On set backs

2024 started with a bang for me. Or should I say crack (actually two cracks, metatarsal and ankle). On January 2nd I was in A&E with a very lovely young doctor gentle holding my foot and telling me ‘I’m pretty sure thats broken.’ She was, in fact, correct.

I didn’t get upset when it happened. I wasn’t able to, because I had my 14 year old son with me who is autistic and has a learning disability, so I needed to stay as calm as possible for him. Somehow we got home ( I drove with a broken foot, an adrenaline fuelled necessity, which other unpaid carers will understand). My boyfriend Ruairi came over to look after my son while I went off to A&E. Still not upset, still focused on logistics and keeping everything calm. But when I told that very sweet doctor that my son was disabled and had very high needs, and she looked at me and asked, ‘how will you manage?’ that was when the tears came.

My situation as an unpaid carer is not that unusual. It’s estimated that over 10 million people in the UK provide unpaid care to disabled, chronically or mentally ill family and friends. It is a common experience but it’s also a hidden one, the impact of which is extremely high - on health, emotional wellbeing, finances and just about every aspect of life. I wrote a whole book about it - Tender (you can buy it here). But I’m writing about this today because, while shit happens to everyone, when shit happens to unpaid carers, let’s just say that shit really does get neck deep.

I won’t go in to the details of what the last few weeks have been like, except to say it’s been extremely stressful, complex and distressing for everyone involved (lets just say the pain of a broken ankle has been the least of my concerns). I haven’t be able to be left alone with my son at all. It’s just not safe for either of us. But I did want to talk about what it has meant for me as a writer. Because it has meant everything has all but ground to a halt.

I’m a huge advocate for any person who does a lot of unpaid work, fiercely protecting their own time and energy as much as possible. I have no interest in martyrdom. While I can’t control my son’s needs, I can advocate for myself, and I can take pressure off myself from doing everything perfectly (or even just as well as parents of non-disabled kids can manage). Our life is good but it’s also a LOT (high stress, expensive, emotionally and logistically complex) and I can only relax into it and enjoy the good parts, if I allow myself to also be me. Me, the writer, the creative, the reader, the whole person, not just me, the mother and carer. But there are times when that is less possible and this has been one of those times.

January has been a month of finishing final page proofs for my next non-fiction book and a few other last minute issues/changes before it goes off to print (always way more time consuming than you think its going to be), editing a few client proposals from late last year and preparing for my next Non-fiction Book Proposal Group Program which begins next week. It was always going to be a pretty busy month on the paid work front. So far I have managed to keep almost on schedule with all of that, working on the sofa, leg elevated, while my son is at school. But between the huge meltdowns and the time it takes simply to wash, dress and eat with a broken ankle, even with Ruairi moving in and taking over the running of the household and care of my son, it has taken all my effort just to get through the paid work. The novel I am working on, that I should be deep into by now? I haven’t even been able to give it a single thought. Not one.

Stuck indoors for three weeks now, when the work day is done, it’s all I can do to curl up on the sofa next to my son and listen to an audiobook or watch an episode of Slow Horses (I have run out of Fisk episodes). My brain is mush. My body is tired from using crutches, mending broken bones and dealing with my son’s frequent distress at the changes in routine that he does not understand. While some might say ‘Oh, but isn’t it kind of a break?’, if this is a break because I’m not up cooking, cleaning, driving, caring, then it’s a stressful and exhausting break that I can’t wait to be over.

So no, there is nothing left this month to give to my writing. And I have had to accept that. It’s hard not to fight it though. Not because I’m in a rush, or feel like I’m falling behind or anything else that I hear many writers talk about. I’m not measuring myself against anyone else, or worrying that I’m failing. It’s because it’s already so hard not to get lost amongst my responsibilities that it can feel utterly terrifying to loose what little headspace and time I have carved out for myself.

There is much to be grateful for this month though. Ruairi has almost single handedly taken over every one of my responsibilities and has done so brilliantly. Even though he has been in our lives for years now, he has admitted that doing it all by himself has given him new insight into just how much I have to do each day. He and my kids are closer than ever. It’s been a unifying, horrific, lets-not-do-this-again kind of experience that we will gain from in some ways (but oh please god, never again!).

February and March will be a little quieter on a few fronts. I hope I can get my head into a better place for novel writing. Friends who have broken ankles before have urged me to remember this is a long road and it will take time. There are challenges ahead as I transition to doing more with my son. But I hope amongst all this, I can slowly steal back a little headspace for my own work. The kind that isn’t all about paying bills but dreaming up other worlds. The kind of work I can get lost in.