Entangled and Estranged

Family caregiving when you're emotionally detached

How do you care for someone who has pushed everyone away - including those they expect to care for them? I’ve been thinking a lot about this, because it is the situation I am in with my mother. We have come to a new phase of the care journey, in which I am not physically needed to support her care in the same capacity anymore. And because of our history and relationship, I see her much less.

Seeing her frequently was inevitable when she first became physically sick and was diagnosed with mild cognitive decline, because I constantly needed to do things for her that no one else would or could: take her to outside medical appointments, sort out financial messes or rescue her in some capacity from her own actions. There was always something urgent and a long to-do list.

My mother is now settled in a nursing home and not very mobile. We have gotten rid of her car and many of her belongings - which was a major headache and struggle. Because she is closely monitored, she isn’t falling and letting her apartment turn into a hazardous environment or creating drama or safety concerns anymore - as she was in Assisted Living. I can’t say I miss getting phone calls while traveling abroad that, for example, my mother has become verbally aggressive with staff, or decided to go out for a drive in severe icy weather (when she shouldn’t be driving at all).

You might think this behavior is all a product of the dementia, but in her case, it is not. Her cognitive impairment is still moderate, but the mental illness has been there a long time. It is something I had come to terms with before the caregiving began, but not early enough.

I feel sad for my mom and how things have turned out for her; for her solitude. And I can’t completely escape the feelings of guilt about not visiting more. But I have also spent years in therapy feeling sad about my experience with an emotionally immature mother. The constant walking on eggshells. Recalling the mental gymnastics I went through for most of my life to normalize erratic behavior, lies and rage. I spent too many years believing her narrative that I was just not a good enough daughter, while missing the emotional support I desperately needed from her.

When she became sick several years ago and the veil was lifted, the realities of her relationships with her few remaining friends were sad but validating. Her best friend of many years had recently gone no contact, after informing her in a letter that she could not endure my mother’s treatment any longer. Another friend commented that she always thought it was so strange that my mother never showed any interest in getting to know my husband. There was a very singular focus and pressure on me to be what she needed, and it was never enough or reciprocated.

My coping mechanism and self-protection over the last several years has been acceptance of the reality of who she is, and constructing an emotional barricade. It was the healthiest thing I could do without going no contact. Yet I still endured feelings of fear and dread in the pit of my stomach when I showed up to do my caregiver duties time and time again, because who knows what kind of mood she would be in and what I would be faced with. But if I didn’t organize her life and care, who else would?

So now, with her settled and with care on autopilot, and because of the discomfort it brings me to be around her, I don’t see her nearly as much. It would be physically simple to visit her more, but emotionally, it is exhausting. I handle her Medicaid paperwork and her finances. I make sure she gets items that she needs and that health issues are addressed. But I don’t make many social calls.

I frequently look at my children, especially my daughter who still wants to snuggle and tells me she loves me 100x a day, and think to myself “do not fuck this up!” Because I desperately want to have the type of mother-daughter relationship with her that I did not have with mine. I want my children to feel safe, seen for who they are (not judged for who I want them to be for my benefit), and loved and accepted unconditionally. I hope they will continue to confide in me, and that we will remain close when they are adults. But I also do not take that wish for granted.

I am sharing because despite the emotional detachment, I have been feeling conflicted and guilty about not seeing my mother more often. I imagine that others must judge me for it. But I also know it is the healthiest way for me to manage. Caregivers already experience high rates of mental illness and chronic stress, even without being in emotionally unhealthy relationships with those they care for.

I also realize that many of you caregivers reading this likely also experience feelings of guilt: that you don’t do everything you possibly could, or all that you are made to feel you should (even though you do so much). And maybe that is because you are taking care of yourself in the form of boundaries with those you care for. It’s ok. Care for others is incredibly important - vital - but it should not come at the expense of self-preservation. You are not alone.

Check out

The Weight of Caregiving

’s tips about navigating the emotional complexity of caregiving, particularly with a parent you may have a difficult past with.

Feel free to share your thoughts or experiences with estranged caregiving in the comments, or forward this to someone you think can relate.