Family in the Balance
It’s a constant balancing act, and as soon as it tips out of alignment, we know we need to adjust.
Theme: The Beauty, Broken, and Burnout
Quick Take:
Gentle rhythms, not perfection – this is all about letting go of traditional rituals and social pressures and focusing on small routines that keep Milly happy and safe.
Therapeutic fibbing – little stories and harmless untruths keep stress low, laughter high and our sanity mostly intact.
Milly grounds us - she reminds us how to slow down and cherish what matters as we occasionally dream of weeks (months!) of freedom!
Family rituals don’t matter
Family life with Milly is a constant balancing act. Even small slips feel huge. My husband carries massive pressure as a carer - for her and for me - and so many decisions come with exhaustion, guilt, and worry.
Even fun plans, like her birthday, require military-level logistics: noise, access, toilets, timings. We can’t share the build-up, because too much information only worries her. Excitement is the last thing Milly wants. She doesn’t even mention her birthday herself - a reminder that these rituals matter far less to her than they do to the rest of us.
We’re all so used to staging the perfect moment for photos, for Instagram, for everyone else’s eyes. But with dementia, that kind of performance is impossible - and trying only adds stress. What really matters are the small, gentle routines: a cup of tea in her favourite chair, a quiet walk, a laugh at a familiar joke. These are the moments that keep her calm, safe, and happy. Letting go of expectations doesn’t feel like giving up; it feels like freedom.
So why did we move Milly in?
Because it felt right. Because my nursing background gave me confidence. And because paying £8K a month for mostly mediocre care never sat well. We want to make her as happy as we can, for as long as we can.
My training makes the practical side second nature: infections, hydration, pressure sores. And I know how easily she’d try to spend all day in bed in a care home. She avoids activities at her lunch club, preferring to watch from the side, and I know she would avoid too much socialising at a care home. preferring the safety of her room, waiting for familiar faces to join her. With me, she still gets her cosy world, but also the gentle rhythm - drink, walk, good food, chat, stretch - that keeps her moving. Keeps her healthy, connected and loved - without paying a fortune.
How We Keep the Balance
Making Milly happy all the time is where things get tricky. My husband and I still need moments to ourselves: a meal out with friends, time with a daughter, space after a difficult day. Protecting our own routines matters just as much as protecting hers. And when my patience runs thin, I am learning to forgive myself more and more.
So what helps keep us all steady?
Making sure this remains our home, not a hospital.
And we have a story.
A Home not a Ward
I try to keep the visible signs of caring discreet - limiting equipment in the main living areas and preserving the kitchen and sitting room as places of normality. Even so, my husband, understandably, can feel quite resentful at times. He notices the pads under the beds, the walking frame left in the hall, the pills that linger on the kitchen counter and he’ll ask if he can put stuff in the loft - a sign he’s feeling like Milly is taking over! Sometimes I can feel his complaint is a bit unnecessary, but generally I try to respond with consideration and compromise. Particularly as he’s very good at watching game shows with Milly - so I can disappear and have my own space!
The Story That Saves Us
The story is simple: I work part-time for two charities, one for animals and one for small children - both things she cares deeply about and it makes sense to her as I’ve worked in both the public and voluntary sectors and as a family we’ve rescued dogs. It gives me the flexibility I need. And it stops her worrying that I’m overworked or earning ‘loads’ whilst I never see her, which could make her uneasy.
The amount of time I’m ‘at work’ depends on how much space I need. The story gives me room to breathe, and it gives her reassurance and purpose.
Small Fibs, Big Balance
Some people flinch at the idea of therapeutic fibbing. But for us it is not cruelty - it’s kindness. Honesty often upsets her.
“I need a break,” hurts. “This rest will be good for you,” irritates. “I must type up that project,” deflects.
Truth creates friction. Gentle stories create calm.
These small, harmless untruths are compassionate. They keep her content and help us laugh instead of crumble.
So when she tries to wriggle out of lunch club, I stick to the story. I need that three-hour break, and she always returns brighter. And when she’s genuinely exhausted, she gets her favourite treat - a duvet day.
As for a care home -I’ll never say never.
For now, the story and our routines keep our family steady. And caring for Milly does tend to ground us, showing us how to slow down, cherish what matters, and find calm in the little things.