It takes time to find your dance.

When I finally liked going home again.

The hours between 4 and 7 pm were the worst.

I hated going home. That empty house spoke to an aloneness I hadn’t felt since my 30s. What used to be a building of welcome, of doing, of life and love…held nothing for me. It’s just underscored what I had lost.

Over the years, home had been so many things to me. Before Lee, it was more of a stopping place between career travel and vacations. After Lee and I met and for the next 20 years it became cherished; it was the refuge Lee and I created and where we built our life together. We didn’t have children, as we met later in life, but there was no less love and commitment because there was just the 2 of us. Indeed, our bond was strengthened because we had ourselves to commit to alone.

Home was where we came together after a work day. Where we planned, improved, shared. It was where we did absolutely nothing, together. And with an inner calm and peace I don’t believe either of us had experienced before. It was grounding.

Home Changed

During caregiving, home evolved. It became a place of worry, of mood swings, confusion and instability. It was a place where I watched our life come apart. The ground fell out from from under us.

When I was caring for Lee, I used to find moments of joy, here and there. I would include Lee in as much as he could handle. I’d read a few chapters of a book, or take a short walk to get outside. Meet a friend. Wear my favorite sweater. They were all moments I needed to make it thru the day.

Living in the moment was all I got. And for a natural planner, that is really hard. My schedule, my routine, was a big part of who I was - how I ran my business and organized life.

When Lee moved, caregiving didn’t stop. He still needed support, care, had daily needs. It was necessary to fill in the gaps that the staff at memory care couldn’t fill. Even though he lived somewhere else, I had to deliver. So home was there, but Lee still called me.

Even so, there were lots of moments to fill in between. The hours between 4 and 7 were especially hard.

I actually paced the rooms. As one who plans - a lot - I was trying to find a rhythm, a routine. I was looking for my own dance, my way of being in the world. I could get through the morning hours with errands and chores, but the afternoon and evening were empty. I wandered the house, unable to focus on a project, a goal.

A Turning Point

When it became clear I really couldn’t visit Lee anymore - any disruption to his routine created confusion and agitation - I started to dig myself out of this hole:

I prepared to go back to work:

• I took the courses and studied for the exam to re-establish my real estate license.

• I interviewed with area brokers, to find the right fit for me - a team environment that also rewarded the entrepreneurial spirit a real estate business requires.

• I updated my wardrobe to reflect the Vicki I wanted the world to see now.

I “got out of my own head”

• I stopped reflecting on the Alzheimer’s caregiving journey and the sorrow for what Lee had to go through. That was a force that was completely out of my control, so I resolved to work on what I could. It became time to start planning and stop fretting, stop regretting. And if I fell down while trying, then I got up off the floor and kept going.

• I took a look around my physical surroundings and made a list of what I needed to uplevel, starting with my closet. The comfortable and easily maintained clothes of caregiving years yielded to something a little more stylish and flattering - and communicated who I wanted the world to see now. Thank you Tamara Gaudin!

• And I started writing. Working with mentor and coach Joya Dass I developed a process for writing and created three pillars about which I write-Belonging to Self, Community and Home, after caring for my husband with Alzheimer’s. I lose sense of time when engrossed in this work - I even forget to check my phone! I write in part because it helps me work through grief, and I write to pay it forward to those currently caring for spouses with dementia - knowing now that there is another season after caregiving and there is hope. And that is even stronger medicine.

A New View

Now that I am on the other side of caregiving, and since Lee passed, home is gradually becoming something else:

• It’s my command center. Where I plan, prepare and execute on work, travel and writing. Not necessarily in that order.

• It’s where I create. A raw idea finds it way to paper (screen), edited and refined into a final writing. The ideas keep flowing.

• It’s where I-finally-rest. The view from my porch, trees swaying in the breeze, water flowing by the house, are calming and restorative. I can breathe and sit with my thoughts. Without the guilt. Without the regret. Most of the time.

Finding My Dance in the Present

Now - this home is where I am finding my new dance…the rhythm and routine of a life I am discovering. There is a flow, a fluidity, that I am not resisting. Some days I am reflective, some days I am emotional, and most days I am energized to move forward.

Tender Warriors take it all in. With resolve and intent.

A life with cherished friends, old and new, creating new experiences and memories, mingled with the love, experiences and memories of another life lived - and what’s coming next.

I don’t know what the future brings, but I know I have created the beginning of something good.

Samuel Beckett : “Dance first. Think later. It’s the natural order.”

I was a caregiver for my husband with Alzheimer’s. I write about Belonging to Self, Community and Home, both during and after caregiving.

If this would be of value to you to hear more about how I restored my sense of home after 4 years of caregiving, Subscribe to Vicki’s Substack, “The Tender Warrior.”

As my thank you for subscribing, receive the free download, 7 Ways to Find Your Voice Again, simple things that help you remember you are more than your caregiving activities.