This Shit Is Bananas, Caregiver + Spectator Checklist
This Shit Is Bananas, Part Five
Caregiver + Spectator Checklist
Print this. Stick it on the fridge. Hand it to the people who “had no idea.”
For Caregivers: You Don’t Have to Shatter First
You are allowed to act before you break. Use this list as permission, not a reward.
1. Reality Check: Am I Cracking?
Check anything that’s true right now:
I’m running on broken sleep most nights.
My shoulders sit up by my ears.
I say “It’s fine, I’ve got it” when it absolutely is not fine.
“You’re so strong” lands like a gut punch, not a compliment.
I forget my own meds, appointments, or basic needs.
I feel invisible or dismissed when I talk about how hard this is.
If you checked even one, you’re not being dramatic. You’re under‑reporting.
2. Boundaries You’re Allowed to Have
You do not have to earn these by collapsing:
“I’m not available for that.”
“Evening visits don’t work anymore.”
“I can’t add anything else without something breaking.”
“If X doesn’t shift, I’ll have to make a different care decision.”
Pick one sentence you’ll use this week:
_______________________________
Post it somewhere you’ll see it.
3. One Thing to Stop Doing
You’re allowed to put one thing down now, not later.
A chore I secretly resent: _____________________
A recurring favor or task I no longer have capacity for: _____________________
Script:
“I’m not available to do that anymore. You’ll need to find another solution.”
No justification. No three‑paragraph explanation.
4. Sleep is Life Support, Not a Luxury
Circle one to focus on this week:
No calls/texts after ___ p.m. unless it’s a true emergency.
No visitors after dinner.
I will protect one uninterrupted block of sleep, even if it’s shorter than I want.
Script:
“I don’t function safely without sleep. I’m enforcing quiet hours from—to .”
5. Ask for Concrete Help
Check one thing you’ll ask someone to take over:
One appointment (transport + waiting + follow‑up)
One afternoon of supervision so I can leave the house
One weekly task (laundry, groceries, meds pickup, bills)
Script:
“Can you handle [specific task] on [day/time]? That would take a lot off my plate.”
If they dodge, minimize, or guilt‑trip you? That’s information. Not proof you asked wrong. Move on.
6. Let People Be Disappointed
Reminders:
Their disappointment is not your emergency.
A boundary is not an invitation to argue.
You are not selfish for needing help.
You are not weak for having a breaking point.
Check to remind yourself:
I am a human being with a nervous system, not a machine.
For Spectators: How Not to Be Useless
If you love a caregiver, this is your homework. No halos, no heroics — just basic human decency.
1. Believe Them the First Time
When a caregiver says, “It’s rough,” assume:
It’s worse, not better, than they’re saying.
They are under‑sharing by default.
They’ve already edited this story to protect you.
Script:
“Thank you for telling me. I believe you.”
2. Ask the Right Questions
Don’t just ask about the person with Alzheimer’s. Ask about the caregiver.
Use at least one of these this week:
“How are you sleeping?”
“What part of this has felt heaviest this week?”
“What’s one thing — logistical, emotional, or physical — I could actually take off your plate?”
Then shut up and listen.
3. Make Concrete, Time‑Bound Offers
Never say: “Let me know if you need anything.” That’s code for “I feel good about myself without actually helping.”
Instead, pick one:
“I can be at your house Saturday from 1–4 so you can leave. Does that help?”
“I’m at the store; I’m buying your groceries. What three things are you low on?”
“I can take over her next appointment — ride, wait time, everything. Can we put that on my calendar?”
If they say no, try again another week. Consistency > one grand gesture.
4. Respect the Caregiver’s Boundaries
When you hear:
“Evening visits don’t work anymore.”
“We can’t do long outings now.”
“You can’t drop in without calling.”
You do not:
Argue.
Guilt‑trip.
Compare it to “how it used to be.”
You do:
Say, “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll work with that.”
Remember: they’re doing risk management, not being difficult.
5. Update Your Expectations
Alzheimer’s is a shapeshifter. You might see:
charm,
lucidity,
“she seemed fine when I was there.”
The caregiver might be seeing:
1 a.m. paranoia,
accusations,
panic,
wandering,
explosive meltdowns.
Both are true. Check yourself:
I will not use my brief, curated visit to judge their 24/7 reality.
6. Stay When It’s Uncomfortable
You don’t need the perfect script. You do need a spine.
Try:
“I don’t know what to say, but I don’t want you going through this alone.”
Then back it up with:
Showing up when you say you will.
Checking in after the novelty wears off.
Not disappearing when things get messy.
Support is measured in who’s still there six months from now, not who cried the hardest once.
Bottom Line
For caregivers:
I do not have to shatter to be taken seriously.
I can call this unsustainable while I’m still on my feet.
I am allowed to need support and set limits.
For spectators:
I will believe caregivers before the crisis.
I will offer real, concrete help — not just words.
I will respect limits, even when they inconvenience me.
This shit is still bananas.
We may not be able to fix Alzheimer’s — but we can absolutely stop pretending caregivers have to disappear in plain sight for everyone else to stay comfortable.
That starts with this checklist, and what you actually do with it.
