There are days when I’m dead certain that the only place I deserve to be in is Hell. Being burnt alive in the depths of its fiery inferno would be a fitting penance for the guilt and shame I often experience after a fit of anger over something dad did.

In those fleeting moments of rage, a million self-pitying thoughts flood my mind: Why didn’t my parents have a plan for their old age; why is this happening to me; this is so unfair; why have I given up my life for this thankless job; what would they do if I were dead; I’m all alone in this, etc.

What I want is to have a life. To watch Netflix; to have an early night; to spontaneously meet friends; to sleep in; to grow my coaching practice; to be abroad with my husband; to have a good night’s sleep; to go out without feeling guilty of leaving dad at home; to have a late night out… the list is truly endless.

Instead, what I’m straddled with is having to think about dad’s needs, and this means sacrificing a large part of my life. In the midst of all this hard, challenging work, I transform into the Devil himself. Sometimes, I don’t even recognize myself, and I’m left quivering in shame, guilt and deep, very deep sorrow.

I completely loathe caring for my father, yet I feel privileged and blessed for the gift of caring for him.

I hate the burden of this responsibility, yet I will have it no other way.

I resent the sacrifice of my time and putting my life on hold, yet few things hold meaning for me.

I crave for time alone, yet I’m watching over every detail of his care like a hawk.

I want to be free, yet there’s no one I’d walk on fire for.

I’m constantly yo-yoing between being cursed and blessed, tears and laughter, wrong and right, dark and light, anguish and joy.

After a lot of coaching support and practice as a Mental Fitness Coach, I’ve come to realize that I’m not a good carer, at least not for my dad. I know what it takes to be an excellent carer. I have all the tools and knowledge to see that daddy gets only the very best, but I’m riddled with fear. And fear is destructive.

I fear him dying.

I fear not having a purpose after he leaves this world.

I fear being alone.

That fear has driven me to go to obsessive, sometimes impossible lengths to ensure that everything must be done perfectly for my father, because I want him to live forever.

The struggle between feelings of resentment, anger, guilt and shame is common for any carer, and my growth as a Mental Fitness Coach has helped me understand that I am only human, I can only give so much and I need to let go of unreasonable expectations.

I am still work in progress, and the Devil hasn’t emerged in a long time. I’m keeping my focus on doing the next right thing, taking a day at a time and looking after myself so that I can give my best to daddy.