By Catherine Bryson

‘Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody’ Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens)
You remember the group Pink Floyd, and the album the ‘Dark Side of the Moon’? Well, there is a side to you that stays private, and just as there’s your ‘Public Caregiver Persona’ and your ‘Innermost Caregiver Self’, so I give you a Caregiver Self-Care Tool (Tool #1, in what I hope will be a long and happy series of tools); that speaks to your Innermost Private Caregiver Self. (Which could just as easily speak to your Innermost Ex-Carer Self, for indeed once a caregiver you were, so will you always be.)
Life can be “lonelying” for caregivers. (A little creative wordplay here), people don’t always understand what you’re going through. I mean, the gut-wrenching emotional pain. Indeed, there can be an unbridgeable chasm between those who care for someone they love (or have done so), and those who don’t. So, in the depths of that great barrenness, reach out to your weary careworn self and write yourself a heartwarming self-compassionate letter. Almost as if you were your own caring parent, or doting aunt, or favourite grandparent, whichever suits you most.
Here now is a brief introduction to self-compassion theory. This teaching on what is called Compassionate Mind Training is based on the work of psychologist Paul Gilbert. In the Resources you will find the reference to a truly wonderful book (by his student) that will get you started in the practice of self-compassion if you so choose. The alternative is Kristin Neff’s book ‘Self-Compassion’ if that is a better fit for you (I include a reference to her work as well in the Resources).
In compassionate letter writing, we write about our difficulties from the perspective of our compassionate self, so as to get deeper insights and understand ourselves better.
Compassion has two parts:
- Feelings: We feel for others, we feel for ourselves
- Action-based: We seek to heal or help ourselves or others.
Therefore, compassion involves both thought and emotion, as well as action. For example, if you saw someone struggling in the water, you would not only show concern but also throw them a life preserver (or reach out a long stick that they can grab onto). Furthermore, if the waters were dark and murky, you would not only try to help but ensure your own safety as well.
These are the steps involved in compassionate letter writing. You do not have to follow them all:
- Find a quiet place to sit with yourself undisturbed for 15 or 20 minutes. (However, we live in a fast-paced world as caregivers, if you only have 5 or 10 minutes that’s okay too. No write or wrong here. Pardon the pun).
- Why are you writing this letter? Set a goal or intention.
- Identify a problem or area of difficulty. If multiple problems, choose the one that resonates the most right now.
- Try to connect with your compassionate self (like a true best friend), so you can see it’s not your fault. Life can be complicated, and so can human beings. Like author Mr. Chris Irons says, humans have ‘tricky’ brains. So true.
- At the same time, try to take responsibility for your actions or behaviour (or lack of action).
- Try to see if there is a better way or a ‘lighter’ way of looking at the problem or difficulty and see if you can think of one positive step you could take to help you deal with it better.
- Identify areas of challenge or obstacles you will need to overcome to take that step. Are there things you could do or put in place to make that first brave step more likely to happen?
- Give yourself support and thank yourself for taking the initiative—-maybe identify one person you could ask for help, support or guidance in taking that step.
- Read the letter back to yourself—note that you could write an abbreviated form on an app on your phone if you prefer typing to handwriting.
You can start the letter by saying ‘dear me’ or ‘dear friend’ for example, if that feels right.
Some people write letters like these and keep them in their wallet and pull them out and read them in times of difficulty. For instance, if you had to take your loved one to ER one night, it would be like someone holding your hand (again, you could use your smartphone). Write in the language that resonates most for you and don’t fret about grammar, spelling, or punctuation. Just to help you along, I’ve written a sample compassionate letter. Here it is:
‘Dear me,
You remember the time I lived in Paris in the Eighties and read that book on Palmistry that was so revealing? You found out your ‘number’ (everyone had one to describe their unique personality) was ‘5’ and that your biggest obstacle was fear.
Or should I say, a certain preponderance for sensitivity?
Every day a new mountain to climb.
For this reason, you indulged in certain behaviours as a means of mitigating what could be a somewhat difficult reality.
These days I try to engage in healthier behaviours.
They are not such Everests now as there were then.
But some days can be a real test.
It’s funny how people always say how ‘calm’ I seem. Nothing could be further from the truth!
You can try your ‘calming’ stone, that one you made out of clay. That one you are quite certain is imbued with special powers.
Or your volunteer jobs. Having something to do helps a lot.
And the dogs in your life. The cats, too, for that matter. Angels sent down from heaven, or so it would seem, that the ‘Red Thread of Destiny’ (see image above) sends you these remarkable beings (not just pets) from time to time. (The idea of the ‘Red Thread of Destiny’ comes from Chinese culture. You will read more about it in the image.)

And of course, your ‘colour therapy’ such as the ‘clownfish’ above.
Nurture the ‘kid’ in you.
Discover your inner clown. And why not? Humour is an excellent way to deal with stressful moments. Remember that time you were in a Team Meeting about your late father, and you could feel the tension in the room but then you suddenly said, “Yeah well… he’s a Taurus.” And everybody laughed and all the tension melted away!
At least for a few seconds.
Never forget that clown.
She will not let you down.
So, you see, there are tools at your disposal, to deal with those nightly dancing macabres (ghoulish), skeletons. (Or should I say: ‘skelingtons’.)
Your friend forever and ever,
Catherine’
I am writing to the writer that lives in all of you, in all of us. Indeed, if you have read this far, then you are every writer’s friend. Truly.
So, I raise a toast to you and indeed all caregivers (and ex-carers, like me) everywhere. We are heroes, all of us. And may you join me in that toast, even if it be in the small hours of the night. (That delicious uninterrupted privacy.) With or without inebriating accompaniment (or similar).
Resources
‘The Compassionate Mind Workbook: A Step-By-Step Guide To Developing Your Compassionate Self’ (Robinson, 2017) by Chris Irons and Elaine Beaumont.
Required reading for all caregivers. Whatever the stage of their journey. Nevertheless, requires sustained commitment and focus on your part. (Just saying.)
‘Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself’ (2011) by Kristin Neff.
A little less ‘intellectual’ than the Chris Irons book, also, shorter. A better fit for some folks.
Greater Good Magazine: Science-Based Insights for a Meaningful Life
https://greatergood.berkeley.edu
A great resource. And free of charge (so far).
Images:
The Clownfish (I coloured)
The mural ‘The Red Thread of Destiny’. Fascinating.





















