On a recent long drive, my guy tunes into the podcast, “Smartless,” with Jason Bateman. Kris Jenner from the Kardashians is the guest. She shares that after a long day of shooting for their reality show, she experiencess what she calls decision fatigue.
Kaboom! It hits me like an epiphany bomb. That’s what I’ve been experiencing this last year.
Decision fatigue.
Making them. The weight of them. The self-doubt of wondering, am I doing the right thing? Decisions I make for and about my mom without her consent and against her wishes. You may feel it in other ways as a young working mom, entrepreneur, through divorce or other loss. More on that in a bit.
I Google it. My type has a name: Surrogate Decision Fatigue or Caregiver Choice Overload. It’s when you process logistical options while carrying the emotional weight of choosing for them.
Yup, I got it bad.
Mom, we need to go to the ER. No, just leave me here, I will be all right. No, we have to go, I stress, you have Covid and you’re not eating or drinking. I call the ambulance and force her out of bed. Oh Dyanne, she says, it’s not that bad. Her minimization of danger and her own safety is how I become the parent and she the child.
She weighs in at 89 pounds and is dehydrated. Hallucinations follow. She says, why did you bring me here, I wasn’t that sick. The hospital does not release her to go home. She is recommended for skilled nursing only.
No, I can just go home to recuperate, she says. No, you can’t, I decide. I find a skilled nursing home that will take a post-covid patient. Daily she demands to go home and says being there is worthless. After three weeks of rehab, the staff recommends her to personal care, another type of nursing facility. I try to find a way for her to go home. Do the right thing they say. I feel pressure from both sides.
Do I take her to where I live or keep her in the city where she has lived her entire life? I decide again. I find places near me, visit them, and pick the one that seems best suited for her. She insists she’s only staying a few days. What clothes and personal papers do I take? Coats shoes, underwear, bras, personal items? What are her favorite things? I pack like she is not coming home, just in case. Filling out the paperwork for personal care is like getting a mortgage, only worse.
The medication for blood thinning she is on costs triple here. Figure out which medication to use, what medical specialists to coordinate, appointments to make. Continue paying her bills. Set up new auto pays.
Her room is small. She complains. I take her to see another facility and fill out the paperwork to place her there. She does not want to go. She stays.
We are now six months into it. Mom is sliding further and further into cognitive impairment, daily confusion, paranoia and probably dementia. She thinks someone is using her shower and broke her hair dryer, which works fine. She believes a thief comes into her room at night and steals her Cokes. She hides her wallet under the mattress and forgets where she put it. Someone took it, she says. Yesterday her entire closet of spring clothes went missing. We found them in another resident’s closet where she probably took them to hide from the “witches” who came into her room and told her to pack up her stuff which she did. All of her things are now in a suitcase and shopping bags. She thinks the staff keeps moving her to different rooms. Daily phone calls of panic, dissatisfaction, confusion, and requests for help or to just take her home, where she can manage just fine, she says.
Randomly she has clarity. I want to see those bank statements, she demands. The next day she thinks she needs a ride home from work.
I permanently change her address. Like dominoes all addresses need to be changed.
Now, do I sell her house? Yes, it’s time, I think. What of her belongings do I keep, give away, throw away, donate? Where do I put all of the stuff I bring to my home with very little storage space. More papers to sign.
Decision fatigue…Caregiver Choice Overload
In my lifetime I’ve felt the weight of carrying the emotional responsibility of the family and of making big decisions because my ex-husband had such a difficult time deciding. It was something I could do with some confidence. I never really thought about the accompanying fatigue of it all. As women, I know you know what I’m talking about.
Decision fatigue can happen anywhere a woman has spent too long carrying the weight of everyone and everything. It lives in the entrepreneur endlessly strategizing her next move, the woman in transition trying to rediscover herself, the mother managing the emotional temperature of an entire household, and the woman who has become so disconnected from her own needs that even simple choices feel overwhelming. When life becomes a constant stream of decisions, obligations, comparisons, and emotional labor, our souls grows tired too.
Sometimes what looks like indecision is actually exhaustion. Sometimes procrastination is a nervous system asking for safety, spaciousness, and rest. And sometimes the most loving thing a woman can do for herself is stop demanding perfection from every choice she makes. There is wisdom in slowing down long enough to hear your own inner voice again.
Healing decision fatigue often involves reconnecting with your self-trust and intuition. I’m learning this firsthand. Not every choice has to be perfect. I can choose again. Not every path has to guarantee certainty before we take the first step. Sometimes clarity comes after movement, not before it. And sometimes the soul is simply asking us to stop living in constant reaction long enough to hear our own inner wisdom again.
I’m learning not to answer the phone and let it go to voicemail so I have time to process my mom’s latest crisis before reacting. I decide when, if and how often I visit. I am starting to give myself time in the morning before I begin her to-do list. I’m creating emotional and physical boundaries. We planned some long weekends away and are thinking about a real vacation. After months of writing and asking for guidance about my mom from my journal or just plain venting, I’ve started asking, what about me, what do I need in this moment?
Hello, Dyanne, are you still in there?
I’m here.
