Since I was little, I have been fascinated by how the human mind works. Eventually, that curiosity grew into a desire to walk with people during their difficult moments. That’s why I became a mental health professional; being part of someone’s healing fills my soul.
In my everyday work, I hold space for others—listening to their stories, offering support, and helping them reconnect to themselves. To me, this is very special work.
Even in this meaningful vocation, I’ve learned that caregiving—whether as a parent, a partner, a friend, or a professional- can take its toll.
Behind everyone’s suffering, there is often someone else trying to hold things together. The caregivers. The ones who show up again and again. We are present and somehow strong… until one day, we’re not.
In my professional life and in my personal experience, I’ve witnessed how easy it is to forget ourselves in the act of caring for others. How quickly exhaustion creeps in when we continue to give without being replenished. And how silent that fatigue can be—hidden even from ourselves.
So I want to speak to that today. Not just as a clinician, but as a human being who understands the complexity of giving everything you have while quietly forgetting to care for yourself.
Caregiving Is an Act of Love – But It’s Also Work
Many people become caregivers out of love, a devotion to someone they care about. And in my case, that love extended into a professional commitment to help others heal. I chose this path, and I wouldn’t trade it.
But even when caregiving is chosen, even when it comes from the heart, it can be draining.
The emotional labor is real. The moments of quiet overwhelm. The inner voice that say: I’ll rest later. I’m fine. They need me more. Over time, those phrases start to shape your identity, and you begin to believe that your own needs must always come last.
I’ve heard these words from countless clients. And if I’m honest, I’ve said them to myself, too.
When Caregiving Becomes a Distraction
One of the most tender truths I’ve discovered is this: sometimes, caregiving becomes a way of escaping our own pain.
It can feel easier or even safer to pour yourself into someone else’s crisis than to face the quiet ache of your own unmet needs. I see this often in my practice. People who care beautifully for others, but who feel disconnected from their own sense of self.
When we do this for too long, it becomes more than compassion—it becomes avoidance. And the cost is: burnout, resentment, emotional numbness, and a growing distance from our own joy.
This isn’t a flaw. It’s a survival strategy. But at some point, we have to ask: What part of me have I been putting on hold to care for others?
The Disappearance of Self—and Its Return
It usually starts small.
You stop doing the things that bring you joy. You postpone plans. You shelve your hobbies. You become known as the “strong one”—the helper. And slowly, your identity begins to narrow.
I’ve experienced this. I’ve watched it in my clients. And I want you to know: this isn’t failure. This isn’t weakness.
This is what happens when we show up for everyone but ourselves.
But the good news? You’re not lost. You’re not broken. The parts of you that feel quiet or far away—they’re still there.
At Inner Immersion, We Hold the Caregivers, Too
In my work with Inner Immersion, I’ve been grateful to be part of a model that recognizes something many overlook—that caregivers need care, too.
We don’t just support those in crisis—we also hold space for the ones doing the holding. The mental health and addiction professionals who often carry the emotional weight of others quietly and without pause.
What’s meaningful to me is how this care is offered—not as a separate track, but woven into the process itself. Whether you’re guiding a session or sitting alongside someone in pain, Inner Immersion’s process creates space for both the participant and the professional to soften, to reflect, and to reconnect with their own inner landscape.
Through guided imagery, art, and inner exploration, it’s simply being witnessed with honesty and compassion.
This holistic approach reminds me that healing work is most effective when no one is unseen, not even the helper.
Whether you’re a mental health professional, a nurse, a parent, or a friend walking alongside someone you love, your well-being matters just as much.
Your Body Keeps Score
The effects of long-term caregiving without support show up in the body: fatigue that never leaves, chronic tension, headaches, sleepless nights, anxiety, and forgetfulness. Over time, the body stops whispering and starts shouting.
I’ve worked with caregivers who can’t remember the last time they laughed—really laughed. The last time they did something simply because it brought them joy.
This level of self-neglect can lead to isolation, disconnection, and sometimes even a quiet sense of hopelessness. That’s why I encourage everyone I work with to pause and check in regularly.
What do I need today?
What have I gone too long without?
Small Steps Matter
Healing doesn’t need to be loud. It doesn’t need to be dramatic. It begins in the quietest of ways.
● Set one small boundary a day, just for you.
● Go for a walk. Take a bath. Sit in the sun with no agenda.
● Reach out to a friend, a support group, or a therapist.
These are not indulgences—they are lifelines.
Self-Care Isn’t a Luxury – It’s a Lifeline
There’s a belief I hear so often: that taking time for yourself is selfish. That your rest comes at someone else’s expense.
But here’s the truth: when you are well, the care you give is sustainable and real. You are no longer pouring from an empty cup—you’re sharing from a full one.
Taking care of yourself doesn’t diminish your love for others. It deepens it. It keeps you present, it keeps you whole and able to stay in this work—and this life—without losing yourself.
To Every Caregiver – You Matter, Too
To all those who give so much—your energy, your presence, your heart—you are witnessed and appreciated.
Your work matters.
And so is your well-being.
Please remember that.
You are not just a caregiver.
You are a person.
And you deserve to feel joy, rest, and to be seen, not just for what you do, but for who you are.
With deep care,
Iveth Zwyssig
MA, RCC
Inner Immersion Facilitator and Clinical Counselor | Penticton, BC
