The Silent Strength of Carers: Finding Hope and Positivity in Challenging Times Part 1

I’ve had writers' block for months. I’ve been writing; I just couldn’t seem to finish any of the posts that I started. I’ve been struggling to finish anything that isn’t work-related. This is a typical experience for many of us with ADHD. The dopamine levels bottom out, and we keep chasing that next thing that will inspire us to follow through and get over the finish line. As we begin to spiral back to old habits and compulsive thinking, our significant others, our friends and family also spiral back into old habits, aware of the chaos about to be unleashed if proactive measures aren’t taken to calm the active volcano of emotional pressure building up in front of them. (Forgive the metaphor, I just returned from Iceland)

Every day, millions of people around the world step into the role of a carer, supporting loved ones with mental health challenges or neurodivergence. It’s a role that’s often invisible, undervalued, and taken for granted. While the focus is usually on the person being cared for, the emotional well-being of carers is just as important—because when carers thrive, so do the people they support.

A Role That’s Bigger Than It Seems

Did you know that nearly 43% of adults worldwide live with neurological conditions that affect their daily lives? And for children and teenagers, 10–20% face mental health challenges that make everyday life harder. Behind these statistics are millions of carers, many of whom feel unseen.

I found myself in need of care when I suffered my last Burnout, and my partner Brian became my hidden carer. To say Brian is my carer probably makes it seem like we’re just being dramatic because I seem fine on the outside. That frustration is something so many carers feel—especially when they’re supporting people who are “high-functioning” or good at masking their struggles. Few people see the production, disability and emotional output behind the scenes to achieve “seems fine”.

Carers often feel isolated and burned out. What’s worse, the way we talk about caregiving doesn’t help. We often hear words like “burden” or “strain,” which makes the role feel heavy and thankless. But it doesn’t have to be that way.

We are lucky to have friends and family who talk openly with us about these things, who check in on Brian when they know I’m having a hard time, and who never expect me to be anything other than what I am at any given moment. We are also lucky that Brian’s place of work allows him to be a designated carer, meaning he can leave work immediately, no questions asked, if I have an emergency. Aka, come and scrape me off the concrete or bench I find myself meeting during some very sweaty and brain-hurting panic attacks. I have literally scared children. I’ll tell that story when I talk about medication. (Preview: Think Quasi-Modo screaming about the bells).

My point is that this shouldn’t be about luck; this should be the norm. People need support, and their hidden carers need to be able to provide that support without compromising their well-being or sacrificing their goals. 

Shifting the Focus to Strengths

Anyway… back to caring. The language we use matters. When discussing caregiving as something negative, it’s easy to focus on what’s wrong. But research—and real-life experiences—show that there’s another way to look at it.

Positive psychology encourages us to focus on strengths and opportunities. In his book Transcend, Scott Barry Kaufman talks about reframing challenges as chances to grow. For carers, this can mean looking beyond the struggles and finding meaning in the role.

When my brother Ian experienced difficulties making friends in his younger years, I stepped into a quasi-caregiving role I hadn’t planned for. I am the youngest, but I give off big sister vibes.

What started with me looking out for my older brother, including giving his bullies a piece of my mind…at 8 years old, hands on hips, finger-wagging (according to our mum), continued nursing my grandmother and eventually led to my work in New York as a Direct Support Professional at YAI. Even my career in HR takes a person-first approach to employee growth and company stability. Authentic care for other humans is the path to growth. 

To find myself in need of being cared for was hard, not just for me but for everyone around me.

Part 2: Coming soon