Chapter 12: Two Shifts: Work, Home and Caring for Others

A Letter from Ahmed

Dear Jiwoo, I work in a factory that makes metal parts for farm machines. My shifts change every two weeks, from early mornings to afternoons and back again. The work is loud and the pace is fast, but I am good at it, and I have done it for eleven years. That is my first shift. My second shift begins the moment I open my front door.

Last year my father had a fall, and since then he has lived with us. He can walk with a stick, but he needs help with washing, with his clothes, and with getting to his appointments. He was always a strong and proud man, and I can see that it hurts him to need me. We also have two children, a girl of eleven and a boy of seven. My wife works evenings at a care home, so on many days we only see each other for a few minutes at the door, as one of us arrives and the other leaves.

I love my family, and I would not want to live any other way. But I am tired in a way I have never been tired before. At the factory, I worry about whether my father has eaten. At home, I worry about the order I could not finish at the factory. There is no hour in the day that belongs to me. Last week my son spilled his juice at dinner and I shouted at him, and afterwards I sat in the bathroom with the door locked because I did not want anyone to see my face.

People tell me to look after myself, but they never say when. How can a person keep his mind steady when he works two shifts every day, and the second one never ends? Ahmed

Dear Ahmed

Thank you for your letter, and for your honesty about that evening with the spilled juice. I think many readers will recognize that moment: the sudden shout, then the locked door, then the heavy feeling of having become someone you did not want to be. I want to say first that this moment does not make you a bad father. It makes you a tired one. Those are not the same thing, and much of this letter is about the difference.

I also want to say something about the words you chose. You called your life at home a second shift, and I think you are right. Looking after a parent and two children is work. It takes time, skill, patience and strength, just as your job in the factory does. It is not paid, it has no breaks written into a timetable, and nobody gives you a certificate for it, but it is work all the same. Seeing it clearly as work is the first step towards treating yourself fairly.

This letter is for you, and it is also for every reader who carries more than one kind of work: parents raising children while they earn a living, students who care for younger brothers and sisters, adult children who look after older parents, and people who support their families from far away. For this reply I have read what several kinds of sources say. They include international organizations that work on health and on work, public guides written for family carers, workplace-safety agencies in general, psychology textbooks, and some traditional wisdom about families and help.

The Work That Follows You Home

International organizations that work on health and on work have, for many years, described caring for family members as real work, even when it is unpaid. Their public information points out that this kind of work keeps families and whole communities running, and that it often falls on the same people again and again. Public guides for family carers agree, and they add something more personal. They describe the strain that carers commonly feel: tiredness in the body, worry that does not switch off, a shrinking amount of free time, and sometimes a loneliness that is hard to explain to others.

These guides also describe mixed feelings, and I think this part may be useful to you. A carer can love someone deeply and also feel frustrated, trapped or even resentful at times. A carer can feel proud of what they do and also grieve for the life they used to have. Psychology textbooks describe this kind of mixture as normal. Having two feelings that seem to pull in opposite directions does not mean that one of them is false. It means that you are a person living a full and demanding life.

Your father's feelings are part of the picture too. You noticed that it hurts him to need you. Many carers' guides point out that the person being cared for may feel embarrassed, sad or angry about losing some independence, and that these feelings can come out as silence, stubbornness or sharp words. When this happens, it helps to remember that he is not angry at you. He is often angry at the situation that both of you are in. You are, in a sense, on the same side against something neither of you chose.

I once heard about a secondary school teacher who spends almost every lunch break in an empty classroom, making phone calls about her mother's care. She eats her sandwich between calls, then goes back to teach her afternoon lessons. Her coworkers thought she simply liked to be alone. Only when she mentioned it one day did they understand that her lunch hour was another shift. People like her are all around us, quietly working two shifts, and most of them think that everyone else is coping better than they are.

Edges Between Work and Home

You described a mind that is always in the other place. At the factory you think about home, and at home you think about the factory. Workplace-safety agencies in general point out that shift work that changes often can disturb sleep and make it harder to keep regular routines with family. When sleep is short and routines keep shifting, the mind finds it harder to settle in one place. This is not a weakness in you. It is a common effect of the way your days are built.

Many public mental health guides suggest creating small edges between one part of the day and the next. An edge is a short, simple action that tells the mind that one shift is over and another is beginning. For some people it is washing their hands and face when they get home. For others it is changing out of work clothes, standing outside for two minutes before going in, or taking three slow breaths with one hand on the door handle. These actions sound almost too small to matter. But they give the mind a signal, and a mind that receives a clear signal often finds it easier to let go of the previous task.

The journey between work and home can also become an edge. If you travel by bus, you might use the first part of the journey to think through anything left unfinished at work, and then decide, at a certain stop, to put it down until tomorrow. If you walk or cycle, you might notice the sky or the trees for the last few minutes. Think of a woman who works in a large office and travels each day on a crowded early train. She uses the first ten minutes to write a short list of what she must remember the next day at work. Then she closes the notebook and watches the window for the rest of the ride. She says that the list holds the worries so that her head does not have to.

Worry about home during the working day can also be given a place of its own. Some carers agree on a fixed time to check in, such as a short call or message during the main break at work. When the mind knows that there will be news at a certain hour, it often finds it easier to stop asking the same question every few minutes. You and your wife might agree that whoever is at home sends a short message at your break: your father has eaten, the children are home, all is well, or here is what needs attention. If something does need attention, you will know, and you can plan for it. If all is well, you can return to your work with one less question in your head. Public guides on worry often describe this idea in general terms: worry tends to grow when it has no limits, and it often becomes smaller when it is given a time and a shape.

Here the sources do not all agree, and I think the difference is honest. Some guides about work and life talk about keeping a firm line between the two, as if a person could close one door completely before opening the other. Guides written for carers are often more realistic. They accept that a phone call about a parent may come in the middle of a shift, or that a child may wake with a fever on the morning of an important order. They suggest aiming for good-enough edges rather than perfect walls. For someone in your position, I find the second view kinder and more useful.

It may also be worth talking to your employer. Some workplaces have arrangements for people who care for family members, such as more predictable shifts, swapping shifts with a coworker, or a little flexibility for medical appointments. Workplace-safety agencies in general encourage employers to think about the needs of workers with caring responsibilities, though what is available differs greatly from place to place. You do not have to share every private detail. You could simply explain that you care for a family member and ask what options exist. Many people never ask because they fear being seen as less committed. In fact, a worker who plans ahead is often easier to support than one who struggles silently until something breaks.

Sharing the Load

You wrote that people tell you to look after yourself but never say when. I think that is a fair complaint. Advice to rest is not very useful to someone who has no hour of the day free. So before we talk about rest, I want to talk about the load itself, and about whether all of it has to be carried by you.

Public guides for carers almost always make the same suggestion: write down everything that needs to be done in a normal week, and then look at the list together with the people around you. Who else could take one small part? Are there brothers, sisters, cousins or old friends who have said, "Let me know if I can help," and never been asked? People often mean these offers, but they wait to be told what to do. A clear and specific request, such as taking your father to one appointment a month, is much easier to say yes to than a general call for help.

Your father himself may also be part of the answer. Many carers' guides suggest asking the person being cared for what they would still like to do for themselves, and what kind of help they prefer. A proud man may be glad to fold the laundry while sitting down, to help your son with his reading, or to peel the vegetables for dinner. These tasks lighten your load a little, but they also give back something important to him: the feeling of being useful in his own family. Help that leaves room for dignity is often easier to receive.

Your children can help in ways that suit their ages, too. Your daughter is old enough to set the table or to sit with her grandfather while you cook. Your son can carry the plates and put away his own clothes. Most guides warn against giving children too much adult responsibility, and I agree with that warning. But small, steady tasks can help children feel that they belong to a team, and many children feel proud when they can do something real for the family.

Beyond your own home, there may be community groups, neighbours or religious groups that support families. In many places there are also public services that give carers short breaks, sometimes called respite, by arranging for someone else to look after the person for a few hours or days. What exists differs from place to place, and it can take time to find. A doctor or a local social service office is often a good place to begin asking. Groups for family carers can also be valuable, not only for practical tips but because they put you in a room with people who understand without needing an explanation.

There is also the person you meet for a few minutes at the door. You and your wife are both working two shifts, in different hours. Some carers' guides suggest setting aside a short, regular time each week, even only fifteen minutes, to talk about the coming days: who is doing what, what worries each of you, and what went well. It sounds like a business meeting, and in a way it is. But a family is also a small workplace, and the people in it need time to plan together, not only to pass each other.

Small Moments That Belong to You

Now we come back to your question about when. The honest answer is that, for a while, your free time may not come in hours. It may come in minutes. Public mental health guides often say that short moments of rest still help, especially when longer rest is not possible. Such a moment might be a cup of tea drunk sitting down instead of standing up, five minutes of quiet on the steps before you go inside, or a short walk round the block after the children are asleep. None of these will fix your tiredness, but each one gives the mind a small place to rest.

Picture a woman who runs a small market stall selling flowers and also looks after her young grandson in the afternoons. Every day, after she packs up the stall, she sits on an upturned crate for a few minutes before she lifts the buckets into her van. She does not look at her phone and she does not plan the evening. She simply watches the people passing. She told a friend once that those few minutes are the only part of the day when nobody needs anything from her, and that she guards them carefully. You may be able to find your own crate somewhere in your day.

It may also help to keep one small thread of your own life alive, even if it is very thin for now. Public mental health guides often mention that keeping some contact with the things a person enjoys, such as music, a game, a craft, a sport or an old friendship, helps protect their wellbeing during demanding periods. For a carer, this might mean ten minutes with a favourite radio programme on a Sunday, a short phone call with a friend while folding laundry, or a few pages of a book before sleep. These threads remind you that you are not only a worker and a carer. You are also a person with your own interests, and that person deserves to stay alive through this busy time.

About the evening with the spilled juice, I want to offer you a different way to think about it. Psychology textbooks on families often say that what matters most is not whether a parent ever loses their temper, because almost every parent does. What matters is what happens afterwards. If you go to your son, tell him that you were tired and that it was not his fault, and say sorry for shouting, you teach him something precious. You teach him that people who love each other can make mistakes and then repair them. That lesson may stay with him longer than the shout.

Please be kind to yourself in the same way. Many carers speak to themselves harshly, much more harshly than they would ever speak to a friend in the same situation. If a coworker at the factory told you that he was looking after his father and two children while working changing shifts, you would not call him weak for feeling tired. You would probably tell him that he was doing a great deal. You deserve to hear the same words from yourself.

There is a traditional saying, known in many languages, that it takes a whole village to raise a child. I think it could also be said that it takes a whole circle of people to care for an older parent. The saying reminds us that no family was ever meant to carry everything alone. Asking others to share the load is not a failure. It is how families have survived for as long as there have been families.

Finally, please keep an eye on your own health. Carers' guides and public mental health guides agree that carers often put their own needs last, sometimes for too long. If you find that you are exhausted most days for weeks at a time, that you feel low or hopeless, that your sleep is badly disturbed, or that your temper is becoming hard to control, it would be a good step to talk to a doctor or another qualified professional. Doing so is not taking time away from your family. It is making sure that your family keeps the person they depend on.

With warm wishes for you, your father, your wife and your children, Jiwoo

A Question to Think About

This question is for you, Ahmed, and for every reader who carries more than one kind of work. If you look honestly at everything you carry in a normal week, both paid and unpaid, which one small part could you ask someone else to share?

You might write a list of your tasks, from the large ones to the tiny ones, and notice which of them only you can do and which of them others could do with a little guidance. You might think of one person who has offered help in the past and imagine what you could ask of them. You might also notice whether anything stops you from asking, such as pride, guilt or the fear of being a burden, and wonder where that feeling comes from.

And if you are someone who does not carry a second shift at the moment, you might ask the question from the other side. Who around you is quietly working two shifts, and what one small, specific thing could you offer them?