'The Light We Carry' By Victoria
The Seventh 'Letter from a Caregiver,' Winter Season 2025/26 .
The ‘Letters from a Caregiver’ Collaboration series continues with this article, the seventh letter of the Winter 2025/26 Season.
Previous letters, this season:
The Winter Season of ‘Letters from a Caregiver.’ Life’s Tapestry: the nuances, choices, and caregiving despite the fear. By Victoria
‘Relearning Hope In A Time Of Darkeness’ By Victoria
‘You Published Your Book! And Now What?’ By Cindy Martindale
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If you’re new to Carer Mentor, you can learn more about me through Who Started Carer Mentor and Why?
Dear Friends,
Merry Christmas! I hope you’re having a good day - whatever that may look like for you.
I was going to share Christmas pop classics, or some Michael Bublé, but this is the playlist I’ve had on repeat the last couple of weeks: Relaxing Christmas.
Some may call it melancholic. I call it ‘helping me steady my breathing and sustain my calm.’ - a personalised ‘downregulation’ tool.
If you’re not familiar with downregulation I recommend reading this ‘How to Down-regulate in Times of Emotional Distress’ :
we can intentionally practice activating our parasympathetic nervous system in order to slow our heart rate and adrenaline production, allowing us to relax and regulate. Breathing practices, humming, and other grounding practices stimulate the vagus nerve and help us regulate our emotions.
Yep, try humming for a couple of minutes non-stop. It works.
Mum and I have much to be thankful for this Christmas, yet my heart aches for friends. Do we learn to carry the paradoxical feelings more easily with each year? I’m not sure.
I hope to keep hoping. I want to see the light amidst the dark. So, I keep reminding myself to stay open to what appears.
In today’s letter, on Christmas Day, I hope this brings you some light, nostalgia and warmth.
Author’s Bio: I’m Victoria, based in the UK. I resigned from a ‘big’ corporate job to help my Mum care for Dad until his passing in 2020. Now, I offer my couple of decades of leading global teams by mentoring business clients around my main priority—caring for Mum. A tragic twist liberated me from the societal definitions of ambition, and I’m living my bespoke version of thriving. ❤️
I launched Carer Mentor on my father’s birthday, the first without him in 2020. I started this fifth incarnation of the Website on Substack in October 2023. Thank you for being here!
The Light We Carry
Dear Victoria of the late 70s
Hello, little one. Don’t be scared. You. Me. We’re each other.
[Opening my arms, you approach tentatively at first, then we fiercely hug each other]
Your shiny halo over your pudding bowl haircut is gleaming in the light. Jet black, smooth as silk, not a thin, white thread in sight. The young girl stares at me, sideways, cheekily, full of questions.
“Did you get newsprint on your bottom again when Mum was cutting your hair?” We giggle, nodding at each other knowingly. I’d wiggle as Mum cut around the bowl (literally), and short spikes of hair would get everywhere.
She’d lay the broadsheets down in front of the TV. I’d sit cringing, obediently waiting for the snip snip to end.
I remember being an avid TV addict, lying with my head in my hands a couple of feet away from the huge brown box.
Sometimes I’d have my plastic tray with plasticine colours in front of me, creating animals or pots. Other times, I’d have my pencil cases stuffed with colours and a big sketchbook out, drawing whilst the cartoons played. (Remember these?)
Sitting with younger me, I remember how creative I was. The ‘Etch a Sketch’, ‘The Sketch-O-Graph’, ‘Spirograph’. Creating patterns and making up stories. I used to record myself singing using Dad’s old tape recorder.
‘What are you listening to on your tape recorder today, hon?’
‘Whistle Down The Wind.’ Ahh yeah.
‘Do you have your black case with records in it?’
‘Durrr, of course..I play the ‘Water Babies’1 story the most, ‘The Rescuers’ is fun though. Those are the big records. I’ve got ‘Tiger Feet’ and ‘Give a Little Love, Take a Little Love’ (I just realised it was the Bay City Rollers, 1975!)
I can see my younger self, proudly announcing how grown-up I am in my taste of music. It’s sweet to see how eager and earnest I am. Yearning to grow up. Full of light and potential.
Stop poking me. Okay, okay show me your books. The little girl’s kneeling to pull out the big red journal book with the soft-padded, plastic front.
The familiar white bookcase is stuffed full. A simple wood, three tier structure, solid and sturdy. We can’t remember where Dad picked it up, but he did a pretty good job of painting it. He was never great at DIY; always better at doctoring!
All the Noel Streatfield books are lined up together, next to ‘The Chronicles of Narnia’, Alan Garner’s ‘The Owl Service’ peeks out and you catch sight of ‘Supergran’ by Forest Wilson, with its distinctive yellow cover. These were the days when I treasured book vouchers above all else. I remember my parents rolling their eyes when I chose to buy, the ‘Muppet Show Popup book’ over a ‘proper book’ one Christmas. There’s even the pale blue cover of Cinderella. Another popup with tabs that became worn with pulling and pushing, to see Cinder’s dress change2.
I watch you, presenting the different books to me. Excited and eager to please.
These were the days before Mum bought End Blyton’s ‘Malory Towers’ and ‘St Clare’s’ to convince you that going to boarding school would be okay. You’re still in the days filled with wonder, imagination and magic. The days when ‘Worzel Gummidge’ changing his heads freaked you out, but you bravely pretended it was okay. I mean, isn’t that a bit freaky for a kid to watch!
But, today of all days, we can sit cross-legged together and talk about Dad. The days long before his first heart operation, when everything was carefree and light.
‘Hon, how was Christmas at the hospital this year’
‘Aww you know the same old, same old…’ Little me, isn’t overly impressed and slightly bored with having to talk about going to the hospital with Dad when there’s so many other things she wants to show me.
“Dad got his funny apron, you know, the one that looks like it’s got the kilt and ..sporan thing on it, and that big chefs hat with gold tinsel on it. We went SOooo early this time. He wanted to see the three different wards and had some patient checks.”
“Don’t you like it?”
“Well, I guess so. I lost count of how many times people said, ‘how you’ve grown’ but I know the matrons and some of the nurses so it’s okay. They give me those stockings of sweets and games. It’s nice of them, but I guess they kind of have to - it feels awkward and weird most of the time”
“I don’t mind talking with the patients. Helping them open their Yardley perfume or Old Spice'. It’s always the same presents that the staff get for the patients. It’s nice to make the patient’s feel good. It’s horrible that they’re on their own in hospital over Christmas. Some of them have no visitors at all!”
It’s shocking to little me, that these frail people seem abandoned in the hospital. I can’t fathom the complexities of human stories that can surround a person. Nor, does it enter my young head that there can be simple practical explanations for them being alone. At that age, I’m not thinking about the context only what I see and feel in the moment.
“Still, it’s a relief when we’re organising everyone to sit at the lunch table together. When we’re pulling crackers, serving food and Dad’s carving the turkey, it’s like a big party. The radio’s on, people are laughing and the patients are happy.”
“Dad loves all that, making people laugh and making a fuss of the patients.”
“I’m not exactly happy with doing the after lunch toileting stuff, but the nurses usually do most of that, I just help wheel people around.”
I’m watching younger me, exude the carefree energy I’d forgotten about. I knew Dad was a ‘big deal’ being a consultant in the hospital, but I saw how there was a deep respect, not fear with the staff. Looking back on it all, I knew Dad was teaching me humility and the value of helping others.
In those early days, he role modelled how it’s possible to lead from the front, and still be part of the team. Mutual respect and teamwork was clear, especially when we were serving the nursing staff in the second round of lunch.
Perhaps, I learnt to enjoy trying to connect with strangers, right back in those awkward moments. There was always something, that could spark someone’s smile.
Simple pleasures, of presence, a little laughter and bringing light to others. Sometimes, Christmas doesn’t have to be more than that.
Sitting with younger me, I can see all the questions in her eyes. Big and bright. I can’t tell her she’ll be going far away to school in a few years. Even as we’re talking together she hears how different I sound to her. My accent’s gone.
It’s okay, hon. You have so many wonderful adventures in the future. You’re going to be fine.
Keep up with your music - don’t pull that face. I know you hate the piano lessons on Saturday. Yesss Noel Edmonds Multicoloured Swap Shop and Tiswas are cool TV programmes, but music helps you so much. You’ll even have a small band (her eyes grow wide with surprise) yeaaahh…but don’t tell Mum and Dad…you record a song for a friend in need, noooo not for money just an amateur thing but music will always be in your blood.
I’ve got to go now. Give me a big hug. Awww you give the best hugs.
Can you let Dad play all his classical music and test you? You know the different composers and the music styles thing? Humour him. You’ll remember these Sunday afternoon music sessions when you’re as old as me.
Love you sweet girl. You’re brave and strong, and we will have many beautiful Christmasses and blessings.
Don’t let anyone steal your joy or your light. Shine bright, dear one.
A prompt for readers’ discussion
What was the most memorable toy/gift you received as a child?
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Charles Kingsley‘s classic 1863 children’s book, The Water-Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby, a moral fable about a chimney sweep named Tom who transforms into a water-baby, learning lessons in nature and morality while exploring the sea, with popular editions featuring illustrations by artists like Linley Sambourne or Jessie Willcox Smith.
The album I had was the soundtrack to the 1978 film adaptation of the book
I read this letters, and they’re lovely, and I think about my younger self. And the first thought that always comes to mind is that she was blindsided.
Merry Christmas Victoria. I thought about this line for a bit before responding: "Nor, does it enter my young head that there can be simple practical explanations for them being alone. At that age, I’m not thinking about the context only what I see and feel in the moment." For some reason this stuck with me. Then it hit me - the context doesn't matter. Regardless of context, they were still alone and what you felt in the moment was right.