Caregiving is not for the faint of heart. It demands patience and a steady disposition to keep going no matter how desperate the situation becomes. Day after day, the work draws you into a routine from sunup to sundown, like moving with the current.
Scrolling through my feed the other day, I chanced upon a bespectacled vlogger talking about Camus and Sisyphus. Caregivers share that same struggle. In Greek mythology, the gods punished Sisyphus to push a boulder uphill, only for the rock to roll back down so he could fetch it and start over in an endless loop.
While caregiving shares that daily grind, I do not see it as a punishment. It is a special assignment—a higher calling on par with the priesthood—to help someone navigate sickness into whatever comes next.
Albert Camus saw it differently: he believed the push itself gave meaning to a life, concluding that Sisyphus must be imagined happy. He saw defiance in shouldering a repetitive fate. But as a caregiver, I see it differently.
The work is not about enduring routine for its own sake. It is about giving someone a semblance of dignity as they navigate moments of fragility that could otherwise drive them to the edge.
When the shift ends, the task simply starts over tomorrow. You care for your patient, rest, and return the next morning. Yet this is no futile loop. Every return to the foot of the hill remains an act of devotion—less about conquering a mountain than keeping someone company on the climb.
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