When these intense 24/7 periods take hold, the toll is both physical and mental. Fatigue sets in, accompanied by grunted frustrations, listlessness, and a creeping sense of discouragement. Recognizing these internal warning signs has become critical for her survival and well-being. Rather than ignoring the exhaustion, she relies on an internal self-alert system that signals it is time to fundamentally change approach.
Drawing an analogy from driving a vehicle up a steep incline, she compares the experience to needing more power to navigate a hill. Instead of pressing harder on the accelerator or trying to force her way through the exhaustion, she shifts down to a lower gear. She refers to this intentional deceleration as "underwhelm." Rather than trying harder to keep up with an impossible pace, she deliberately expects less of herself for a designated period, recognizing that the demands of chronic caregiving require preservation rather than burnout.
My Four Rules for Underwhelm
This philosophy of underwhelm is not born out of giving up, but rather out of a structured, deliberate scaling back of daily expectations. It consists of several distinct practices designed to lower the temperature of a high-stress environment.
The first rule involves turning off the internal "guilt" warning system entirely. Regardless of promises made to oneself or to others regarding various tasks and commitments, if those obligations cannot be met without fostering a serious case of resentment or grumbling, they are immediately stripped from the daily agenda for a while.
The second rule is deceptively simple yet powerful: taking naps whenever and wherever they can be squeezed into the schedule. Whether it lasts five or ten minutes, brief periods of rest work wonders for resetting a depleted nervous system.
The third rule centers on reading books, particularly light, low-stakes literature commonly known as cozy mysteries. For this caregiver, these books offer low-key plots, minimal drama, and comforting characters and settings. Years ago, she encountered research suggesting that even a few minutes of reading can significantly reduce stress levels. The idea resonated so deeply that she eventually printed the statistic on bookmarks she gives away at book events. Whether six minutes is a scientifically proven magic number or not, the activity provides a reliable mechanism to step away from the pressures of caregiving for a little while. She also has no hesitation about revisiting books she has already read.
Her current reading list features a diverse rotation of authors and series, ranging from the very old-school, quiet charm of the Miss Read books to works by M.C. Beaton, Jacqueline Winspear, and Debbie Macomber. More recently, she has embraced the writing of Christy J. Kendall, a fellow resident of Clark County, Washington. Within the cozy mystery genre, she favors plots featuring a touch of the supernatural—what she describes as a twitch from a witch or a snoop from a spook—provided it remains whimsical rather than overwhelming. Occasionally, she even turns to middle-grade reads to recapture moments of childhood nostalgia.
Finally, the fourth rule is a comforting indulgence that may not carry official medical endorsement, but yields reliable emotional results: something sweet. Whether it is a simple cookie or a piece of chocolate, a small treat is never amiss during difficult moments. Defending the practice with a touch of humor, she notes that it worked for Mary Poppins, rendering further debate unnecessary. When exhaustion and irritability peak, a minor, doctor-unapproved comfort can provide a helpful, short-term lift.
More Underwhelm Practices
Beyond these foundational rules, the practice of underwhelm incorporates several other low-stress activities designed to gently occupy the mind without demanding excessive energy.
Journaling serves as a quiet outlet for a few minutes most days. These entries are not intended for publication or translation into an inspiring memoir; instead, they capture the mundane details of daily life, such as the weather, doctor appointments, passing ideas, visits from friends, and random musings.
Housework is managed through strict time boundaries. By setting a kitchen timer for 30 minutes, she tackles tasks like cleaning the kitchen, making the bed, or tidying the bathroom. Knowing there is a definitive endpoint helps motivate her to complete the chores, and routine housework can be surprisingly soothing and mindless when kept within strict limits. Anything exceeding 30 minutes crosses the line into excess.
Video games offer another avenue of simple, nostalgic distraction. Describing herself as entirely addicted to basic, old-school digital pastimes, she frequently plays digital jigsaw puzzles, Spider and Klondike solitaire, Sudoku, and word searches. To keep the experience peaceful, she turns off the game audio to avoid unnecessary sensory stimulation. While occasional software loops and intrusive advertisements cause momentary frustration, she accepts them as minor friction in an otherwise calming routine.
Computer work provides a different kind of relaxation. Managing a weekly radio program represents a firm commitment, but one that remains largely enjoyable. Editing audio files and designing graphics for platforms like Pinterest, Instagram, and Facebook offers a creative outlet that contrasts sharply with the rigid demands of caregiving.
There’s Nothing Wrong with the Slow Lane
Ultimately, the practice of underwhelm is a practical reminder that adjusting expectations to match the reality of daily life is a form of resilience, not surrender. As this caregiver demonstrates, navigating the steep hills of long-term caregiving does not always require pushing harder against insurmountable odds. Sometimes, the wisest course of action is to shift into a lower gear, shed a few non-essential tasks, steal a quick nap, lose oneself in a cozy mystery, and enjoy a cookie.
The underlying challenges and the steep hills of daily life will still be waiting tomorrow.
