Compassion Fatigue
Recently, I was in line at the pharmacy. Forty-two minutes of standing there, praying that I wouldn’t pass out. I quietly waited to pick up a prescription that my doctor had called in when I left the hospital. Lucky me, to have uncontrolled bleeding that left me anemic, deeply tired, feeling like I would pass out, and ready for a nap on the floor where I stood. It was a coin toss, but thank goodness it was my turn next. You have no idea what a relief I felt when the pleasant lady asked how she could help as I walked up to her. I told her my name and date of birth.
She was quiet, took her time, and then took some more time. She never looked at me as she walked away, picking up a phone out of my hearing range. Guess what? Another 21 minutes. Not one time did she look at me, communicate with me, or ask if I could wait. I was hoping something good was happening. I’m about ready to grab a package of adult diapers and make a pillow out of them, I thought, to lay on the floor for that nap I so desperately wanted.
I don’t know about you, but for me one of the most difficult things that tries my grace and patience is watching something being done wrong—and being done wrong as painfully slowly as they physically possibly can while still being in motion. I’ve never seen anyone move that slowly. I knew my condition wasn’t helping my perspective, so I kept my calm.
Eventually, the lady started to lower the phone and take a sloth-like walk back over to where I was—and I’m sure between the phone and the counter where I was standing, she paused to floss her teeth or take a bathroom break. At this point, I’m about to pass out and frightened that I will need her to call 911 for me. At her pace, I didn’t see any hope. Blankly, she informed me that they didn’t have the medicine and neither did the other pharmacy in town. However, she could order it and it should arrive in three days. Did I still want it? I felt numb, defeated, scared, and too tired to be mad. I had no clue what to do next. I needed it today per my doctor’s instructions.
I think the only sound I heard in my head was static, or was it trucks crashing into each other? I can’t really remember. I smiled, placing iron supplements onto the counter and saying, “No thank you, I’ll just bleed out. Can I pay for these here, please?” I paid and walked away wondering, What if I do bleed to death without the medicine? Will my dogs be taken care of? Do I have that in my will? Better double check . . .
I don’t think the pharmacist noticed me walking away.
I felt sad for the lady. She showed something we often overlook in people. Her behavior that I considered numb or lazy can be one of the numerous signs of compassion fatigue. We all have bad days. We all have days that we didn’t expect. We all have another side of life we may be dealing with that the public doesn’t know about, such as caring for a spouse with dementia or a dying parent. Those days keep us remembering we are still alive and have choices. I had the choice to be kind. I had the choice to absorb my disappointment and walk away. Some people make a huge display of anger and lash out. Again, never knowing what the other person is dealing with. Some people are quiet, unnoticed, and silently suffer. They are in need of help, but do not often reach out.
This is dangerous! How many times have we overlooked someone else or ourselves in our depleted capacity to thrive, still continuing to give when everything in us is empty? When we’ve already hit burnout, and hit it fast? If we do not notice this tendency in ourselves or others, it allows depression and physical exhaustion to creep in, leading to diminished ability to feel compassion for others. Bad habits and unhealthy ways to cope can sneak into our lives, causing more frustration and pain when we are trying to regain feeling.
We notice our health is changing drastically. Stress over normal things that we used to tolerate now causes indifference, or worse yet, we snap. We may be able to keep it together on the outside for a little while, but in the long term, this dynamic leads to mental and physical breakdown. The truth is, we all need help at some point. We all need to admit the inner struggles out loud. Needing help doesn’t mean that we aren’t capable. We aren’t weak for reaching out to others to help carry the load.
Being a caregiver to a spouse, loved one, parent, or disabled child may make us feel lost or unseen through day-to-day tasks. The now endless day is wrapped up in the care and needs of the other. You feel you cannot think of taking time for yourself right now. If you do take time, you most likely are not fully resting in the moment, because you are telling yourself you are being selfish and feel guilt or worry.
Well-meaning people and outsiders will tell you what a noble, caring thing you are doing, how strong you are, and that they couldn’t do what you do. You smile briefly, maybe feeling a little overlooked even though they meant well by their comment. They just do not see your pain and exhaustion for whatever reason. They just don’t. You continue to trudge along, not expecting anything from anyone as the fatigue grows inside of you.
As caregivers, we do feel good helping and caring for others. We wouldn’t do it if there weren’t some joys. If this is true, then by not allowing or accepting others to help us in our need, are we not cheating another human out of the same warm and satisfying feeling that we get from giving? Why do we do this? You may even complain, “It’s only up to me to take care of this. Who will help me? No one cares.” With that attitude, you may be right.
Caregivers need support back. With kindness and softness to yourself, allow others to help you. Their help and ways may not be perfect or up to your standards, but they are loving on you. Say yes to taking moments for you to recharge. Say no to things that will not serve the greater good of your well-being.
The true people in your world will be genuine in their help and support. It may surprise you who will show up for you. It may take you asking. It may take your stillness to allow others in or to share your needs. You cannot get angry at people for not helping you if they don’t know you need help. It’s a hard wall to break through, but when it does crack open, you will feel the compassion and fullness overwhelm you. You will learn how to fill yourself first in order to have needed reserves of excess as you continue your care for others.
What is something that could brighten your day or lift a burden for you today? How would you feel if that task were done? How would it feel not to be so weighed down? Who could you ask today for help with that? How would a walk with the dog in no rush to be home feel? Could you plan some time for yourself this week? Instead of allowing yourself to feel dismissed, what could allowing or asking others to help you look like?
You love others. Now love yourself—or no one can receive the quality of care you intended to give. Talk to a friend or family member today to help you come up with ways to care and support yourself.
