This as-told-to-essay is based on a conversation with Naomi Holbrook, 51 who is based in Sussex, UK. It has been edited for length and clarity.
Being 51, single, and child-free, I’ve stopped counting the number of times people have commented on how easy it must be to take care of my 92-year-old dad, because to them, I have no other commitments and therefore all the time in the world to dedicate to him.
Other people I know who are juggling caring for older parents with raising children often comment on how they believe my situation is far easier than theirs. I have had many people say to me, “You haven’t got children, you haven’t got a partner — you’ve only got you to think about.”
The comments have been coming for years. In my 30s and 40s, it was all about how I needed to settle down. Then I would get asked whether I was worried about who would take care of me when I get old. I’ve always felt subject to other people’s opinions. Even when they don’t say something, I often have this feeling as though I’m being judged.
My dad is one of my biggest priorities
I made the decision in 2023 to move my dad 300 miles from where we grew up in Devon to Sussex, where I live, so I could be close to him as his age advances and his health deteriorates. He’s become one of the biggest priorities in my life.
My dad lives in an independent living complex for seniors about five streets away from me. He has a carer twice a week, but more for socializing than domestic and personal tasks, which, despite his dementia, he’s able to manage. He showers, shaves, and dresses himself every day, opting for a shirt and tie. He has a daily routine: catching the bus into town to get coffee and cake, and heating up a microwave meal every evening. I see him regularly throughout the week.
I’m appreciative of how close we are, especially when it has been complicated at times. My mom died when I was 19, and my dad is of the generation where you don’t talk about your feelings — you just keep calm and carry on, as the British mantra goes.
I do have an older sister, but she, her husband, and their child live in Cheshire, about 260 miles from where my dad lived before. She’s not involved in his care at all, and we don’t really speak about it. I’ve just accepted that he’s my responsibility.
Courtesy of Naomi Holbrook
My life has been greatly affected by caring for my dad
Now, I’m very much my dad’s main companion and source of support. Since he’s moved, he’s had Covid twice, an acute head injury, multiple falls, fractures, and a stroke, which have involved hospital stays and appointments, and further confusion when you take into account his dementia.
Because I’m self-employed, I’ve been able to be flexible with my work whenever I’ve had to drop everything to be by his side. I’ve done client Zoom calls from my dad’s living room while he’s been asleep. I published my book last year, which I wrote from hospital waiting rooms.
There is no work-life balance — everything is just integrated, which is something I talk to my clients about a lot. I work full-time on my coaching and mentoring business and spend weekends catching up on not just my life admin but my dad’s, too. Or I will be catching up on work I couldn’t do because I took time out during the week to take him to a hospital appointment, which I have to make for him, and put in his calendar.
Socializing with friends has had to take a back seat, because caring for my dad can be so all-consuming. And while I haven’t dated for about 10 years, I would like to be in a situation where, if I met the right person, I could pursue it, but it’s just not possible right now. I hardly go on vacation as it is, and keep work trips short, in case something happens to my dad.
I’m trying to make the best of the situation. I started to feel like the relationship with my dad had turned into me being his secretary, so I am now conscious of having a fun day out with him every few weeks.
I’m aware that the time I have left with him is limited, so however things are with him now, it won’t be forever. There will be another chapter in my life.
