Coping - That's A Mechanism, Right?

Real Talk from the Trenches of Caregiving

Let’s get honest for a moment.

If you’ve ever found yourself crying in the shower (my favorite quiet place), breathing through clenched teeth in a hospital waiting room, or staring blankly at your coffee wondering what day it is—you’re not alone. You, my friend, are coping.

And yes… that’s a mechanism.

Coping Isn’t Always Pretty—But It’s Powerful

Coping mechanisms get a bad rap sometimes. They’re treated like fallback plans, those things we turn to when everything else has fallen apart. But here’s the truth: coping is a human survival tool. It’s the wads of duct tape that holds us together when life, grief, exhaustion, and fear threaten to unravel us.

Some people meditate. Some people walk the dog. Some of us eat chicken nuggets in the car in absolute solitude with the music at ear drum breaking level. (Also a valid mechanism.)

Coping is personal. It’s imperfect. It doesn’t always look like a guided journal or a green smoothie. Sometimes it looks like binge-watching reruns or yelling into a pillow; I’ve been known to sit in the bottom of the pool … just not hearing anything and seeing the sky through water until it get bonked by the shark-shaped chlorine tablet floatie.

Sometimes it looks like scrolling, zoning out, shutting down.

But it works, doesn’t it? At least for a little while. It buys us time. It gives us space to breathe.

“Healthy” vs. “Unhealthy” Coping: Let’s Redefine That

You’ve probably heard people talk about healthy coping mechanisms.

Exercise. Journaling. Therapy. All good things.

But when you’re a caregiver—especially for a loved one with a chronic or degenerative condition like Lewy Body Dementia, some days, getting up and getting through the day is the only goal. And if your coping looks more like collapsing on the couch with chips and guac and a bottle of wine than completing a mindless gratitude worksheet? That’s okay.

There’s no shame in “outing” ourselves for how we survive.

The unhealthy part is never giving ourselves credit for making it through another hour, another call/text to the doctor, another sleepless night. What’s unhealthy is pretending we don’t need support.

Coping Is a Clue

Here’s something I’ve learned in the thick of it: coping is a clue.

It tells you where you’re hurting. What you’re trying to soothe. Where the pain sits.

• If I’m scrolling endlessly, maybe I’m craving escape or wanting a moment of dreaming about the places I want to travel to. If you ever can’t find me, I’ll be in Edinburgh, Wales, or Svalbard.

• If I’m snapping at my love, maybe I’m overwhelmed and need help.

• If I’m crying over commercials (again and again), maybe I haven’t had a real release in days.

Instead of judging ourselves for how we’re coping, maybe we need to ask: what is this coping trying to tell me?

When Coping Becomes Connection

One of the most powerful shifts I’ve finally made as a caregiver is recognizing that coping doesn’t have to be isolating. It can be an invitation to connect—with others, and with yourself.

• A phone call to one of my special people on my list who just gets it and listens to my stories and very salty language peppered with f-bombs and encourages me with “Eff-yeah!” Coping.

• Writing a blog post like this? Coping.

• Sharing a variety of tidbits in support group (I belong to three) and laughing so hard you cry and even possibly pee your pants? Definitely coping.

Sometimes, what starts as coping becomes community.

Give Yourself Permission

So yeah - coping is a mechanism. It’s also a muscle. One we build every day we show up, wipe the tears, laugh in the chaos, advocate at appointments, and carry the weight of love and fear all at once.

If you needed someone to tell you this today, here it is:

👉 You’re doing the best you can.
👉 You are allowed to fall apart and put yourself back together.
👉 You are allowed to cope your own way through it.

And guess what? You don’t need permission. But if you do, I’m giving it to you anyway.

✨ Caregiving isn’t for the faint of heart. It’s for the fierce, the tender, the unlimited loving. And you, dear friend, are all of those things. ✨

Looking for more support, stories, or simply a reminder that you’re not alone? Click subscribe to the ramblings site is learn more about life with caregiving.

You deserve community.