Marianne Talbot with her mother Now here’s an interesting subject: the love lives of carers.
Bet that woke you up?!
Also bet any interest it piqued has been extinguished already. Love lives? How on earth would a carer have a love life?
Many carers, for a start, are caring for their partners. I shouldn’t imagine that does anything for their love lives. I was always thankful I cared for my mum. One expects to care for one’s parents. To me it didn’t feel unnatural that as I waxed, mum waned and the roles changed accordingly.
But, whatever the vows made in happier times, it must feel like a violation to care for someone who was once your partner, your equal, your helpmeet. I remember my friend saying, as she sobbed in my arms about the unfairness of her husband’s dementia: “and I must face the fact that my marriage is over”. She was 50.
I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? Her marriage was over.
You don’t have to be caring for a partner though for caring to ruin your love life.
How does one juggle the demands of a partner (and children?) against the demands of one’s piglet? Hard enough if the partners are caring for their child. At least they’re in it together. But how do they ever find the time, never mind the energy, to have fun together?
If one of the partners is caring for a parent, this must get worse. My decision to bring mum to live with me was unilateral: I wasn’t foisting her onto a partner. However supportive one’s partner, the guilt endemic to caring must be magnified 100fold by involving someone else. And again, how does one go from providing the most basic of personal services to one’s mum or dad, to being a sexy playmate for one’s partner?
When I brought mum to live with me, I didn’t have any of these difficulties to negotiate. Not having a partner has its advantages. Anyway, what on earth would I have done with a partner when, by 8pm I was completely exhausted?
But now mum has been in her home for 6 months. Life is coming together for me. I am finally sleeping through the night, finally shopping for one instead of two, and finally relaxing back into my real self, after 12 years of worry and stress.
I am feeling good. Very good.
Apparently I am looking good too. I have had so many compliments lately that I am beginning to feel very attractive. Yesterday my cousin asked me if I had a secret lover to explain my ‘sparkle’.
The answer is ‘no’. But goodness, what an exciting thought!