Guest post by Lori Carol Maloy
I remember when the signs of dementia in my mother-in-law could no longer be ignored. I was working full time, raising teenagers, and suddenly stepping into the role of caregiver, too. She’d tell me stories as if they were happening right now. I listened, doing my best not to interrupt—even when I’d heard them before. Somewhere between her looping memories and the weight of responsibility, I began to lose myself.
Caregivers know what it is to show up, again and again, for someone else.
But we don’t always know how to show up for ourselves.
In that season, I learned something simple: I had to move—not just to avoid burnout, but to stay grounded in my own body. I didn’t need a gym or a full hour to myself. I needed three minutes on the porch. A short walk before dinner. A deep breath with my feet in the grass.
Caregivers often disappear inch by inch. A little less sleep. A skipped meal. A full day without stepping outside. But just like our loved ones need us, we need ourselves, too.
Here are a few gentle shifts that helped me reconnect:
- Step outside for five minutes. Fresh air is soul medicine.
- Stretch between tasks. Let your body exhale.
- Walk in the morning or evening—to reflect, pray, or simply be.
- Dance in the kitchen. Movement doesn’t need to be serious to count.
- Journal outside. Let the page hold what you’re carrying.
- Eat something nourishing. Even a small act of compassion for yourself is still care.
You don’t have to overhaul your life. You just have to remember you’re still in it.
Even now. Even in the middle of it all.
So keep moving, friend.
Even gently. Even slowly. You’re worth the care you give yourself.
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit…?
You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.
1 Corinthians 6:19–20 (NIV)
Lori Carol Maloy is a licensed therapist and the founder of Porch Light Pages, a space for emotionally honest storytelling. She writes about trauma, healing, and faith through both fiction and nonfiction. Lori is the author of the children’s book Dorito Finds a Boy, a six-book sci-fi series (as Matt Coleman), and winner of Writer’s Digest’s 90th Annual Essay Contest.
Tracy Crump dispenses hope in her award-winning book, Health, Healing, and Wholeness: Devotions of Hope in the Midst of Illness. A former intensive care nurse, she cared for her parents and her mother-in-law and understands both the burdens and joys of caregiving. Her devotions have been featured in Guideposts books, The Upper Room, and many other publications, and she has contributed 28 stories to Chicken Soup for the Soul® books. She also conducts writing workshops, produces a newsletter for writers, and does freelance editing. But her most important job is Grandma to five completely unspoiled grandchildren.
Thank you, this gentle reminder to keep moving, with wonderful examples, is a blessing.
Thank you for reading, Lisa. Examples always help me so much, and Lori gave some great ones.
Thank you. that means a great deal. Caregiving can ask so much of us, and I’m grateful if these words offered even a small moment of steadiness or encouragement along the way.
“A few gentle shifts” make a powerful difference. Thanks for the reminder, Lori.
Thank you so much. Gentle shifts can be powerful over time, especially in tender seasons. I’m glad it spoke to yoU. Blessings to you.
Perfectly timed as we are shifting into a new season of caregiving that I always knew was coming but now that it’s here, I’m a little overwhelmed. I’ve already been caregiving for my MIL for 20 years, but now we’ve reached the point seeking a dementia diagnosis can’t be ignored. Thanks for the reminders that I tend to forget during the difficult seasons.
Praying for wisdom and discernment during this time, Crystal. I’m glad you’re committed to guarding your own health.
Thank you for trusting this space with something so tender.
Long-term caregiving carries layers of love, grief, and exhaustion, and facing a dementia diagnosis can feel especially heavy, even when you knew it was coming.
I’m glad these reminders reached you in this season. Please remember to extend the same care to yourself that you so freely give to others. Sending you blessings.