Tim Latham
We don’t often talk about care. Not properly. Not honestly. Not in a way that acknowledges the quiet truth we all carry: that one day, in one form or another, we will need support.
For many of us, the word “care” triggers a rush of feelings — fear, sadness, guilt, or even a pinch of denial. It’s no wonder so many people tell our planners: “I’m too young”, “It’s too depressing”, or “I’ll deal with it when I have to”.
But here’s the softer truth: Care isn’t about decline. It’s about dignity. It’s about choice. It’s about preserving the life you love for as long as possible. And care comes in many forms.
Not just the kind associated with a care home or a hospital ward. Sometimes care is as simple as letting someone else take on the heavy jobs you no longer want to do. A cleaner so you can enjoy your weekends again. A gardener who keeps your outdoor space beautiful. A private GP when waiting months for appointments begins draining the joy out of daily life.
Sometimes care is investing in your own wellbeing — yoga that steadies your mind, a personal trainer who keeps you moving, or regular physio that helps you stay independent.
These aren’t signs of frailty. They are signs of wisdom. Yet the emotional barrier remains: “How do I plan for something I’m scared to think about?”
This is the true care conundrum, the emotional side we rarely acknowledge.
Behind every care conversation lies a person trying to balance two realities:
- Wanting to stay independent for as long as possible
- Wanting to avoid becoming a burden
But here’s the paradox: Avoiding the conversation often creates the very outcome we fear.
When we don’t plan:
- Loved ones must make decisions for us
- Choices narrow
- Costs rise
- Stress mounts
When we do plan:
- We gain control
- Families feel relief
- Our wishes are honoured
- The future feels less frightening
A plan is not a prediction, it’s a kindness.
