Caring is a beautiful burden but we can't shoulder it alone

In the first of a series of pieces for Carers Trust, carer and journalist Minreet Kaur reflects on the impact caring for her mum has made for her - and why carers like her need far more support.

Caring for someone you love is a privilege – but it can also be incredibly overwhelming.

For the past two years, I’ve been the sole carer for my mum, who is living with myeloma, a rare and incurable blood cancer. I gave up my full-time job as a journalist to be by her side, and since then, my life has revolved around her care.

Every day is a full schedule of tasks – taking her to appointments, managing medications, cooking, cleaning, handling finances, and keeping the house in order. There’s rarely a pause, let alone time to do anything for myself.

I’m 44, with dreams and a career I worked hard to build – especially after changing paths six years ago to pursue journalism. But caregiving forced me to put that on hold. It’s taken a toll, not just on my career, but on my mental and emotional wellbeing.

I do want to work again. But now it has to be something remote, flexible, and meaningful – because when you're a carer, you need something in your life that brings you joy. Otherwise, it’s easy to lose yourself completely in the responsibilities.

What makes it harder is the deep sense of loneliness. Over time, I’ve lost many friendships. Most people in my life are married, raising families, and living in a world far removed from mine. They can’t fully understand the weight of being a full-time carer.

And so, it becomes isolating. There are days when I just want to hide under the covers and switch off from the world. But I can’t  – because no one else will be there to care for my mum if I don’t.

Carers often feel invisible. We’re doing work that holds entire lives together, yet we receive little recognition or support. Government help is minimal. Carer’s Allowance barely makes a dent, especially with the rising cost of living.

Carers in England are also not legally entitled to a break – although Carers Trust is trying to change this through its recent protest and petition. As a single woman, managing everything on my own, the pressure sometimes feels relentless.

I look at others who have support – even a sibling, a partner, or grown-up children to share the load. I don’t have that. I can’t afford private carers to help with the cleaning or cooking, so it all falls on me. That’s the reality for so many of us.

My mum is my best friend. She tries to help where she can, but she’s 74, and the side effects of her treatment include memory loss. Sometimes, I know she feels like a burden. But I always reassure her that she’s not. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As a Sikh, I consider this sewa – selfless service. Caring for her is an honour. What’s hard is the emotional cost: the silence, the lack of a support network, the absence of someone who might surprise me with a hug or a day out just for me.

People don’t realise that caring is a full-time job. It’s mentally, physically, and emotionally demanding. Carers need love. We need support. We need to be seen.

There should be more public awareness, more financial help, more accessible resources – because carers are part of the reason the NHS and social care system hasn’t collapsed. We do this out of love, so the system doesn’t have to carry the weight alone.

I never imagined I’d become a carer, and I never expected how much it would change my life. But despite the hardships, I see this journey as a blessing. It has made me stronger. It has brought me closer to my mum. You only get one set of parents, and I will do whatever I can to support mine.

We won’t get this time back. And in caring, I’ve discovered something unexpected: a deeper sense of purpose, and in many ways, true happiness.