This article is featured in our Chaplaincy Newsletter, Tapestry, which curates reflections on Christian chaplaincy in the marketplace of contexts such as hospitals, military, hospice, and prisons. Like threads of a wall tapestry, each colorful but alone, the offerings in our newsletter weave together to form a tapestry more beautiful than the sum of its parts.

As a chaplain, I’ve often asked a patient’s family member “How are you taking care of yourself?” Usually the answer was “I’m not.” Honestly, sometimes I would feel like a hypocrite when I offered kind advice like “You have to put your oxygen mask on first, you know.” (Picture my sweet smile, raised eyebrows and a nodding head.)

Some days at work, I feel like I’m moving from one code to another without taking much time in between to breathe. My colleagues and I use dark humor to try to bring a little levity to a trying day. Anyone identifying with this?

As a chaplain and (as this past year has unfolded) a caregiver, I must admit I have had difficulty in following my own advice. When my daughter had major surgery and a long recuperation last summer, I experienced firsthand the compassion fatigue that a caregiver can have. Oh yes, did I mention she had an 8-month-old baby at the time? (I promise I won’t break out my phone and show you 243 pictures.) The village which consisted of my son-in-law, husband and sister did their parts in helping, especially with the baby. But as the Big Momma, my self-appointed responsibility loomed large. I knew better than anyone else what needed to be done, when meals needed to be cooked, how to do dressing changes and help another grown person take a shower, etc.. You get the picture. I began to feel worn out, impatient with my dear one’s requests. My responses became short. One day I started crying and said “I’m doing the best I can as fast as I can!” My emotional bandwidth had become very thin. I was caring for the people I love more than life itself but beginning to resent my responsibilities.

How did I cope? Not well. I can “should-have” myself to death. I did finally begin to share my feelings with a close friend, and that helped. There’s something to be said about post-caregiving PTSD. Seriously. I could have benefitted from some therapy or spiritual direction. I still could.

Fast forward a few months. As a chaplain who ministers to moms who have experienced a pregnancy loss, I spent an afternoon helping a sweet couple make memories with their baby girl who had died at 36 weeks. My goal was to help them have no regrets when they left to go home, empty-armed. It was an emotional afternoon, but beautiful and memorable. One that I’ll never forget. At the end of the day, a caring colleague said “How are you going to take care of yourself tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow” was my mid-week day off. I needed to deliberately take some time to think about the events that occurred, acknowledge the sadness of it, and purposefully decompress with some meaningful self-care. For me, “porch time” with a cup of coffee while watching the birds and squirrels in the backyard was the retreat I needed. Digging in some fresh dirt grounds me (no pun intended), so I spent the day potting new plants and repotting overgrown ones. It was emotionally rejuvenating, physically invigorating, and spiritually refreshing. Who doesn’t feel connected to God while enjoying God’s creation of nature? When I returned to work the next day, I was recharged and able to take on the day, being fully present with the ones who needed my support.

Will I always so purposefully offer self-care to myself? Realistically, no. But now I’ve learned to reframe my question to the tired caregiver: “Tell me about something that helps rejuvenate your spirit.” Perhaps during that conversation, I can help the weary one visualize what is life-giving for them. And hold the proverbial oxygen-mask momentarily to help them take a deep breath. And inhale deeply myself.

Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28