'Relearning Hope In A Time Of Darkness'

Third Letter from a Caregiver Winter Season 2025/26

The ‘Letters from a Caregiver’ Collaboration series continues with this article, the third letter of the Winter 2025/26 Season.

This season’s letters:

1. The Winter Season of ‘Letters from a Caregiver.’ Life’s Tapestry: the nuances, choices, and caregiving despite the fear. By Victoria

2. ‘You Each Deserve Your Own Life’ By Jodi Sh. Doff

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Hello, Friends and a warm welcome to the new Carer Mentor subscribers.

If you’re new to Carer Mentor, you can learn more about me through Who Started Carer Mentor and Why?

I know this is a busy week, especially in the US with Thanksgiving, and in the UK, deciphering the impact of the Chancellor’s Autumn Budget on our household finances. So, thank you for being here and for using some of your precious time to read this article. I appreciate your consideration and your presence.

For the last few weeks, I’ve struggled to navigate cynicism and disappointment, waffling between forced optimism and a striving for hope.¹

To reassure everyone - I’m fine, we’re fine. I pull myself back into this mindful moment, and I’m counting our blessings. I compare the beautiful calm I have now with the hypervigilant dark days of walking on eggshells back in 2019, and hand on my heart, I can do a deep, warm exhale, especially because I can sleep now.

And yet, I’ve felt a dark cloud start to blur my vision, beautifully articulated by

Christine Vaughan Davies

as ‘soul weariness.’ She explores this in her article, ‘Soul Weariness: A Recipe for When You’re Existentially Exhausted’. She says, ‘It’s a different kind of tired. Not just physical fatigue, but a whole season of emotional and spiritual heaviness, like something has been quietly pressing on the soul.’ I encourage you to read her reflections.

Maybe you’ve felt that your empathy and compassion are tapped out. More people are seeking your support, and you’re wondering how much more you can give. You’re feeling more vulnerable and exposed, but hiding under the quilt isn’t an option.

The phrase I’ve been turning in my head is ‘Please don’t steal my joy! How can I offer hope? How can I feel hope? How can I mindfully savour the light? It must be here if darkness is here.²

And so, I’m writing a letter to my 2019 self, to the time that was the darkest, most hypervigilant period of caring for my father.

But this letter is not about bringing light to that dark time, because the light was already there. The seismic events of those days gave us the sharpest, most piercing joy I’ve experienced to date.

No, this letter is about reminding the me of today, about how I managed to find hope within the darkness back then, and remember what I’ve discovered since 2019.

Relearning hope in a time of Darkness - what insights reaffirm the lessons I learnt, when my pain was the greatest? A head, heart and gut realignment, communing with myself!

Dear 2019 me

If you received my earlier letters, then you know I didn’t tell you how bad things were going to get. I’m sorry. How could I have conveyed everything you’re going through right now?

The rage you have inside is the complex fear, exhaustion, love, grief and real anger you have at Dad. It’s normal. All of it is indivisible from the whole cauldron of emotions that are stirring inside you. There’s nothing wrong with you. Please don’t guilt yourself.

Every unexpected thump or shout is a flinch-jump-to-action. I know, I’m you. There’s no calm, only hypervigilance, sleeping with one eye and ear open, which means you don’t sleep. Sleep! We have a more profound respect for time and sleep now.

Who knew how energising forty minutes on a treadmill could be, not a performative measure, but an energising necessity.

You’re sustaining yourself in a way that I admire and respect. You’re fitter than you ever were. But I know you feel like a tightly wound spring. You’re doing what you need to do, at the sharpest point of action, hopping from one leg to another, like a puppet whose strings are yanked cruelly by the uncontrollable, unpredictable symptoms of dad’s heart failure.

Fit and agile, AND holding in the hurt and secretly questioning yourself. I’m hugging you with all my heart and soul. I’m staying with you for a while.

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Your focus is clear: emulating strength while holding the darkness at bay. You’ve no time to seek assurances, so I’m hoping I can give you some.

This isn’t about teaching you something new; you already feel this in your gut. Your heart will resonate. I’m hoping my words will resonate with your brain, to appease that inner critic.

This is also for me in 2025. I need to remember what you’re going through and how you navigated it all. You’re doing an amazing job of juggling and prioritising. You’re doing enough, and the best way you can.

Let’s not compare our pain and suffering to others' experiences.

Brené Brown (27 March 2020)³ explains that comparative suffering is the practice of ranking our own pain against others. Judging our pain to either deny or permit ourselves to feel our emotions. She says we do this because of a scarcity mentality, driven by fear and the belief that empathy is a limited resource. Instead of providing relief, this comparison-driven mindset leads to feelings of shame, isolation, and diminished self-worth.

“Comparative suffering is a function of fear and scarcity. Falling down, screwing up, and facing hurt often lead to bouts of second-guessing our judgment, our self-trust, and even our worthiness.”

“The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough. Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world.” - Brené Brown, Rising Strong.

You feel that, right? When we share empathy, we share our common humanity and a deeper connection.

Here in 2025, many people are suffering. You’d be horrified at the violence and injustices being inflicted on marginalised, vulnerable groups and individuals. I catch myself trying to qualify feelings, dismissing or muting thoughts.

Let’s give ourselves the grace of heartfelt recognition of what we’re experiencing rather than inflict comparative suffering on ourselves (thank you, for sparking my thoughts and hope,

Tina Hedin

⁴).

We can feel our pain AND offer empathy to support others. It’s not about choosing one over the other. We’re entitled to grace and compassion, and so are others in pain.

Reclaiming hope, relearning what it means to us

I remember how hard it was to think about anything in the future. Where you are, there’s a certain inevitability you’re having to reconcile in your head.

Dad will pass soon, but I know that knowledge offers no comfort, only grief. Compounded with fighting with him about calling paramedics nearly every week. And, you’re feeling guilty about contemplating ‘when IS he going to die?’.

It’s natural. You’ve been grieving since 2015, and now everything is so unstable: his pain, the dementia, the cancer, his instability walking. He’s so tired he doesn’t know where to put himself to rest - literally.

Gallows humour and dark thoughts are part of you, raging at everything he’s having to suffer—the unfairness, the indignities of poonamis, the loss of reasoning. All. Of. It Cruel. For him, and you and Mum.

And yet, together with you now, I remember the hope.

With Hope. By Victoria

Hope is not a silver lining 
or a positive gritty-push of ‘no matter what.’
There are hopes in the darkest of hours and the deepest of caverns
for a small glimmer of light
or a trigger memory to re-feel the essence of a well-loved soul.

Material things can be a wish
but seldom a deep heart-held hope
A want, desire, or wish for possession
feels like a dopamine craving
not an inner yearning.

There’s something soulful about meditating on a hope
perhaps a prayer, or faith
or leaning into a belief
To hope for something not yet here 
or sustain the best of now.

Perhaps it doesn’t have to be miraculous or something big
Can we hope that hope’s still here?
I can still feel hope
The crescendo of its potential
and fear the loss of it.

Hope is a human aspiration of
loving this life
despite what it is giving us today
For what it could be tomorrow
Human-ing hard

With hope.

I wasn’t feeling hopeless, even in the worst of events. You’re in a no man’s land, a liminal space of not knowing what hope looks like. ‘Can we hope that hope’s still here? I can still feel hope. The crescendo of its potential and fear the loss of it.

I hoped Dad would pass peacefully—not under stress, or in the hospital, but comfortable at home with dignity—a big hope.

Hope is ‘it could turn out well’, a potential that flows with the fear and uncertainty. Optimism requires a certainty, ‘ it will turn out well.’

Between the two, hope has the space for intention, choice, action and agency. And it also allows us the ability to express our vulnerability. It’s where empathy can live, and connection can begin. We do what we can and hope.

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I needed some evidence to support what I felt in my heart and gut.

September 9 2024, Maya Shankar interviewed Professor Jamil Zaki⁵ in the ‘Slight Change of Plans’ podcast.

Psychologist Jamil Zaki studies the science of human connection, and he believes cynicism is holding us back. Cynicism isn’t just harmful for our health, he says, it’s also misguided. He talks to Maya Shankar about a powerful, alternative mindset that can help: what he calls “hopeful skepticism.”

Four quotes by Jamil Zaki from the podcast that helps to recalibrate my head, heart and gut alignment:

“A cynic might see Injustice just like the rest of us do, but cynicism suggests that there’s nothing really to be done about it because if a broken system reflects our broken nature, if the worst of us is who we really are, then any change any attempt to improve the world or the systems that we live in is doomed from the outset.”

“Hope takes the deep uncertainty that we have about the future as the place where our actions matter and so hopeful people tend to focus on their agency and they think well there’s a vision of the world where things could be better I’m not saying that’s what will happen but it’s a possibility and in order for that possibility to become more likely I need to take action.”

Hope is not a naive way of approaching the world it’s an accurate response to the best data available.

“and the reason that I call it hopeful skepticism is because our default tends to be negative. When you adopt a skeptical perspective you tend to move towards a slightly more hopeful and positive place because you’re correcting for the biases that we already have.

I hope you’ll listen to the podcast at the next respite break. Seeing the goodness in the actions done by others can reaffirm our hopes for the future. Seek out the good in others. Trust that we can build hope.

Hope is not a naive way of approaching the world it’s an accurate response to the best data available. - Jamil Zakil

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5 things you’re doing to sustain your resiliency, and hope.

1. The treadmill sessions, not just to stay physically fit, but it enables us to let go of mental criticism and rumination and to focus on what’s needed in the moment.

2. A mindful focus on love and hope. Even in the darkness, these connect you to the joy in the moment. It’s not whimsy or naive. It feels vulnerable and values-aligned.

3. Connect with other carers, connect with your chosen family especially in dark months. Empathy is not finite. Don’t forget the extrovert social connector is still within you!

4. Music and more music. You know.

5. Hope also requires self compassion, to avoid ‘comparative suffering.’ You, like anyone else, deserve kindness.

Sending love and hugs. Life is going to get harder, I’m sorry, but I’m here in 2025. You are going to be okay. We’ll keep hoping for ourselves and others.

Love, Me

The Closing Rapid Fire Questions

My responses:

1. Courage to me is…Walking forward whilst carrying the fear. Leading with curiosity despite the uncertainty. Living my values-aligned definition of thriving

2. Thinking of someone you admire/respect, name three of their standout qualities/characteristics: Empathy, the ability to defuse conflict with grace and being true to themselves-authenticity

3. What’s one quote/movie/book that’s inspired you?

   Susan David’s Emotional Agility: Get Unstuck, Embrace Change, and Thrive in Work and Life (Published August 3, 2017) and gave a TED Talk, ‘The Gift and Power of Emotional Courage’ in November 2017.

A prompt for reader discussion:

When things are feeling dark, and you’re weary, what most easily sparks hope for you?

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1. Frustrations and disappointments have been stirred up by the remnants of the October slide + the seemingly obvious omission of unpaid carers from an important inquiry report ‘Keep Britain Working’ which also required hours of wading through reports and data. Systems and macro events have been pushing me towards negativity.

2. Thich Nhat Hanh’s ‘No Mud No Lotus The Art of Transforming Suffering (p. 8). ’

According to the creation story in the biblical book of Genesis, God said, “Let there be light.” I like to imagine that light replied, saying, “God, I have to wait for my twin brother, darkness, to be with me. I can’t be there without the darkness.” God asked, “Why do you need to wait? Darkness is there.” Light answered, “In that case, then I am also already there.”

If we focus exclusively on pursuing happiness, we may regard suffering as something to be ignored or resisted. We think of it as something that gets in the way of happiness. But the art of happiness is also and at the same time the art of knowing how to suffer well. If we know how to use our suffering, we can transform it and suffer much less. Knowing how to suffer well is essential to realizing true happiness.

3. March 27, 2020 Brené Brown ‘Unlocking Us podcast’ on Comparative Suffering, the 50/50 Myth, and Settling the Ball strategies for falling apart, staying connected and kind, and giving ourselves permission to feel hard things.

“Comparative suffering is a function of fear and scarcity. Falling down, screwing up, and facing hurt often lead to bouts of second-guessing our judgment, our self-trust, and even our worthiness. I am enough can slowly turn into Am I really enough? If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s that fear and scarcity immediately trigger comparison, and even pain and hurt are not immune to being assessed and ranked. My husband died and that grief is worse than your grief over an empty nest. I’m not allowed to feel disappointed about being passed over for promotion when my friend just found out that his wife has cancer. You’re feeling shame for forgetting your son’s school play? Please—that’s a first-world problem; there are people dying of starvation every minute. The opposite of scarcity is not abundance; the opposite of scarcity is simply enough. Empathy is not finite, and compassion is not a pizza with eight slices. When you practice empathy and compassion with someone, there is not less of these qualities to go around. There’s more. Love is the last thing we need to ration in this world.”

Brené Brown is a research professor at the University of Houston, where she holds the Huffington Foundation Endowed Chair at the Graduate College of Social Work. She also holds the position of Professor of Practice in Management at The University of Texas at Austin McCombs School of Business.

4. “Human/Parents Interview: Tina Hedin and Grace & Gratitude. Pull up a seat to the table and get ready to listen to Tina Hedin of Letters From a New Life!” By

Tina Hedin

and

Katrina Donham

“I’m not hard on myself anymore. Maybe just for a minute, now and then, but I quickly remember: I don’t need to contribute to my own suffering. I think it’s okay to take as much happiness as I can find, every day.”

5. Jamil Zaki is a professor of psychology at Stanford University, director of the Stanford Social Neuroscience Lab, and author of two books: Hope for Cynics and The War for Kindness.