BEL MOONEY: Why does caring for my dad take over my life?

Dear Bel,

I’m 58, single with a married son who’s 36. My late husband took his own life. Now I have two wonderful grandchildren (six and three) and look after my widowed 94-year-old father. I love them all dearly. Since the age of 15 I’ve worked full time and also help my daughter-in-law, who has no family support.

My father lives in a warden-assisted complex for older people. Until the pandemic, he was quite active, but sadly, over the past three years, he’s almost stopped going out. I now do all his grocery shopping; he is completely reliant on me for everything. I organise all his hospital and GP appointments, and ferry him everywhere.

I have suggested we get a helper for a couple of hours a week, just to clean around his flat, maybe do some shopping, have a chat, etc. He could easily afford this, but he won’t agree. He says he doesn’t want a stranger in his flat, he’d rather manage on his own.

I visit every Saturday, deliver his groceries for the week, cook meals for a couple of days, do a little cleaning and have a chat. I also pop in one evening a week after work and try to take him out to a pub. I phone him every night to ensure he speaks to somebody each day. His only other regular contact is with his 93-year-old sister, who lives 30 miles away.

I am writing because I feel exhausted. I rarely get an hour to myself and when I do, I’m too tired to do anything. I am beginning to feel resentful towards my father and feel very guilty. He says I do too much and will wear myself out yet he seems to expect me to spend less time with my grandchildren, who are such a source of joy.

I wish he’d agree to me getting somebody to help him.

I am weighed down by his dependency and feel sad that I have to use half of my annual leave taking him and his sister on holidays when I don’t really want to act as a carer to both of them.

I am sad and guilty for wanting a holiday on my own. Most of all, I feel guilty for even writing to you. I should feel grateful that my dad is still alive, yet here I am on the first sunny Sunday afternoon of the year — the first day I have had to myself in over a month — currently in bed, and in tears, too tired to do anything.

DIANE

Oh how I wish I could magic myself to your house, bringing tea, wine, chocolate, fragrant candles and masses of sympathy!

Your letter strikes such a chord since, at the beginning of last year, I was feeling equally drained (emotionally and physically) by my poor mother’s health and unhappiness, to the extent that certain kind colleagues were worried about me, suggesting holidays and so on (but Mum said sternly: ‘Lots of people don’t have holidays’).

Countless readers will identify and feel nothing but sympathy for a woman who brought up her son single-handedly after the tragedy, who works hard, yet finds plenty of time for beloved-grandchild-care, and who looks after her old dad with energetic devotion. You are a superstar.

Who could possibly blame you for feeling tired and fed up? Who would dare criticise you for yearning to have time for yourself instead of taking two nonagenarians on holiday?

You love your father very much and I’m sure you are very fond of your aunt too and those genuine affections are in no way contradicted by your feelings of being put-upon and exhausted.

It is vital for you to understand that and to put your moments of resentment in perspective.

Try to control your groundless feelings of guilt. After all, you might be a good, hardworking mother, mother-in-law, grandmother and daughter, but that doesn’t mean you have to be saint.

Your original letter was more than twice as long so I know about the twice-weekly school run and the grandchildren’s weekend sleepovers two or three times a month. No wonder you’re tired. The blunt truth is that old people can become very selfish and think that you should devote all your time to them rather than to the young or (perish the thought) to yourself. I was rather shocked by witnessing this in my dear mother when she’d never been like that her whole life.

What can be done but blithely sail over the selfish assumptions? You are perfectly entitled to feel irritated/frustrated with your father, so must learn how to tell him ‘No’.

Not easy, but essential. Years ago my father told me they didn’t need a cleaner, but I went ahead and organised one and she became a wonderful emotional support. Then he had a melt-down over the necessary stair-lift I put in, but later found it useful.

Much later (after his death) my mother was a tad sulky about the idea of a carer coming each morning, but learned to welcome that lovely person.

The time comes when you have to insist on such help, simply because (as you’ll explain to him) if your own health is affected by all the demands, then you won’t be able to be the good daughter he takes for granted. You need to be strong, in order to look after yourself for the future.

Tiny mistake ruined 24 years together

Dear Bel,

Two years ago a man I’d known years ago got in touch with me via Facebook. I have been married 24 years, and to be honest I couldn’t help being flattered by the fact that he paid me compliments.

But then the exchanges continued to the point when he asked me if we could meet up.

I wrote back and declined but made a draft of my reply in my notes.

My husband saw this and obviously asked what had happened. I panicked and made up a story but eventually felt I should tell him the truth.

We fell out over the whole thing (a non-issue. really) and he told me he only wanted to know me as a friend and not a wife.

I talked to him about it a couple of months later to see if he would change his mind but he said he needed time. Now more than two years later there’s been no progress at all.

We’ve never talked about it again because I’m scared of hearing what I don’t want to hear.

So we just bumble on as friends and get on well but he won’t share the same bed and he won’t touch me. With these actions I don’t feel I need to talk to him about it again.

The actions speak louder than words. He has drawn a line and won’t cross it.

What do I do?

I feel very lonely and unwanted but blame myself for not just telling him the truth in the first place, because it’s just blown a small thing into a very big thing and ruined our marriage.

Please help.

LORRAINE

This is truly a non-issue: a tiny blip in the cacophony of noise from the relationship problems that make people so unhappy.

There are big affairs and serial philandering, permafrost fallings-out, mental and physical violence, vicious conflict over the custody of children, shocking deceit over finance, silent loathing and cruel derision.

And here we have a woman flattered by attention (as most of us are, men and women alike), found out through a daft mistake, faffs around and then tells a silly fib which is the second mistake. Then her husband blows it out of all proportion and seems to call time on the marriage as it was.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if there was the odd minute when you think you might as well have met up with the guy from the past and had some nooky! Unless your message turning down a meet-up with the other guy was full of naughty sexual longing and disloyal dissatisfaction with your marriage (both of which would have provided some cause for hurt and rage on his part) then I don’t know what sensible reason your husband has to ‘draw a line’.

There will be husbands reading this who already feel indignant on his behalf. Yes, you exchanged a couple of secret messages then told a foolish fib. Shock horror! I have no more time for his pious intransigence than I have when wives subscribe to the ‘one strike and you’re out’ approach to human frailty.

If such people are hard-line in their views, then believe me, I am even tougher in mine. Which means I think it downright daft to chuck away 24 years for the sake of a blip.

Both you and your husband use the idea of friendship with a careless lack of understanding. He wanted you as ‘a friend and not a wife’ and you tell me sadly that you ‘bumble on as friends’.

But the situation in your house doesn’t sound very friendly to me, not with the total lack of conversation about what happened two years ago. You don’t talk because you’re afraid of what he’ll say, he treats you with coldness so you feel ‘lonely and unwanted’. This must not continue. You have to raise the subject again, tell him how miserable you are, and insist on revisiting the issue step by step. Which surely won’t take long.

He must be honest about exactly how it made him feel. Then you tell him you understand but he’s not acting like a true friend at all, so what next? I’m afraid you started this sad debacle, so I urge you to be brave and revisit it now.

And finally… Try a new tribe and see if it fits

It was the Bristol Classic Motorcycle Show at the Bath and West Showground and I was up for revisiting my old identity: Biker Hen.

One of the keys to a merry marriage is to share what your other half wants to do. Mine gladly trails round museums, galleries and churches with me. So when it was his turn, he said he hoped I wouldn’t get bored but I loved the whole thing.

The secret is chatting. The biker tribe is a friendly bunch. Three striking women with hair in various shades of magenta, nose studs and fabulous leathers were part of a Satans Slaves Support group (Satans Slaves are an ‘outlaw’ motorcycle club like the Hells Angels), happy to show me their cool badges. ‘Nice talking to you,’ they said.

Then I met a guy (a bit rough looking) standing next to a fabulous cream Harley-Davidson. Four girls’ names were beautifully painted on the front fender and ‘Peg’ on the rear. Would you jump to the conclusion that these were his conquests? No, Peg was the beloved aunt who died and left him the money to buy the bike. And the four names were his nieces. Don’t take people at face value.

So much to see and talk about. There were dogs (mostly small) accompanying men and women are all ages, but mostly verging towards the grizzled (which includes us). You could buy anything from a chamois leather and polish to a bike costing many thousands, with plenty of cool clothing and accessories in between.

I admired an historic 1925 BSA with a doctor’s leather bag strapped to the back, and prowled around my favourite Harleys, customised with stunning skulls.

I wonder if a secret of staying alive and lively is belonging to more than one ‘tribe’? I fit in with art-lovers, literati, nature-lovers, dog-mad folk, jazz ’n’ blues nuts, journalists, 1960s popsters, embroiderers, lovers of sacred and chamber music — and bikers. What is your tribe? And might you try a new one — just to see if it fits?