The Forgotten Workforce: Caring for those who care (#357)

She holds the weight of others' pain,

Their sorrow, sickness, loss, and strain.

With steady hands and steady grace,

She hides the cracks behind her face.

She offers hope and calms the storm,

A soothing touch, a shoulder warm.

But in the quiet, when all is done,

She wonders … who will help this one?

Who holds the hand that’s always near,

Who wipes her tears, who soothes her fear?

The ones who care, who give, who stay,

Deserve a place to rest, to pray.

So, pause and look beyond the role,

A beating heart, a tender soul.

Even carers need the light

That someone else keeps burning bright.

Carers are the ones who stay up when others sleep, who endure the emotional weight of illness, decline, and loss, often without pause or recognition.

Carers, whether professional health workers, family members, or those offering quiet, behind-the-scenes support, are the invisible backbone of healthcare, aged care, and emotional well being systems.

But who cares for them?

We romanticize care as a calling, a noble self-sacrifice. Yet beneath the surface lies a reality of exhaustion, burnout, and sometimes despair. Nurses, veterinarians, therapists, teachers, parents, spouses all share one trait: they give, and give, and give again. And society is too often content to let them.

Carers are expected to cope, to maintain calm, compassion, and competence under pressure. But chronic caring wears down the psyche, frays relationships, and blurs identity. The person becomes defined by their role, their needs subsumed beneath the needs of others.

In veterinary medicine, I’ve seen this play out in young graduates collapsing under the weight of compassion fatigue. In human hospitals, it manifests as emotional detachment or staff exodus. In family homes, it appears as quiet resentment, creeping depression, or a sense of suffocating isolation.

So again, we ask: who cares for the carer?

Here’s a radical thought: we must.

Not as a token gesture, but as a structural imperative.

Workplaces must normalize mental health support and provide time off the floor for decompression.

Communities must learn to ask: How are you … really?

Governments must invest in respite programs - not just for patients, but for those who hold them up.

And carers themselves must be empowered to prioritize their own wellness without guilt.

After all, no one can pour from an empty cup.

The question “Who cares for the carer?” must not remain rhetorical.

The answer must be: we all do.

Because if we don’t, we lose not just the carer, but the human compassion that underpins all care.

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