Making Space for Joy: A Gift for Caregivers

By Monique Kavanagh, Co-founder, Camp Joy

From the very beginning, Marea and I have dreamed of offering a fully-funded Camp Joy spot to a caregiver. At first, we told ourselves we’d wait until “we were making money.” But we’ve changed our minds. The time is now.

This is personal for both of us. Below is my story. Marea will share hers separately.

The Weight We Carry—and What Happens When We Set It Down 

For a long time, I didn’t realize how heavy it all was.

When my mum was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia, I was working full-time—juggling meetings, deadlines, and between 5 to 30 phone calls from her each day.

For the first three years, she lived just two blocks away in an independent living facility. She had a kind, capable team around her—people who could reset her cable box so she could rage at FOX News—but I was always the one she wanted.

Later, when she moved into a full-time care home, the caregiving didn’t stop—it just changed. With her physical needs now handled by staff, I became her sole source of emotional connection and reassurance. Every fear, frustration, and need for comfort came to me. Because no matter where she lived, she was still my mum and I was still her daughter (she never forgot that, ever).

Every day, I had to make decisions on the fly: Is this one of the calls I need to drop everything for? Can I talk her down over the phone? Can this wait until after work—or not at all? 

Some calls were paranoid spirals about armed men in the building or nurses stealing from her. Others were desperate pleas: “Why haven’t you visited in weeks?” (It had been two days.).

And yet—there were also moments of joy. Scrabble games (with ever-changing

Every visit to the Keg was "someone's" birthday. Billie Miner pie is worth it.

rules), afternoons at Homesense, caramel macchiatos, and ice cream in all forms. 

Those glimpses of “mum” brought me light.

I tried to stay grounded, but I was constantly on edge—toggling between professionalism at work and panic at home.

My workplace said the right things: “We’ve got your back—do what you need.” But there was no meaningful flexibility or acknowledgment of how emotionally draining it was.

Homesense then a Caramel Macciato with her girls, always brought her joy.

It wasn’t until my mum passed away in April 2024 that I recognized the full weight of it all.

I experienced a strange lightness that was part relief for her as she was so terrified and angry, and part was the slow unburdening of years of chronic stress.

Years of tension I didn’t even know I was holding.

It took me a long time to get to grief because I didn't know how to get out of caregiving.

And here’s the thing: I knew caregiver burnout was real. I just couldn’t see it from inside the storm.

Where's the joy, you ask? It's coming! Not yet my friends . . .

Last week, I went to the Harmony in Care event hosted by the Women’s Brain Health Initiative—invited by my dear friend Laura (and Jann Arden was performing, so I said yes). I didn’t know what the evening was really about until it began.

By the end of the opening remarks, I was in tears—quiet, steady tears that fell throughout most of the night.

The Hon. Lisa Raitt spoke about caring for her husband with Alzheimer’s. Her honesty, grief, and grace stirred something deep in me. She spoke of how his illness didn’t just belong to him—it became hers too. Her whole life reshaped around it.

And suddenly I could name something I hadn’t before: Getting space matters.

The artists Agathe & Adrien performed a hauntingly beautiful dance that captured the shift from being cared for to doing the caring. Their message was quiet but powerful.

That night reminded me: caregiving doesn’t just consume your time—it reshapes your identity. And until you’re given true, compassionate space, you may not even realize how much of yourself you’ve given away.

And here’s the truth: many women don’t call themselves “caregivers,” but they are absolutely the givers of care. They’re the glue holding families, friendships, and communities together—quietly, constantly, and often invisibly.

Camp Joy is a retreat for all women—including caregivers and care-givers alike. Through our Inner Joy program, a nurturing community, and good old-fashioned fun, we help women soften the walls around their hearts and remember what joy feels like.

A little preview for reading this far . . .

We're launching the Camp Joy Caregiver Grant.

At every retreat, we’ll offer one fully-funded space for a woman who is actively caregiving—whether for a parent, child, partner, friend, or client. The only requirement? For now, she must be able to get herself there. We’ll take care of the rest.

Our hope is to eventually expand this into a full scholarship program with travel support and partners. But for now, we’re starting with what we can—because we know how much it matters.

Camp Joy isn’t about pretending life is easy. It’s about reminding you you’re not alone. It’s about creating space for joy—even in the midst of caregiving. Especially in the midst of caregiving.

Stay tuned for how we’ll roll out the program—and how someone in your life might join us. We are so excited that we have our first grant recipient who is joining us in Ménerbes in September. More on that later!

With love,

Monique