I used to own a water bottle that had the words “Good Vibes Only” emblazoned across it. I took it with me to work, to yoga class, and anywhere else I might need to be hydrated, thinking it would bring a touch of positivity to my day. The saying was so cute and happy-sounding, but I eventually lost that bottle as well as my tolerance for phrases like that.
I stopped buying into the veneer of toxic positivity once I became the primary caregiver to my mother who has dementia and several chronic physical health conditions. I think only other caregivers know the special hell that can be our lives. Typical work days get punctuated with calls from doctor’s offices and your loved one. Sometimes you have to abandon work completely to go address a problem. Weekends drain away rapidly with a list of errands to run. Trying to balance all the other facets of your life with caregiving is like playing a never ending game of Tetris. There is always another crisis to manage — a trip to the emergency room, a distressed loved one needing you to help de-escalate them, a reaction to a new medication. Somehow the minutes of the day tick away and you are left lying in bed, wide awake, anxious about all the things you still need to do.
“Good vibes only” sounds pretty idiotic now, doesn’t it? It’s like telling someone to be happy that they’re not drowning when they are just keeping their head above water.
When your life is bombarded by ongoing stressors, you quickly learn how empty toxic positivity is, and yet caregivers continue to encounter it all the time. It took me a while to understand and recognize toxic positivity in action, but it boils down to this: toxic positivity is the insistence on maintaining a positive outlook no matter what. Most of us have likely encountered this type of attitude when someone dies. Those who offer condolences might say stuff like, “At least he’s not in pain” or “She’s in a better place now”. People reach for these sayings for lack of figuring out anything else effective to say. And these platitudes also come to caregivers in many forms. Here are a few common examples:
“What a blessing it is that you can be there for your mom.”
“At least she lives closer to you now.”
“Everything will work out.”
“Don’t feel that way.” (That way being sad, angry, scared, anxious, etc.)
These comments are always made with the best of intentions, but here is the truth: I don’t feel blessed, I don’t find comfort in how things could be worse, I often struggle to see how complex challenges will work out, and I can feel however I want to! Being a caregiver comes with all the emotions. Throughout this chapter of my life I have experienced depression and anxiety — words I do not use lightly as a mental health professional myself. Toxic positivity glosses over the messy and layered experiences of caregiving. The cheerful words fall flat — like a scoop of ice cream that just falls off the cone. It was supposed to be sweet, but it just ended up being a flop that did nothing to nourish me.
Since I have become a caregiver, I am more mindful than ever about what I say to people who are in pain. This goes for family, friends, and patients I see. I recognize that to witness someone else’s pain can be uncomfortable for many and I think it’s important to ask ourselves why that is. What are we trying to protect ourselves from? Or perhaps what are we running away from? Maybe we grew up in a home where displaying a range of emotions was discouraged. Maybe we are scared of someone else’s pain unearthing our own pain. When someone is hurting, they are vulnerable and even more so if they choose to share their inner process with you. That is a privilege and a place where we can connect deeply, wonderfully, powerfully, if we allow it to happen.
The next time you feel the urge to focus on positivity when someone else is sharing their pain, especially a burned out caregiver, stop planning the next thing you’re going to say and just listen. Be with them in that moment. Acknowledge whatever they’re feeling without judgement. And if you’re a little tongue-tied after what they have shared, that’s okay. You can be honest: “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here for you.” If someone could tell me that, I would gladly take it over toxic positivity any day.
Caregivers don’t need you to find the “right words” or be perfect; we’ve already seen life in all its grandest imperfections. We don’t need someone else to have all the answers (okay, sometimes we wish for that just so we could stop being the go-to person every time, but that convo is for another day). What we do need is genuine people in our corner who can sit alongside us and say, “Yeah, that really fucking sucks.” No sugarcoating here. We don’t even want comments about how we are “saints” and doing what you could never imagine doing. I’d rather that you imagine it. It’s called empathy.
Caregivers often feel isolated in our struggles and, while many of us may not admit it or ask for it, we need empathy. We need connection. Toxic positivity will always be a barrier to connection and that is why we must find more authentic ways of supporting each other. It’s going to require a little more emotional heavy lifting than pulling another “Everything happens for a reason” out of your quote bag, but it’s also going to help you become a more attuned, compassionate human. To love someone is to put in the effort. Caregivers are on call for our loved ones 24/7. We need people who are willing to put in the effort for us, too.
