All Posts

Waiting rooms are their own form of psychological warfare. Because it’s not just waiting. It’s waiting while: anxious overstimulated uncomfortable under-caffeinated and pretending you’re fine All under fluorescent lighting that somehow makes everyone look deceased.

The Feral Truth: Your brain is no longer yours. It’s public property now. You are: the medication reminder the appointment tracker the symptom monitor the schedule coordinator the “did you remember to…” person Basically a human Alexa with anxiety.

You used to be able to leave the house casually. Remember that? Keys. Wallet. Phone. Done. Now? Leaving the house requires the level of planning normally associated with a small military operation.

The Feral Truth: Nothing — and I mean NOTHING — prepares you for the absolute psychological rage of having to repeatedly explain your loved one’s medical reality to doctors who met them approximately 14 minutes ago.

The Feral Truth: You’re: answering a text listening for something thinking about meds and trying to finish a task All at the same time.

The Feral Truth: You start with one question. Just one. And somehow… you end up learning: three new conditions four worst-case scenarios and now you’re emotionally spiraling

The Feral Truth: You finally sit down at night. Done. Finished. Over it. And then your brain goes: Oh cool—here’s everything you forgot. Every task. Every question. Every “you should’ve done this earlier.” So now you’re back up. Or worse— you just lay there thinking about it. That’s the Feral Truth. Yours in chaos, ~Kari, The Feral Caregiver

The Feral Truth: Leaving the house used to be easy. Keys. Phone. Done. Now? It’s a full checklist.

The Feral Truth: You had it. You KNOW you had it. You just had it. Now? Gone. Vanished.

The Feral Truth: “Hey, quick question. It is never quick. Never.

The Feral Truth: You sit down. Just for a second. That’s all you want. One. Minute. And like clockwork— “Hey, can you—” No. No I cannot. Because I JUST sat down. But do you say that? Of course not. You get back up. Again. Because the second your body relaxes is the exact moment the universe decides: Let’s need her. That’s the Feral Truth. Yours in chaos, ~Kari, The Feral Caregiver

The Feral Truth: You don’t drink coffee anymore. You reheat it. Over. And over. And over again. You make it. You sit down. You take one sip. And immediately— something happens.

The Feral Truth: You nod like you understand. “Oh yeah, that makes sense.”“Mhm.”“Right.” Inside? No idea what just happened.

The Feral Truth: You are so fucking tired of deciding. Not just big decisions. Every decision. What to eat. When to give meds. Whether something is serious or not. Whether to call. Whether to wait. Whether you’re overreacting. It never stops.

The Feral Truth: You technically have a moment. Nothing is happening. No one is calling your name. No alarms. No chaos. You could relax. So… why can’t you?

The Feral Truth: You notice every little change. Even the ones no one else sees. The way they move. The way they talk. The things they forget. The things they can’t do anymore. It’s not one big, dramatic shift. It’s a thousand tiny ones. And somehow…that makes it worse.

The Feral Truth: If you don’t laugh… you might actually lose it. And not in a cute, “I need a break” kind of way. In a full system overload, can’t-hold-it-together kind of way.

The Feral Truth: There is no balance. There’s just… juggling and hoping nothing important hits the ground.

You can be in the middle of everything…and still feel completely invisible.

The Feral Truth: No one warns you about the money part. They talk about the emotional toll. The physical exhaustion. The stress. But the financial side? That part stays quiet. Until you’re in it. Until you’re: checking your bank account more than you check your own pulse doing mental math in the middle of the night wondering how something so necessary can also be so expensive It starts small. A co-pay here. A prescription there. Parking at the hospital (because apparently tha