, dad!’

It transpired that grandma had used my father’s ‘hands off’ approach to caring to her advantage to not eat (a symptom of heart failure is a very reduced appetite), and he’d not been bothered enough to notice. She’d visibly lost weight and is weaker than when I left. Her pressure sores are back too.

My positive attitude vanished before I’d even unpacked my suitcase. I was right back at it, and with extra work to get her back up to some sort of acceptable state. The readjustment to caring life after a few days of ‘freedom’ (or normalcy for the not-yet-carers) is brutal. I was in secret tears for most of the week – tears of frustration, anger, fear, and tiredness and at having to be stuck in this situation and having to re-build some of the foundations I had laid.

I’ve calmed down now and back to my never-ending to do list of an existence. I don’t regret taking the trip but, in my situation, I don’t think it is worth being away for more than a few days. The return and what I have to come back to isn’t worth it for me, it makes me feel worse and all the benefits of the break dissipate as soon as I step back into the house.

I suppose the answer would be to take more regular breaks, with a better solution for alternative care, but that’s an impossibility for me and for most carers.

On the plus side, grandma is eating a tiny bit better and none of it is going in the bin… she’s definitely thinking up a new con. I can tell. I guess it keeps her occupied while I’m working and she’ll test it out on a new victim at the next available opportunity.
Workspite

Feb 17th, 2025

‘You don’t need to open your bag, love. Just put it on the tray.’

‘Oh, that’s new!’ I said, surprised.

‘Yeah, we’ve got shiny new machines now. You can go through now.‘

As I waited for my handbag on the other side of the airport security scanner, I wondered how long those machines had been in use. I slowly realised that I hadn’t been in an airport for a long time, let alone been on a work trip. I’d been so worried about the logistics of me leaving the house for an extended period of time, I hadn’t thought about what it would feel like to be in an airport again.

It felt glorious. I love airports, always have. Before I became a carer, I was lucky to have travelled a lot and have have lived in different countries so I feel excitement rather than worry at the prospect of a trip. In the departure lounge, I quickly found a spot for me to settle in with a latte and the book I’d been trying to read for 6 months. Bliss!

I was on my way to Paris to attend the AI Action Summit. Not a respite trip, as it was for work, a workspite trip – if you will. I loved every hectic second of it. Yes it was intense with lots of running around and not a lot of breaks to eat or sleep, but for those few days I was simply Laura Barnes; another conference attendee. I spoke to interesting people about interesting things, I wore clothes other than yoga pants, and had to remember my make up routine. There wasn’t one mention of care, of me being an unpaid carer, or of grandma. I admit, I didn’t even think about her for the first 3 days of the trip. Please don’t tell her!

For non-carers, these things might seem inconsequential but to carers who are often physically and mentally trapped in their houses, the ability to go out and interact with people about something other than caring is a great luxury. One that I’m very grateful for. This is why enabling those unpaid carers who can to work is so important, it is not only good for them (and the country) financially, it is also good emotionally. It reminds us there is a world beyond caring and we are valuable beyond our caring roles. I was happy to be able to focus solely on work and not have to think about anyone else for a change.

I don’t feel rested in the physical sense, I’m as tired as ever, but I feel refreshed mentally. I’ve made myself a promise to make an effort to leave the house more often, despite the logistics and stress involved, it is worth it and makes me a better human and carer too.
What if?

Sep 9th, 2024

Grandma has started wanting to go to bed at 9 pm, breaking a habit of a lifetime of 10 pm being bedtime. You’d think this earlier release from my duties would be good for me, I’d have a little extra time to myself after putting her to bed. Perhaps more time to choose which Netflix documentary to fall asleep in front of.

Instead, this new development has triggered a particularly strong batch of anxiety. This earlier bedtime means grandma is slowly getting more and more tired, which means she’s progressively getting to the end. And what if she dies tomorrow? I have no idea what I’m going to do! That’s the gist of the spiral. Welcome to my brain, everyone. I believe this type of anxiety is called anticipatory anxiety.

This new type of overthinking has been keeping me awake for the past week. It doesn’t have space to raise its overthinking head during the day as that is reserved for my daily potent mix of generalised anxiety about literally anything (from a random fear of the house falling down to worrying about how I’m going to cook lunch when I’m supposed to be on two work calls) and work stress; if you saw the emails I get, I think you’d agree with my theory that some of my colleagues run a how-to-make-Laura’s-life-difficult committee.

Back to this newest form of anxiety. To clarify, I’m not worrying about how I’m going to grieve as I have already gone through that; most carers have also experienced anticipatory grief. I’m not even that worried about the post-death admin. My anxiety circle of doom is focused on what am *I* going to do when I don’t have to care for grandma anymore? Where will I go? What do I want to do when I can start living my life again? The simple answer is that I have no idea. Not a clue.

I have not thought of myself for so long that I don’t know what I want, what I like, or what my life ambitions are. Whenever I ask myself these questions, my mind goes blank. I can’t even summon what a dream life would be like for me. The fact I have no idea is what triggers the anticipatory anxiety and I sink into darker darker thoughts as I try to make myself sleep. Sadly, my brain is a world-class overthinking machine and I will work myself up into a complete panic. When I do eventually fall asleep, I wake up with a jolt a few hours later, covered in sweat from a horrible anxiety dream. I have those most nights, but these newer ones are very intense.

Anxiety is also not productive, I don’t come out of these cycles with fully formed plans of what I could do. I’m usually exhausted and a little freaked out, so I get on with my very busy day that distracts me until grandma’s bedtime.

I’m writing this down as an attempt to get it out of my head so I can go back to my baseline generalised anxiety and stress. A baseline which would probably send most non-carers to the doctors but I have learnt to live with it.

P.S: Just a small thing, stress and anxiety aren’t the same thing. Stress is linked to an outcome (a work deadline for example). Anxiety is a general sense of impending doom that you experience for no apparent reason. I clarify because I hear the terms used interchangeably and it annoys me and my hyperactive brain.
Bored bubble

Feb 22nd, 2024

I’m bored. I’m so bored. As bored as bored can be. Yes, I’m stressed, busy, and my shoulder still hurts but after weeks of solid groundhog day-ing I’m thoroughly tired of everything.

Can you be bored and stressed? Maybe I mean I’m uninspired? The drudgery of my everyday life is getting to me and I’m not interested in anything. This is rare for me as I usually find most things spark my interest. I will watch a documentary on anything and love learning new facts. But this week, I simply can’t be bothered. I do what I have to do with no enthusiasm.

I don’t even want to eat, I cook for grandma but barely eat for myself. I have no appetite and every recipe idea I usually enjoy sounds dull to me. It is like I live in a numb bubble. A bored bubble if you will. Constant caring sucks the life out of you, and you become a shell of your former self. Things that used to matter to me don’t as much anymore, or things that would make me angry don’t trigger me. Even writing the overused-by-social-media-influencers word ‘trigger’ has no effect on me. (Apologies for using it dear reader, I’ll do better in the next blog ).

The thing about being busy and having an endless caring and working to-do list is that you don’t have time to think, that time is usually when I get an idea or will think of something to look up, read or listen to when I grandma is having her post-lunch wine nap at the weekend. Time to think is crucial for me, as an anxious over-thinker, but it is also my (very small) super power. I can usually come up with an idea a minute or a creative story angle for work, which is handy as that’s a big part of my job. It is that creativity that keeps me inspired and interested in making an effort to stay engaged with life outside of my job and caring, even though I’m exhausted.

Being a carer means you can’t do what you love. A hobby or something you find fun. That’s important to stay inspired. That something is horse riding for me but I have no time to do it. I do walk by a field of horses on my early morning pre-work walks, perhaps a chat and a cuddle with a friendly pony will help me get my mojo back. Horses are great listeners.
Shouldering the burden

Feb 19th, 2024

My right shoulder is killing me. It started last Tuesday morning , I was going through my always-full inbox and I felt my muscles tighten, squeezing what I presume is a nerve. As the pain started to grow, I sighed as I tried to relax my shoulders.

‘Eugh…Not again…‘ I said to myself.

I’ve had this dull, aching pain for several days running from my right shoulder down my arm, I also sometimes have a tingling sensation in my fingers and turning my head in either direction causes very sharp pain. This has been happening on and off for about a year now. I think it is stress. I carry all my tension in my shoulder and have to consciously try to relax them every half hour or so throughout the day. I also ball my fists, every time I go to grab something, I realise that my hands are tightly clenched up.

With two more-than-full-time jobs, it is no wonder I feel stressed. I’m constantly in demand at work and have to care for grandma at the same time. There is no downtime or way to decompress after work (although I have thought of throwing my laptop out of the window a few times- not sure that counts…) so my shoulders stay tight and fists balled up. I’m very disciplined about doing a quick 20 minute pilates workout most evenings and have been trying out various stretches to ease the pain and get some movement back. It has mixed results, and the next email landing in my inbox has the potential to ruin my efforts.

This is just the latest example of the physical toll of being a working unpaid carer, I’ve been very on edge recently. I cry several times a day and have no patience. I hide this all very well of course, everyday I give Oscar-worthy performances of being fine to colleagues and even grandma has no idea I’m really struggling. The tension I feel staying firmly in my body, tightening and squeezing my muscles. I now understand why 600 people a day stop working to care for their loved ones, my situation feels increasingly untenable and I’m hanging on by my fingernails. Despite everything, I refuse to give up my job as it is the only thing from my pre-carer life and it saves me from the poverty trap the UK government forces unpaid carers into. I’ll keep hanging on and crumbling until the end and I’ll pay the (health) price when I get my life back.

My isolated situation makes things worse because not many people can relate (being a working parent is stressful, but not the same thing. Yes, that is a hill I’m willing to die on) and don’t want to constantly moan at my remaining friends, it isn’t very attractive, so I don’t talk to them about it. I moan about it in this blog, lucky you!

If my body keeps crumbling, I’ll have to brave the GP receptionist. I’ll beg for my blood test results while I’m there, and enquire about this scan I’m supposed to be getting but no appointment letter has arrived yet.

If you know any exercises to relax tense shoulders, please let me know! I’m going back to my shoulder-tightening never-ending to-do list.