Nickie celebrates National Carers Week after caring gave her sense of purpose

This week is National Carers Week (8 – 14 June) focusing on ‘building carer friendly communities.’ We spoke with Nicola Morrell, 42, from Solihull, who was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) five years ago but after losing her dad shortly after her diagnosis, she turned to caring for others.

My name is Nickie. I was diagnosed with relapsing-remitting MS in October 2021. Not long after, I lost my dad, and in a very short space of time my life changed completely.

I was trying to come to terms with a diagnosis I was still learning about, while also navigating grief and a sense that the future I had imagined no longer looked the same.

As a result of my dad’s death, I also put my own care on hold, including delaying starting disease modifying treatment while I dealt with arrangements as an only child and the overwhelming grief of losing my best friend.

What followed was an unexpected period of my life that I now look back on with a lot of reflection. I went on to work in care for around 18 months, supporting people with a wide range of needs, including one gentleman living with primary progressive MS.

For Carers Week, I wanted to share what that experience was like, and how caring for others helped me begin to process my own grief and find a sense of purpose again.

Looking back, that period of my life feels like a blur. I was trying to come to terms with everything happening at once, while also navigating grief. Everything felt uncertain. The future I had imagined suddenly looked very different, and for a while I felt as though I was simply putting one foot in front of the other.

At times it felt like I was just existing rather than really living. It was so hard trying to stay strong for my children as a single mum, while they were also devastated by the loss of their grandad. I had also recently moved home, so I was juggling my diagnosis, a new house, my dad’s death and all the arrangements that came with it. Everything was happening at once, and it felt overwhelming.

In his final months, I helped care for my dad. Looking back, I know I did everything I could, but grief has a way of making you question yourself. Like many people who lose someone they love, I found myself wondering whether I could have done more.

Those feelings didn’t disappear when he died. In some ways, they stayed with me.

What I didn’t expect was that my dad’s death would lead me into care work.

I spent around 18 months working as a carer, supporting a wide variety of people with different needs. The role was very practical and hands-on – everything from preparing meals, personal care, supporting with medication, and general housekeeping tasks, to simply being there and providing companionship.

No two days were ever the same.

Before starting care work, I don’t think I fully appreciated how much of caring is about human connection. Of course there are practical tasks involved, but often the most important thing you can give someone is your time, your patience and your willingness to listen.

I also discovered something unexpected about myself. I am quite a shy person by nature, but in care I found a different version of me. I became more bubbly, more confident, more outward facing than I ever expected.

I found myself chatting easily, laughing, and even singing along to songs like Cliff Richard and ABBA in the mornings while helping ladies get washed and dressed. It wasn’t something I would ever have pictured myself doing, but it felt completely natural in that environment.

And as a non-tea drinker, I also learned very quickly that making a good cup of tea is absolutely an essential life skill in care work. I always used to joke that my dad had his tea with six and a half sugars, and I’d find myself saying it so often it became a running little reminder of him in everyday life.

I think that’s one of the reasons care work became so important to me. It gave me somewhere to put all the care, energy and compassion that had nowhere to go after losing my dad. It gave me purpose at a time when I felt lost.

During that time, I met many wonderful people.

One thing that surprised me was how many of the people I cared for reminded me of my dad. Sometimes it was their sense of humour. Sometimes it was the stories they told. Sometimes it was simply their outlook on life.

Having lost my dad not long before, those moments could catch me off guard.

One gentleman once said to me, ‘Your dad must have been a lucky man to have a daughter like you.’

At the time I smiled and thanked him. Later, sitting in my car, I cried. His words meant more to me than he could ever have known.

As someone living with MS, there was one experience that stayed with me.

During my time in care, I supported a gentleman living with primary progressive MS. His experience of the condition was very different from my own. I was newly diagnosed and still trying to understand what the future might hold. He had lived with MS for much longer and faced challenges I had not experienced.

If I’m honest, there were times when that felt difficult. Seeing somebody living with advanced MS inevitably made me think about my own future. It brought fears and questions to the surface that I was still trying to process myself.

At the same time, we developed a genuine rapport.

We could talk openly about appointments, symptoms and the frustrations that come with living with a condition that is often unpredictable. I think there was a shared understanding between us that didn’t always need explaining.

He has since passed away, but I still think about him and the perspective he gave me. He reminded me that no two people experience MS in the same way and that every person’s journey is unique.

Perhaps the biggest lesson I learned through caring was that people are so much more than their diagnosis.

Whether someone was living with dementia, MS, or any other condition, they were first and foremost a person. They had families, memories, achievements, worries, hopes and stories. Their condition was only one part of who they were.

That was an important lesson for me as I was coming to terms with my own diagnosis.

MS is part of my life, but it is not all that I am.

Caring didn’t take away my grief, and it didn’t remove the guilt that sometimes comes with losing someone you love. Even now, there are moments when I wonder if I could have done more for my dad.

What caring taught me, though, is that being there for someone isn’t about fixing everything. Sometimes the most valuable thing you can offer is your presence, your kindness and your willingness to show up.

As we mark Carers Week, I find myself reflecting on how much caring gave me. I went into the role hoping to make a difference to other people, but I came away having learned so much myself.

It taught me compassion. It taught me resilience. It helped me process my grief. It showed me the power of connection and reminded me that every person has a story worth hearing.

It also gave me a deep respect for carers and the incredible, often underpaid work they do every day in extremely challenging circumstances.

And perhaps most importantly, it helped me begin to come to terms with my own MS.

For that, I will always be grateful.

If you been affected by any topics discussed in this feature, please call our helpline. Our team will be able offer support and discuss any concerns you may have. Call 0800 783 0518, email info@ms-uk.org or send a WhatsApp message to 07824 708897, Monday-Friday, 10am-4pm.