I often write about relationships gained from my experiences with clients in the therapy room, but sometimes the most profound lessons come from home. I have been reflecting on how important it is to try and to walk a day in others’ shoes to really understand them, even more so our elderly loved ones. Not over-playing the theme of shoes, but my mother’s shoes have been very symbolic in me trying to understand her defiance of age, and the sometimes resulting strong minded behaviour.
My mum is in her late 80s now and to this day she still insists on wearing her heels. Not the kitten heels you might expect of someone approaching ninety, but proper heels. The kind that make me worry she’ll trip, although she defends her choice of shoes as being lower than the ones she used to wear. No sensible old lady shoes for her! That’s my mum. Independent to the point of stubborn, determined not to be dismissed as one of those other “old people,” even though she has certainly had to adapt to her body slowing down. My role has been to walk the tightrope of being her carer but heavily disguising this as her ‘admin’.
It is a curious combination of a comedy sketch, endurance test, and sometimes digging deep for compassion.
Not Old — Just Everyone Else
Mum has perfected the art of keeping herself just slightly removed from the category of “old.” On a regular coffee outing to our local M&S she has connected with a few other older ladies, it makes me happy to see them reminiscing about the past as and I willingly slide into the background. However once we leave our coffee spot, and restart our amble around the shops, she warmly refers to them as the ‘old dears’. The irony, of course, is that she’s the same age — but in her mind, she’s still several decades younger.
And you know what? That mindset is probably part of what keeps her going. It’s infuriating at times (especially when it means she refuses to accept help), but there’s a lesson there too: age really is as much about perception as it is about years.
The Battle of Independence
Trying to help Mum is like trying to sneak vegetables into a child’s dinner. The trick is to disguise it so she doesn’t realise it’s happening.
Suggest a walking stick? “Absolutely not.” A stair rail? “For the elderly, not for me.” A hearing aid? Well, after years of denial, she has finally given in to them — though she insists the volume is perfectly fine and it’s me that mumbles. And then there’s the garden. After months of struggling with jobs she really shouldn’t be doing, she has at last allowed me to contact Age UK to send someone to help. But when the man turned up, she whispered to me, “He’s a nice old boy.” The “old boy” in question was a cheerful man in his late 50s. Only in my mother’s world could 58 be considered ancient. I choose to let this go unchallenged as this is part of her acceptance of help and that in itself is a relief to be able to let go of one of the ‘tasks’.
I have been able to understand what looks like stubbornness is, in reality, fear. Fear of losing independence, of being defined by limitations, of slipping into irrelevance. When she bristles at my offers of help, I have to remind myself: this isn’t about me. This is her fighting to hold onto the dignity of self-sufficiency.
Finding the Humour
In spending time with my mother I have found that she has a really quick wit and can be very funny. In her recent trips to the community health clinic she has had to succumb to some regular treatments but she has managed to bring some humour to the situation. She now has several admirers and a regular joke of ‘going dancing’ once they all finish their treatments. She has managed to make them, and the nurses smile, and I feel warm towards her for her willingness to make it a little lighter for everyone.
The Compassion Test
Looking after Mum has taught me that compassion isn’t about endless patience or saint-like tolerance. It’s about perspective. It’s remembering that her sharp comments come from frustration at her body, not criticism of me. It’s recognising that her stubborn streak is actually courage — her refusal to surrender to age.
That doesn’t mean it’s easy. There are days when I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised I can still speak. But I’ve learned that compassion, in practice, often looks like letting her do things her way (even if it takes three times as long), while quietly standing by in case she needs a steadying hand.
Lessons From Mum
My mum is stubborn, independent, and gloriously unrealistic about her age. She insists on her heels, refuses to be labeled “old,” and still talks about enthusiastically about the next ‘household task’ to be conquered. And yes, it drives me slightly mad. But it also inspires me. Because in her determination, humour, and sheer refusal to be diminished, she shows me how ageing can be defied — not in years, but in spirit. So if you’re looking after an elderly parent and wondering how on earth you’ll keep going, know this: you’re not alone. You’ll sigh, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and then you’ll do it all again. And along the way, you might just learn that resilience, like love, is about showing up — heels, stubbornness, and all.
Don’t Forget Yourself
And here’s the crucial bit: looking after an elderly parent means looking after yourself too. You can’t be compassionate if you’re burnt out. You can’t show patience if your own cup is empty. So I remind myself — often — to pause, make a cup of tea, laugh with a friend, or give myself a hug and say, “You’re doing your best, and she knows you care”
This is more than enough.
