How to Be a Caregiver to a Parent When the Past Still Hurts -

BY AARDE WRITES for WEEKLY VOLCANO 12/26/25 |

Hey Aarde,
I know the holidays are supposed to be all warm and cozy, spending time with loving family and friends, being merry and bright, but I am stuck taking care of my dying father, who was not really that nice to me. I feel like I am floating through the season, caught in bouts of anger and waves of exhaustion. If I had a choice, I would not be here. But he has no one else, and I just cannot, in good conscience, let him wither away alone, even if that is what he deserves. What kind of advice can you give me to manage my mismatched resentment and kindness as I make it through these dreary months?
Signed,
Reluctant Caregiver

Hey Reluctant Caregiver,
Bless your heart. I am sure we all know someone in our lives who we feel deserves no kindness, even in death. No one would pass blame for you feeling resentful and reluctant while performing repetitive caregiving tasks for someone who hurt you. Most of us would praise you for choosing kindness even though you are weary. What you are doing is not easy and takes a great deal of strength and support. Call a friend when you are feeling down, or search for support groups for caregivers to meet others who better understand your role.

Caring for someone who neglected or mistreated you is a very complex situation, and it makes sense that you would have a range of feelings existing simultaneously, none of which makes you a bad person.
You are not required to be happy just because it is said every ten seconds on the radio, on television, or at the grocery store.

You do not have to ignore the pain or forget the past to act with kindness. You can provide basic care while maintaining boundaries, both physical and emotional, expressing your feelings in healthy ways, and choosing to be humane despite your knee-jerk reactions. Peace may never come, clarity may arrive years later, and anger may soften but never fully disappear.

The thing about resentment is that it grows deep in your belly when you swallow it. It expands until it bursts uncontrollably, often leaving you feeling embarrassed, disappointed, and unfulfilled.

Release the pressure by sitting with it regularly. Set aside five minutes a day to journal about how you were hurt, and embrace the fact that your pain does not cancel out your decency. Writing it down or speaking it aloud signals to your brain that you are managing your emotions, which helps it relax.

I like to use sandwich statements because they are a literary and linguistic way to hold a negative feeling. Start with something like, “I am strong and am choosing to care for my father” (positive), then “He hurt me deeply, and my pain matters” (negative), and finish with “My anger does not cancel out my human decency. I am love” (positive).

Energy is limited, and time is our most valuable asset, so decide where you will spend both. Rest is not a reward for coping well. It is a requirement for surviving. Guilt may show up. If so, invite it in for a figurative cup of tea, listen, and then state clearly that it is allowed to speak and be heard, but it is not allowed to stay.

You might find yourself caught in limerence over the idea of fairness. This situation is not fair, and it never will be. Measuring what he deserves against what you are giving will never feel balanced. You are doing this because you have values, not because the past is being corrected.

This season is temporary, but not insignificant, and it will end, both the holidays and your father’s time here. This period does not define you, but it will quietly inform your boundaries, your empathy, and your clarity about what you will and will not tolerate again. This experience will shape you, not because it was good, but because you survived it without abandoning yourself entirely.

Grief will take hold of you passively and involuntarily. It can exist even when the relationship was painful and will most likely come in intense waves of many emotions, and sometimes nothing at all except a blurred numbness. Grief happens to you. Mourning is what you do with it. It is an intentional action, yours alone to create. You may grieve the father you had and the father you never got. None of your actions requires forgiveness or reconciliation, only acknowledgment.

The context of caregiving, especially after abuse, often leaves a residue on both heart and mind. Still, because you care about the child that exists within the man who hid from his own pain and gave in to cruelty and poor judgment, you may choose to honor a path of release for both of you. Deliberately marking the end of this season can allow you to move forward with clarity and closure. When you are ready, and when grief provides enough space, release the heaviness with a ritual of your choosing.

Try the Boundary Ritual:
Choose a quiet moment alone. Bring a piece of paper and something that represents weight, such as a stone, a key, or a coin. On the paper, write:
* How you were hurt or mistreated.
* What you gave that was hard.
* What you never received.
* What you are no longer carrying forward.

You do not need to be kind or fair, only honest.

Read it once. Fold the paper and place the weight on top of it. Say, out loud or silently, “This belonged to that time. I carried it as long as I needed to. I am setting it down now.”

Dispose of the paper in a way that feels final but safe. Tear it up, burn it, or soak it in water until it disintegrates.

Take the object and place it somewhere outside your living space. Throw it into the bay, off a cliff, or deep into a forest. This marks that the burden is released and does not come back inside with you.
You were a reluctant caregiver, not a willing martyr. The fact that you showed up at all says something about your values, but you are not required to keep paying for them with your peace of mind. This is not about erasing the past. Guilt may visit again, and when it does, offer the tea, then remind it that you have this covered and that it can rest.