I am employed by a local nursing home/residential care facility. The holiday season is upon us, and I can’t help but reflect on this year’s and years’ past struggles.

As caregivers in today’s world, we are there because we want to be, not because we are paid to be. Local coffee brewers and store clerks make more pay than the average person saving your mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles and whomever else may have taken ill or who are aging and just can’t be home alone anymore.

People may say well, if it isn’t paying for all the responsibility, then find another job. I think about it, and I just know that I can’t. Who would take care of the people who I have built another family with? I have 101 grandmothers. I am the lucky one.

I get a paycheck every week in the sum of $350 for 40 hours but, since beds aren’t always full, hours get cut. But I leave every single night with a full heart so I take every curveball coming my way.

I love what I do. I love meeting families and taking care of people who have worked hard their whole lives. And, let’s face it, no one in this world has said ‘I can’t wait to go to a nursing home,’ so it is up to me to make whatever time they have left here nothing less than enjoyable.

Do I have this all wrong though? Should I not care and just worry about my family because, at this point, my family is suffering because of my love for what I do? I am forced to work around someone’s schedule because working this $11/hour job cannot pay daycare for three children; it barely pays the $1,000 per month rent in my small, lead-filled apartment because I can’t afford anything better right now.

Each month I rob Peter to pay Paul, shortchanging the electric bill to make sure I have the rent; not paying this car payment so I can pay that phone bill. Now, let’s throw Christmas into that. More like, what Christmas?

This is craziness. Why do I leave myself so stressed out working such a minimal-paying job in the high money demanding world? Because if I don’t do it, who will?

I am a CRMA. I pass medications but that is not all that I do. When mom falls, I do damage to my back every time I pick her up. When mom is mad, she hits me. When mom cries, I console her. When she laughs, we laugh together. When she is sick, I clean up her diarrhea and vomit, check her temperature, give her medicine, keep her comfortable — all while monitoring her vitals and making sure she stays clean and hydrated. But, most of all, making sure she feels loved.

Something has to be done about the wages of the people taking care of loved ones. How is it that selling a pack of cigarettes is close to the same pay scale as saving someone’s life? Together, as families and workers in this field, we need to call for action.

I write this in tears because I am torn. They say work isn’t work if you love what you do, and I love what I do. But when I cannot provide Christmas to my family, let alone barely provide our basic needs, it is time for me to question my time in this field.

Daleen Bowen lives in Lewiston.

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