In September 2021, our life turned upside down. 

My lovely mum fell and broke her hip. Up until that point she was fully independent. She was 89 years old, and a very capable, polished, proud woman. 

To cut a long and sad story short, she had a horrible ‘salvage procedure’ on her hip that meant she left hospital with a huge and nasty weeping wound, in the knowledge that she would never walk unaided again.  

She would be reliant on care for the rest of her life. It blind-sided us. 

Me and my sister become carers overnight and didn’t even realise it. She’s our mum, surely that doesn’t make us carers. 

When a loved one needs to be taken care of, it’s natural to just get on with it. You do what needs to be done without question. You show up for them. You put yourself second. 

I was already juggling a demanding job, a teenager at home, adult children dispersed around the world to worry about and trying to live my life all at the same time.  

I was stretched thin. I felt guilty every which way I turned, guilty for not being with my mum enough, guilty for leaving Maddy at home alone, especially when she was feeling so sad herself about what was happening with her Nanny. 

It was a hard to manage the jumble of feelings, not to mention the physical and mental exhaustion.

I’d find myself sitting in the car, parked on my mum’s driveway, not wanting to go in, worried about what I’d find. I’d sit there, bracing myself to walk through the door. 

Once in, when I’d see her, I’d melt. She needed me. 

I’d draw her curtains, tidy round, get her a cup of tea and a bit of toast. We’d sit and I’d rub lotion on her legs and feet. I’d help her with get dressed and ready for the day. 

It was a slow and familiar rhythm. Comforting at times even.

But then, when I had to leave to get to work, or to take Maddy to whatever activity was next up, the guilt would creep in again.  

I’d leave her, rocking her jumpy legs back and forth knowing it would only be a few hours before I’d be back, but these few hours would be long hours for my mum.

It was a proper emotional roller coaster. I’d be resentful of what I was missing out on, life was no fun anymore. 

Any spontaneity had gone. It was a cycle of caring for others and work.

This is where my coach came in and helped me experience some of the most powerful changes of all. 

If I hadn’t had that support, my life would look very different today. 

She provided a place to vent and get it all off my chest. To find better ways to talk things through with my sister Linda, and all the professionals we met, who were involved with looking after mum. 

I was so angry and frustrated, and this showed in the way I communicated. It wasn’t helpful, so finding new ways to express myself was a game changer. My coach helped me feel seen and heard and I was able to find better ways to work with the professionals we were dealing with.  

Mums care needed careful negotiation, as the sad truth is that even the professional carer’s, nurses and other medics are stretched thin and have little power to help a lot of the time.

It wasn’t so easy to be up front and honest at work though. 

Sure, they knew I had a lot going on, they knew about my mum’s accident, but I hadn’t explained how much it was impacting my day to day. 

I was scared. I was scared that if I said how hard it was, how desperately sad and out of control I felt, I might be perceived as being weak. I stuffed my feelings down inside and said, ‘it’s all good’. I worried I’d be thought less of and my reputation at would be damaged somehow. So, I buried it all.

After weeks of hiding what was happening at home, I broke. I was exhausted. It was the middle of the afternoon, just before a programme board, and I thought I’m done. This isn’t worth it anymore. 

I very nearly walked out of my job feeling like a failure. Luckily, my boss, Gareth, was truly amazing. 

He didn’t accept my resignation. He stepped in and stepped up. He gave me space and time to devote to my mum and the kids. Over the next six weeks I focused on family and would return to work when I’d found some balance. 

Just like that, the pressure was lifted.  

I will be eternally grateful for that time. My loyalty to him and to the organisation skyrocketed. 

I felt looked after and supported. I felt cared for when I was on my knees. It was a real wow moment. 

Why hadn’t I let him in sooner? I didn’t need to get to rock bottom. 

My coach helped me see that I needed taking care of too, to do things that filled my cup. This was a marathon not a sprint and I needed to be fit and well to look after my people. 

I started to make time to get out for a quick cold-water swim, or to go for a massage or nip down the pub with my mates on Sunday afternoon for a meal.

I gave myself permission to keep living and to find the joy. 

The guilt and resentment eased. This was a turning point. 

I’m so glad my sister and I managed to find the balance between looking after our mum, our families and ourselves. It meant we could continue to look after her between us, with the support of carers. Our lovely mum was able to be as independent as possible and stay in her own home right until the end. 

It was still a massive logistical challenge, with lots of moving parts. It needed good communication, compassion, and acceptance of what we couldn’t change. 

I look back now and know we did everything we could. 

I am completely at peace knowing my sister and I looked after our mum with a great love. 

We didn’t always get it right, but we learnt from our mistakes, and we got through as best we could.

Despite the immense pressure on me and my sister, we came through it as a team. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but having a coach meant there was opportunity to think and consider what was important. 

This time was precious as it made me stop. It gave us breathing space.  

We began to really see each other as real live humans, not just ‘my sister’.

Honestly there were times when I thought we’d go our separate ways after our mum died. Now I couldn’t imagine life without her. Our experience brought us closer together and made us stronger.

Being brave at work

I moved jobs during my mum’s illness, a time when everything still felt uncertain and overwhelming. Starting a new role while grappling with the emotional weight of caring for her was daunting, especially as a freelancer, I didn’t know what to expect from my new team. But from the start, I had the confidence to be open about my situation.

My new boss, Mike was more than just a manager. He became a source of support. He listened as I shared the challenges I faced with my mum’s care, and he offered me not just professional flexibility but proper compassion. He made it clear that my well-being mattered, and that I wasn’t just an employee to him, I was a person going through a difficult time. 

It wasn’t just Mike either, I got a call out of the blue one day, from one of the SLT, just to check in to see how I was doing, as he knew I was having a hard time. There was no fear of judgment or worry that I was seen as less capable. Instead, I was met with empathy and understanding. I could bring my whole self to work, even on days when I felt like I was barely holding it together.

In this team, psychological safety isn’t just a buzzword—it is lived every day. The culture at National Highways allowed us to be real with each other. To admit when we were struggling, and to offer support without hesitation. We had each other’s backs because we knew that honesty and vulnerability were not weaknesses but strengths that connected us. It made all the difference.

I want to share something quite private with you

Because I’m hoping it will highlight why having a coach was the best thing I could ever have done whilst on my caregiving journey.

It’s one of my most precious memories, so bear with me as I let it go… 

It was when my mum was very poorly and in the last few days of her life. 

She didn’t want to die; she never showed any signs of being ‘ready’. 

But she hadn’t eaten for almost 3 weeks and was on heavy morphine to keep her pain at bay, and we knew the end was close.

I was feeling a mixture of emotions, anger at the slow demise she was being forced to endure.

Deep sadness at watching our beautiful mother slip through our fingers.

An overwhelming feeling for the loss for the mother daughter relationship we once had. I missed feeling taken care of. Our roles had been reversed; I was looking after her now. 

I was talking to my coach one afternoon from my mum’s home, tears streaming down my cheeks, emptying myself of sadness, saying how much I wished I could just tell my mum how I felt. 

That I was going to miss her with all my heart. That I loved her so very deeply and I didn’t want to say goodbye. 

My coach asked me what was stopping me from telling her all this?  I believed it was my job to protect her from our sadness and how much it was hurting. To shield her.

She said, ‘She is still your mother. What do you think she’d want from you right now?’

At that point, and I remember it still, so clearly… a powerful feeling of release washing over me, she was still my mum. 

I had time to be her daughter still.

We had time to hold hands, I had time to pour my heart out to her. I realised it’s ok for her to hear this, to be sad. This is a sad situation. It’s natural to feel sad. Those feelings didn’t need to be buried. They needed to be recognised and heard.

I literally shoved the phone down and ran into her room and told her how I felt. Right then. 

I sobbed and held her hand and we shared that moment. 

She was my mother right to the very end, we held hands, and we were connected. 

My coach enabled me to have this amazing moment, and for that I will be forever grateful. 

Without that important question my coach asked me I would never have had the realisation that we still had time. 

I would have deprived us both of what we needed, our mother daughter relationship in all its heartfelt glory.

Sigh. That feels good to have shared. 

Big Love, Heidi x