How I am Staying Connected to Myself While Caring for My Mum with Dementia

Hello, welcome to another moment of clarity.

One of the things I don’t think people talk about enough in dementia caregiving is how easy it is to lose sight of yourself.

Not all at once. Not in some dramatic moment where you suddenly wake up and realise you’re a different person. It happens gradually. Almost quietly.

A hospital appointment here. A difficult conversation there. A day spent managing medications, paperwork, routines, and responsibilities. Then another day. Then another.

Before you know it, your life begins revolving around someone else’s needs so completely that you struggle to remember what your own life looked like before caregiving took centre stage.

It’s something I’ve thought about a lot over the past few years.

Not because I don’t love my mum or resent caring for her. Quite the opposite. Caring for her matters deeply to me. But somewhere along the way I realised that if I wasn’t careful, caregiving could become the only thing left of me.

That thought scared me.

Not because I wanted to escape my responsibilities, but because I wanted to make sure there was still a person underneath them.

Identity can fade quietly when life becomes full of responsibility.

Why Staying Connected to Myself as a Caregiver Matters

For a long time, introducing myself felt strange.

If someone asked what I did, my answer was simple.

“I’m a carer for my mum.”

And while that’s true, it isn’t the whole truth.

I am also someone who enjoys learning. Someone who wants to travel. Someone who likes challenging himself. Someone who still has dreams, even if they’re moving a little slower than they once did.

That’s why staying connected to yourself as a caregiver matters so much.

Caregiving has a way of becoming the centre of everything. The routines, responsibilities, appointments, and worries can slowly take over every corner of life. When that happens, it’s easy to forget that there is a whole person underneath the role.

I’ve learned that protecting my identity isn’t about choosing myself instead of caregiving. It’s about making sure both can exist at the same time.

The challenge is remembering that your identity can expand beyond the role you’re currently in.

Not by abandoning caregiving, but by making space for other parts of yourself to exist alongside it.

 Small moments of reflection help us stay anchored in who we are.

The Fear of What Comes Next

One of the strangest parts of being a full-time carer is that you’re living in two timelines at once.

There’s the present, which is filled with the day-to-day realities of caregiving.

Then there’s the future.

The future sits quietly in the background.

Sometimes I wonder what life will look like when I am no longer caring.

It’s not a thought I dwell on often because it brings up emotions that are difficult to sit with. But it appears from time to time, usually during quiet moments.

Will I know how to return to work?

Will I still be capable of travelling on my own?

Will I know how to build a life that belongs to me again?

Will I recognise the person I’ve become?

I don’t always have answers to those questions.

I think many carers carry similar fears.

When caregiving becomes such a large part of your identity, it’s natural to wonder what happens when that role eventually changes.

I’ve realised that one of the best ways to prepare for that future is not to wait until caregiving ends to start rebuilding my identity.

I have to keep nurturing it now.

The future can feel uncertain, but it still belongs to us.

Keeping One Hobby That Belongs Only to Me

One of the most important things I’ve done is hold onto hobbies.

Not hobbies that serve a practical purpose.

Not hobbies connected to caregiving.

Just hobbies that belong to me.

For me, one of those has become learning the violin.

I am completely self-taught.

There are days when I sound terrible.

There are moments when my fingers refuse to cooperate.

But that isn’t really the point.

The point is that when I’m practising, I’m not a caregiver for a little while.

I’m simply someone learning a new skill.

Someone making mistakes.

Someone improving.

Someone discovering something new.

That feeling matters more than I realised.

Because it reminds me that growth is still possible.

Even now.

Creativity makes space for parts of us that routine can hide.

Moving My Body Helps Me Feel Like Me Again

Another habit that has become important is going to the gym.

There was a time when I viewed exercise as something optional.

Now I see it differently.

The gym isn’t just about fitness.

It’s one of the few places where life feels separate from caregiving.

For an hour or so, my attention shifts.

I’m focused on movement, effort, and progress.

I leave feeling clearer than when I arrived.

Not because my problems disappear, but because I’ve done something that benefits me.

Caregivers spend so much time looking after other people that looking after ourselves can feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes even selfish.

But I’ve learned that neglecting myself doesn’t make me a better carer.

It just leaves me exhausted.

This is time that belongs only to me

The Importance of Stepping Outside

Some days are difficult.

Some days feel heavy before they’ve even properly begun.

On those days, one of the simplest things I can do is step outside.

Not for a long walk.

Not for exercise.

Just to be outside.

Fresh air has a way of creating a small amount of space between me and whatever is happening indoors.

Sometimes it’s five minutes.

Sometimes it’s twenty.

Either way, I almost always return feeling a little more grounded.

Stepping outside can quietly reset the mind.

Learning Something New Keeps My Future Alive

Alongside learning violin, I’ve also been taking digital marketing courses.

At first, I wasn’t entirely sure why.

Part of me simply wanted something different to focus on.

But over time I realised it represented something much bigger.

It was a reminder that my future still exists.

Caregiving can sometimes make life feel like it’s on pause.

Days blur together.

Weeks pass quickly.

The future starts feeling distant.

Learning new skills helps me resist that feeling.

Each course completed is a small investment in the person I hope to become.

Not someday.

Now.

Even if progress is slower than I’d like.

Learning keeps possibility alive.

Letting Good Enough Be Enough

Perhaps the hardest lesson has been accepting that not everything needs to be perfect.

As carers, we’re constantly juggling responsibilities.

There is always another task waiting.

Another thing that could be cleaned, organised, improved, or completed.

If I tried to do everything perfectly, I would burn out.

So I’ve been learning to embrace good enough.

Good enough meals.

Good enough housework.

Good enough productivity.

Good enough days.

Perfection isn’t what keeps me going.

Sustainability is.

Taking Breaks Without Guilt

I still struggle with this one sometimes.

Many carers do.

There’s a voice that says we should always be doing something productive.

Always helping.

Always available.

But I’ve learned that rest isn’t a reward for finishing everything.

Because caregiving never really finishes.

Rest is simply part of being human.

Some days that means reading.

Some days it means watching a film.

Some days it means doing absolutely nothing at all.

The guilt still appears occasionally.

But I’m getting better at letting it pass through rather than listening to it.

Quiet moments still count as something meaningful

Doing One Thing Every Day That Isn’t Caregiving

This might be the habit that ties everything together.

Every day I try to do something that has nothing to do with dementia.

Nothing to do with appointments.

Nothing to do with medications.

Nothing to do with caregiving.

Sometimes it’s practising violin.

Sometimes it’s studying.

Sometimes it’s going to the gym.

Sometimes it’s simply enjoying a cup of coffee while reading something interesting.

The activity itself isn’t important.

What matters is the message behind it.

The message is this:

I still exist outside of caregiving.

And that’s something worth protecting.

A Closing Thought

One of my biggest fears is not knowing how I’ll step back into my own life when caregiving eventually comes to an end.

I don’t know exactly what work will look like. I don’t know where I’ll travel or how different life will feel.

But I’ve come to realise that rebuilding my identity isn’t something that starts later.

It’s something that happens now.

Every hobby.

Every walk outside.

Every gym session.

Every lesson learned.

Every moment of rest.

They are small reminders that while caregiving is part of my life, it is not the whole of my life.

The person I was before dementia may have changed, but they haven’t disappeared completely.

Perhaps staying connected to ourselves isn’t about finding who we used to be.

Perhaps it’s about continuing to become who we are.

Until next time,

James

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What helps you feel most like yourself these days? If you’d like, I’d love to hear your thoughts or experiences in the comments. And if these reflections resonate with you, the conversations often continue quietly on Instagram at @momentsofclarityblog where I share other small moments of clarity from life as a caregiver.