I didn’t realise I was a carer. I was ‘just Mum’.

At least, that’s what I thought for a long time.

I’m 49 years old, a besotted Granny, a plant lover, and mum to a 17-year-old daughter who needs far more support than her older siblings did at the same age. It was only when I started comparing what daily life looked like for her with what it had looked like for my older children that I realised this wasn’t typical parenting anymore. I wasn’t simply parenting a teenager — I was caring.

That realisation took time, because caring didn’t look the way I imagined it would.

For me, caring means waking my daughter every morning because she cannot manage it independently. It means ordering, collecting and administering medication every day. Managing medical and mental health appointments. Advocating constantly for more support. Driving endlessly to and from her specialist school, appointments and regular A&E visits. Encouraging her to eat and drink. Prompting self-care. Supporting her mental health during the day and, often, in the middle of the night when she can’t sleep and needs reassurance.

“The biggest part, though, is the mental load. The endless hypervigilance. Always thinking ahead. Always listening out. Always worrying about the future.”

It means doing laundry, cooking, cleaning and tidying because those tasks are overwhelming for her. It means caring for and training her Labrador to become a fully trained Assistance Dog. It means constant encouragement, rewards and emotional support for things many people take for granted.

The biggest part, though, is the mental load. The endless hypervigilance. Always thinking ahead. Always listening out. Always worrying about the future. Always trying to balance encouraging independence with knowing when support is genuinely needed.

Many of these are things I once did for my older children too. But by 17, they were largely independent. They could wake themselves, use public transport, manage their own routines and gradually take on adult responsibilities. My daughter still cannot do many of those things alone, which means I cannot fully step away either.

Because of this, I’m only able to work a few hours each week on a zero-hours contract for minimum wage, fitting work around whoever is available to stay with my daughter. I also sell things on Vinted to bring in a little extra income. Financially, life is challenging.

Emotionally, it can be exhausting and incredibly lonely.

For a while, I lost my identity too. I never expected to still be an “at home mum” at this stage of life, and I deeply missed the career I loved and found rewarding. Slowly, though, I’ve started rebuilding parts of myself. I’m currently studying horticulture online with the hope that one day I can combine gardening, rehabilitation and wellbeing into a future career.

“I’m only able to work a few hours each week on a zero-hours contract for minimum wage…Financially, life is challenging…For a while, I lost my identity too. I never expected to still be an “at home mum” at this stage of life.”

Therapy has helped me stay more or less sane over the past four years. Having space each week to process the stress and emotional weight of caring has made a huge difference. I also live with several stress-related physical and mental health conditions, which I believe are linked to the pressures of this role.

One of the most important things for me has been finding creative outlets again. I’ve taken part in carers’ workshops involving photography, poetry and creative writing, and although finding the time is not always easy, I’ve found them incredibly cathartic. Having my work shared publicly makes me feel seen and heard beyond my caring role.

If I could wish for one thing, it wouldn’t necessarily be money, although carers undoubtedly deserve proper financial recognition for the work they do. It would be shared responsibility. Someone else to carry the driving, appointments, admin and sleepless nights sometimes, so that I could simply be Mum again — alongside having a job and life of my own that I had chosen.

“Somewhere between the sleepless nights, the endless appointments, the emotional support, the advocacy, the exhaustion and the loss of my own independence, I crossed a line from parenting into caring without even noticing.”

My therapist often reminds me that there’s a difference between being willing to do something and wanting to do it. I am willing to care for my daughter because I love her completely. She’s funny, beautiful and an incredibly talented artist. But the truth is, I don’t want to be a carer. I really, really wish I didn’t have to be.

More than anything, I wish she didn’t need me to.

For a long time, I didn’t realise that what I was doing counted as caring. I thought I was simply being “Mum”. But somewhere between the sleepless nights, the endless appointments, the emotional support, the advocacy, the exhaustion and the loss of my own independence, I crossed a line from parenting into caring without even noticing.