What I’ve Learned from Holding It All Together

One Day, One Step, One Laugh at a Time

A reader recently asked, “How do you deal with all the aspects of caregiving?”

A million thoughts flew through my mind. Am I dealing? How does anyone hold it all together when life throws a curveball—with a spin and a slip?

My short (and all-too-simplistic) response was, “One day at a time, and sometimes one minute at a time.”
While that’s true, I know it wasn’t the answer she was really looking for.

So, this post is for her. And even with several dozen more words strung together, I know it still won’t be enough.

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A little background: I’ve been my husband’s care companion—as we like to call it—for almost five years. We were sliding into retirement age as if someone had greased the track, and we weren’t ready. Not financially. Not emotionally.

Our sons had just married and settled nearby. Our business was still slogging along—never enough to make us rich, but enough to keep going. We were hopeful. We were grateful.

He planned to work until 72. I was trying to grow my writing into an income stream. Then I noticed him slowing down. Stumbling. Dropping things. Something wasn’t right.

Eventually, he was diagnosed with a rare muscle-wasting disease—Inclusion Body Myositis (IBM). It’s similar to ALS, but slower moving. It’s also incurable.

The news knocked the wind out of us. At 66, a setback feels more like a collapse.

We went into free fall, both individually and as partners.

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If there’s one thing we’ve learned since then, it’s this: adaptability is everything.

I watched my father live it after a severe stroke at 66 left him partially paralyzed. Like my husband, he was a doer—never idle. After losing the use of his right hand, he taught himself to write with his left. When walking became too hard, he modified his riding mower to carry what he needed. He built a pulley system in the stairwell so he could haul groceries from the basement.

He adapted, over and over again.

He tracked everything—blood pressure, pain levels, medications. His doctors loved him for it. Even in his late 80s, he was still trying to strengthen his weak leg.

One day, determined to stop wearing a brace (he’d read it could delay rehab), he took it off. That morning, he fell, broke his leg, and died on the operating table.
He never stopped creating, trying, or making the most of his time — right up until the end.

He never gave up. Never gave in to self-pity.
But it wasn’t easy—for him, or for my mother, who walked that long path beside him.

I remember her telling me how, years ago, she made all the preparations, packed every suitcase, and hauled them to the car for a trip to Europe. At the time, I didn’t grasp what that really meant. I do now.

She was 75 years old, 5’4”, and 100 pounds soaking wet. She’d always leaned on my father’s strength. But in his decline, she summoned her own.

Determination and perseverance go a long way when the physical world becomes an uphill climb.

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Our path has been similar. And “holding it all together” only ever happens in small pieces—day by day, sometimes minute by minute.

We adapt. We adjust. We try. We fall. We try again. We rest. We listen inward.
We learn to create meaning with what we have, in the here and now.

We modify our dreams, but we don’t abandon them.
We avoid getting stuck in self-pity or bitterness—even though they come.
We let grief pass through, like a wave, not a wall.

We cry. We curse. We laugh—oh, how we laugh.
Laughter has always been one of his gifts to me, and we’re lucky enough to still find the same stupid things funny.

I carry that gift close to my heart, along with so many others, with the silent prayer that we’ll keep on keeping on—together—for as long as we’re able.

After all, none of us gets to go on forever.

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If this reflection spoke to something in you, I’m grateful. Writing these stories is how I hold it all together too. If you’d like to support my work, you can buy me a coffee, become a paid subscriber, or explore my new book, The Wisdom Within: A Companion for the Journey.

It’s a deeply personal book of essays and reflections written for women in transition — a companion for navigating change with soul and self-compassion. Each section offers space to pause, reconnect, and rediscover your inner wisdom.

I’m so glad you’re here. Every bit of support helps me keep showing up with heart, honesty, and hope.

With love,
Dorothy

Header Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash