about Dean, caregiving and perception
Belatedly cross-posting this from tumblr.
Okay. This is not a thinky post. I tried, it became emotional, I tried to curb it, it remained emotional, and then I said to hell with it because I'm not writing about it out of an intellectual interest in Dean's role as caregiver but because his story has resonated with me emotionally. I'm not going to pretend it's anything other than what it is. I'm writing from an emotional place in response to attitudes both in-show and in-fandom about just what it means that Dean is both a perpetual caregiver and the emotional POV of the show.
There are some wonderful metas out there about Cas and Sam and about mental illness and how both ridiculous and rewarding the show has been about character development, as well as how absurd the concept and portrayal of mental illness on the show has been. But there is something in the attitude and in some recent metas that have rubbed me the wrong way as it concerns Dean. Specifically, as it concerns Dean's health in all of this, about the lack of recognition of what it means to be Dean in all of this, of what it means to have no release of burden, of what it means to have a burden recognized rarely and in passing and as a matter of his own responsibility.
This isn't a post about his alcoholism. What alcoholism? I dunno. It's funny sometimes, except when it's not. Maybe the show will get back to us on that.
This isn't a post about his depression. What depression? That depression that he's been in since S4? S2, even? Heck, as long as Mary's been dead, probably? Yeah, that one. It's not funny, ever. It's some kind of plot, I think? Some kind of arc? Maybe the show will get back to us on that, too.
This is a post about his caregiver burnout. It doesn't register on the scale of mental illness and soullessness, I know, and maybe it's not even worth the space of this post to write about it, but I'm going to write about it because of one thing that Cas has done for Dean but the show never has: recognize the impossible position that he is kept in.
What am I even talking about?
Caregiver burnout. It's not going to get him a flashy plot, a hippie dance with bees or the sympathy of a lot of fans. But it's real, it's silent, it's invisible, and it's never going away until the people that he cares for are gone. He will never get better; he will only get worse. This is what caregiving is. It's not a disease; it is permanent exhaustion.
:::
From [here]:
Recognizing Caregiver Burnout
Caregiver burnout is a state of physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion that may be accompanied by a change in attitude -- from positive and caring to negative and unconcerned. Burnout can occur when caregivers don't get the help they need, or if they try to do more than they are able -- either physically or financially. Caregivers who are "burned out" may experience fatigue, stress, anxiety, and depression. Many caregivers also feel guilty if they spend time on themselves rather than on their ill or elderly loved ones.
What Are the Symptoms of Caregiver Burnout?
The symptoms of caregiver burnout are similar to the symptoms of stress and depression. They include:
Withdrawal from friends, family and other loved ones.
Loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed.
Feeling blue, irritable, hopeless, and helpless.
Changes in appetite, weight, or both.
Changes in sleep patterns.
Getting sick more often.
Feelings of wanting to hurt yourself or the person for whom you are caring.
Emotional and physical exhaustion.
Irritability.
What Causes Caregiver Burnout?
Caregivers often are so busy caring for others that they tend to neglect their own emotional, physical, and spiritual health. The demands on a caregiver's body, mind, and emotions can easily seem overwhelming, leading to fatigue and hopelessness -- and, ultimately, burnout. Other factors that can lead to caregiver burnout include:
Role confusion -- Many people are confused when thrust into the role of caregiver. It can be difficult for a person to separate her role as caregiver from her role as spouse, lover, child, friend, etc.
Unrealistic expectations -- Many caregivers expect their involvement to have a positive effect on the health and happiness of the patient. This may be unrealistic for patients suffering from a progressive disease, such as Parkinson's or Alzheimer's.
Lack of control -- Many caregivers become frustrated by a lack of money, resources, and skills to effectively plan, manage, and organize their loved one's care.
Unreasonable demands -- Some caregivers place unreasonable burdens upon themselves, in part because they see providing care as their exclusive responsibility.
Other factors -- Many caregivers cannot recognize when they are suffering burnout and eventually get to the point where they cannot function effectively. They may even become sick themselves.
:::
Here's the thing about caregiving, and I'll let an excerpt from this article open it up.
"…Combine this with still having to go to your regular job, and you will soon find that there is no time in the day for you. When this cycle continues for an extended period of time, you can reach the edge of an emotional cliff. You may suffer emotional exhaustion, or as the professionals call it, caregiver burnout.
What seems to make things worse is that people are constantly asking in-depth questions about how your [loved one] is doing, but few, if any, about how you are doing, when people did ask me how I was doing, I almost felt selfish or as if I was complaining when I told the truth.
"…Caregiver burnout is not your [loved one]’s fault or anyone’s. It is only one of the side effects of healing. Realize that you are a very important part of the healing process, both physically and emotionally. If you are burnt-out or stressed-out, you can’t create a good healing environment."
:::
Maybe the most difficult part of caregiver burnout to manage--and one that is almost automatically assumed to be in balance by external support groups--is this: the diagnosis and healing process for caregiver burnout is placed on the caregiver' own shoulders, despite the fact that it creates a conflict of interest that the caregiver is left to resolve almost entirely on his or her own.
There was this line once in Fringe, a beautiful moment, where Olivia says that she knows that her place is to care for others, and Peter responds, "But who cares for you?" The fact is that most caregivers have no caregivers. You are responsible for your own care. You are responsible for putting the cared ones first and yourself second, but so as not to exhaust yourself but to take your own rest in a way that is not selfish or irresponsible, and all of this is left to your own discretion because you alone are holding the hands of their cared ones and nobody is holding yours.
What does it mean? It means that you don't break down because when you do is the only time family looks at you, and you'd think it would be in sympathy but so often it's not. You feel selfish because that's the state of mind you've been in for years now and it's reinforced by what you hear-"you should have said something sooner," "all you have to do is call me," "you need to think of yourself, too"-because you see it's all on you to take care of you and the one you're caring for, too; nobody puts in that thought for you. So you're left to juggle between feeling selfish for taking this nap here or going out with friends there and being more and more entrenched in exhaustion because, you see, there's never a moment that they don't need you there. You constantly balance whether they will be all right while you take a breather or if this breather will be the one that you come back to find them on the floor. You're expected to be responsible for reading your own health as well as your loved one's, because no one is reading yours for you and nobody ever says, "Let me look after you while you look after them," but their support comes in phrases like, "You need to look after yourself." It's relief they think they're offering, you see, but it's not: it's additional responsibility. It's a conflict of interest, and if you're in a position where there's no one stepping in to mediate, you're also in a position where there's no one stepping in to work the graveyard shift for you. You don't "take a weekend" and get better; it doesn't work like that, however much you wish it would. You don't complain because when you do is the only time family asks, "Is there something I can do?" but they'll be gone again when the conversation is over and they don't like it much while they're there. It's like classical conditioning; you learn not to complain at all except when something wrong happens, something breaks, and all of a sudden people care, asking, "how the hell did that happen?" and you might blow up because you can only take so much, and then people shake their heads and throw up their hands and say, "why didn't you say anything?" because the burden is always on you.
My mother has Alzheimer's; this is coming from a very personal, very emotional place. Maybe I'm over-identifying with Dean because it pisses me off that he's been placed in this perpetual caregiver role with no release, and that's realistic, sure. He's been burnt out for years; that's realistic, too, and the support he's gotten has been haphazard at best. When they've said, "you need to take care of yourself," what they've also been saying is, "I can't do this alone" and "think of what Sam would want" and "find your reason for getting back into the game." While Sam and while Cas have their critical medical problems, his problem has been that he's breaking down because he is trying to keep them from breaking down and trying to keep them together after he's failed to keep them from breaking down. That's not a problem family always recognizes, actually, and sometimes not even friends. And the thing about Dean is he's been in this role for most of his childhood and adult life. Until the last several years, he's had no support framework of his own to lean on, and now it is being stripped away again without him ever having found respite. John had said that Dean was the emotional caregiver of their family; we saw in S5 that he was filling that role even before Mary died. There have been countless volumes of meta devoted to the intense, deep-rooted caregiver aspect of Dean's relationship with Sam. He is the solid ground Sam stands on; whether Sam is aware of it or not, in his very outreach to Dean, he often entreats him for strength and toughness, rather than an actual laying down of walls. This isn't a criticism of Sam; this is their dynamic, and it's a dynamic that the show is addicted to. It's is such a dominant aspect of their relationship and of the show itself that I've often seen meta to the effect that because Dean isn't comfortable with being cared for rather than the cared one, because Dean "didn't need to be told" (per "All Hell Breaks Loose…") to take care of Sam, because Dean needs this role to feel complete, and so on, that the best way to care for Dean is to let Dean care for others. If asked by Peter as Olivia was, he might answer in confusion, "No, I'm the caregiver. It's my job." The role may be that simple. But people aren't.
This comes out so clearly to me in his confusion with his own exhaustion, in trying to deal with how messy his feelings were in 7x21, in 7x17, in 7x03, and on and on. When in 7x17 he tried so hard to reason with himself why it was so hard to let go of this hurt:
Dean: "I just know that this whole thing couldn't be messier. You know, I used to be able to shake this stuff off. You know, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but I always could. What Cas did… I just can't. I don't know why."
Emmanuel/Castiel: "Well, it doesn't matter why."
Dean: "Of course, it matters."
Emmanuel/Castiel: "No, you're not a machine, Dean. You're human."
That Dean was trying to find a reason at all speaks volumes about how deeply entrenched he is in the caregiver role. It has to matter, because you're not only responsible for yourself. You have to understand why and you have to find some way to deal with it on your own, because you're expected to be able to shake it off, whatever it is, even if it took some time. You can't allow for it to be messy, for it to exhaust you, for it to be impossible to shake off, because it's not your own health and your own time and your own comfort you're safeguarding; it's someone else's. It only doesn't matter why if you've only yourself to care for, when you can take as much time, when you're alone or when you're cared for by someone else, when there's no other tab for you to pick up. That's not the caregiver life. There's no space to take up and no time to waste recharging, because there's never a moment that they aren't going to need you there. There's no time to have a "bad day," and there's no space to release tension. They'd never call it "machine," and they'd never expect it of you in those terms, not at all, but they rely on you to that effect: to be constant, to be there, to be what they have always known you to be while they all go through what all they're going through.
I've seen it written that the ill shouldn't be expected to apologize for inconveniencing the well, and that's absolutely valid. My problem with it is that it doesn't hit all the marks, you see, because this is also real life. Depression is no less in need of healing than any other illness. Ditto alcoholism. And caregiver burnout, which is not an illness at all, so what does it matter, really? Because we're not machines. We're human. It's not an apology for mental illness or for being "other" that is asked for, but awareness. I don't ask my mother for an apology for having Alzheimer's; that would be absurd. But it would be nice, you know, it would be so nice if family would sometimes not only ask, "How's your mom doing?" but also ask, "Is there anything I can do for you?" rather than leave it up to me to hold in and hold in and keep holding in because it's selfish to bring it up yourself when mom can't help that she's sick and there's no one else here to help her. Comforting the caregiver isn't an apology for the cared for. I find that incredibly offensive. Comforting caregivers doesn't Other the cared for, but not comforting caregivers does Other the caregivers. Why is it offensive? Why does it even matter? How dare I say that? Because we're not machines. We're human. Castiel offering Dean comfort before he took on Sam's hell whatever isn't apologizing for the mental illness; it's a friend offering another friend comfort in the last moments he believes he might be able to. Both the caregiver (Dean) and the cared for (Sam) were cared for by someone outside of their dynamic. The beauty of that moment is that Dean had been fighting being cared for all along, because that's who he is and because that's the caretaker role and that's what is expected. But Cas-real Cas, Emmanuel Cas-addressed his needs, too, anyway. He took a moment to breathe for Dean because Dean wouldn't take it for himself. (Do you know how often this happens in real life? Do you have one hand? Don't worry; you'll have fingers left.)
So what does it matter? It's this simple recognition that--just as this or that character's being isn't defined by mental or other illness or some supernatural "wrongness"--so also Dean's being isn't defined as "caretaker" alone. His humanity doesn't begin and end there, and it offends me that the common perception around fandom is that it should. Nobody says that, of course, but what else is one to take away from Dean's issues being seen primarily as attitude problems and Dean's behavior criticized so frequently as some form of failure to understand and support those he is supposed to love? Am I overcritical of this? Is it a coincidence that Dean is taken to task for not being supportive of Castiel in 7x21, for leaving him behind in 7x17, for leaving Sam in the panic room "to rot" various times, for not welcoming Bobby's ghost with open arms? What about this: is it just coincidence that Castiel's beat-down response to Dean's suicidal depression in S5 is met with fandom cheers? Is it just a coincidence that the episode in which that took place ended with Dean's attitude being adjusted? That he, more specifically, learned that he could be strong for his brother and not let him down? I'm sorry; I must have that wrong. Who was the suicidally depressed brother in that episode? Who was at rock bottom? The man who needed someone to take care of, I suppose? Because depression is solved by beatings and caregiver burnout is solved by reminding the caregiver that he has someone to take care of. Is that part of the CW ointment? I guess it is.
You see, this is not just fandom perception. This is very deeply entrenched in-show, as well. From the tail end of Season 5 through the current status in Season 7, Dean has been increasingly isolated as the primary caregiver of TFW. And no one in-show talks about it. Well, what does that matter? Let me talk a bit about that. To begin with: his loved ones have only once discussed his needs (7x09). Once. So who does that leave to talk about it? Dean. Remember what I said about caregivers talking about their burnout? Remember how they learn not to talk about it, because it's 1) beside the point and 2) selfish and 3) detrimental to the health of their loved ones? So guess what? When he talks about it, he's reamed for being selfish and/or whiny by fans (because other characters are actually, you know, ill and therefore have it worse), and he's encouraged to soldier up within the show (because other characters are actually, you know, ill and therefore have it worse). And all of this is just fine and exactly what he needs, of course, because that's just who Dean is. Right? Who needs to worry about caregiver burnout when it's who you are? Well, that's like saying why do soldiers need to worry about PTSD when that's who they are? How absurd is that? I appreciate that it's realistic that the caring of caregivers doesn't always happen, but it's absurd to me that the show might suggest that because Dean isn't comfortable being the object of his family's caring attention and concern, that means that he actually doesn't need it. A person doesn't stop having their own needs because they must endlessly care for others' needs. Isn't that something Sam has said to him several times? Bobby, too? Certainly Cas. A person doesn't stop needing to breathe because they're underwater all of the time. A person doesn't stop being human because being human is (apparently) a boring, repetitive plot. Dean is generally either told to be human (as in, "Tell someone how bad it is," "Look after yourself," etc.), or he's told to soldier up. Most of the time, he's told both in the same breath and sometimes (as in S7) over and over again over the course of the season even as the shit continues to pile up.
What happens when Dean's issues are commented on in passing rather than settled on as the central plot point of a script is that issues like alcoholism, depression, caregiver burnout, etc., are marginalized in comparison to the other characters' issues. What happens when members of their support group gather to discuss and plan help for everyone's issues but Dean's ( as is so very often the case) is that he has no caregiver network. What happens when his issues rest almost entirely in the performance of the actor rather than in the page of the script is that his issues become treated as attitude (trivial) problems rather than psychological (real) ones. What happens when we're almost always looking through his eyes at the issues of everyone else and rarely through their eyes at his is that his issues become invisible. What happens when his issues are marginalized and become invisible and are treated as attitude problems without any caregiver network is that Dean's "plot" is an emotional one to which shit is only added and never relieved. There is only additional responsibility placed on him to take care of his own health as well as those who rely on him, and his exhaustion is filed under "it's just who he is," like a soldier being told to take his PTSD on the chin and stop whining, already.
I really wish I felt that the show had a better appreciation for the impossible position they place him in by continuing to be told to relax and let his loved ones go even as he is being told to soldier up because everyone around him continues to be placed in a crisis that he is relied on to fix or to be that strong one who holds steady while all else goes to pot. Jensen's performance is where I find the center point for this exhaustion; it's not in the script.
You know what, though? All of that said, Dean's "plot" has been so understated and so dependent on the internal consistency of Jensen's performance that his journey by far the most emotionally satisfying to me. It has been the most realistic, the least dependent on convoluted supernatural shenanigans and transient tv illnesses. Whatever he has been, whatever he has done or said, has always been him; there are no fingers to point at external causes. There are no excuses, no walls between the audience and Dean. Dean is just Dean. His relationships with the other characters have been the most complex, the least cheaply sentimental, the hardest worn, the most carefully built, and the most consistently characterized. Because, for better (and others might say for worse), he has always been their Dean. He could stop soldiering up and he could stop being there.
But he won't. 'Cause he didn't. Because that's just not him, is it?
Okay. This is not a thinky post. I tried, it became emotional, I tried to curb it, it remained emotional, and then I said to hell with it because I'm not writing about it out of an intellectual interest in Dean's role as caregiver but because his story has resonated with me emotionally. I'm not going to pretend it's anything other than what it is. I'm writing from an emotional place in response to attitudes both in-show and in-fandom about just what it means that Dean is both a perpetual caregiver and the emotional POV of the show.
There are some wonderful metas out there about Cas and Sam and about mental illness and how both ridiculous and rewarding the show has been about character development, as well as how absurd the concept and portrayal of mental illness on the show has been. But there is something in the attitude and in some recent metas that have rubbed me the wrong way as it concerns Dean. Specifically, as it concerns Dean's health in all of this, about the lack of recognition of what it means to be Dean in all of this, of what it means to have no release of burden, of what it means to have a burden recognized rarely and in passing and as a matter of his own responsibility.
This isn't a post about his alcoholism. What alcoholism? I dunno. It's funny sometimes, except when it's not. Maybe the show will get back to us on that.
This isn't a post about his depression. What depression? That depression that he's been in since S4? S2, even? Heck, as long as Mary's been dead, probably? Yeah, that one. It's not funny, ever. It's some kind of plot, I think? Some kind of arc? Maybe the show will get back to us on that, too.
This is a post about his caregiver burnout. It doesn't register on the scale of mental illness and soullessness, I know, and maybe it's not even worth the space of this post to write about it, but I'm going to write about it because of one thing that Cas has done for Dean but the show never has: recognize the impossible position that he is kept in.
What am I even talking about?
Caregiver burnout. It's not going to get him a flashy plot, a hippie dance with bees or the sympathy of a lot of fans. But it's real, it's silent, it's invisible, and it's never going away until the people that he cares for are gone. He will never get better; he will only get worse. This is what caregiving is. It's not a disease; it is permanent exhaustion.
:::
From [here]:
Recognizing Caregiver Burnout
Caregiver burnout is a state of physical, emotional, and mental exhaustion that may be accompanied by a change in attitude -- from positive and caring to negative and unconcerned. Burnout can occur when caregivers don't get the help they need, or if they try to do more than they are able -- either physically or financially. Caregivers who are "burned out" may experience fatigue, stress, anxiety, and depression. Many caregivers also feel guilty if they spend time on themselves rather than on their ill or elderly loved ones.
What Are the Symptoms of Caregiver Burnout?
The symptoms of caregiver burnout are similar to the symptoms of stress and depression. They include:
Withdrawal from friends, family and other loved ones.
Loss of interest in activities previously enjoyed.
Feeling blue, irritable, hopeless, and helpless.
Changes in appetite, weight, or both.
Changes in sleep patterns.
Getting sick more often.
Feelings of wanting to hurt yourself or the person for whom you are caring.
Emotional and physical exhaustion.
Irritability.
What Causes Caregiver Burnout?
Caregivers often are so busy caring for others that they tend to neglect their own emotional, physical, and spiritual health. The demands on a caregiver's body, mind, and emotions can easily seem overwhelming, leading to fatigue and hopelessness -- and, ultimately, burnout. Other factors that can lead to caregiver burnout include:
Role confusion -- Many people are confused when thrust into the role of caregiver. It can be difficult for a person to separate her role as caregiver from her role as spouse, lover, child, friend, etc.
Unrealistic expectations -- Many caregivers expect their involvement to have a positive effect on the health and happiness of the patient. This may be unrealistic for patients suffering from a progressive disease, such as Parkinson's or Alzheimer's.
Lack of control -- Many caregivers become frustrated by a lack of money, resources, and skills to effectively plan, manage, and organize their loved one's care.
Unreasonable demands -- Some caregivers place unreasonable burdens upon themselves, in part because they see providing care as their exclusive responsibility.
Other factors -- Many caregivers cannot recognize when they are suffering burnout and eventually get to the point where they cannot function effectively. They may even become sick themselves.
:::
Here's the thing about caregiving, and I'll let an excerpt from this article open it up.
"…Combine this with still having to go to your regular job, and you will soon find that there is no time in the day for you. When this cycle continues for an extended period of time, you can reach the edge of an emotional cliff. You may suffer emotional exhaustion, or as the professionals call it, caregiver burnout.
What seems to make things worse is that people are constantly asking in-depth questions about how your [loved one] is doing, but few, if any, about how you are doing, when people did ask me how I was doing, I almost felt selfish or as if I was complaining when I told the truth.
"…Caregiver burnout is not your [loved one]’s fault or anyone’s. It is only one of the side effects of healing. Realize that you are a very important part of the healing process, both physically and emotionally. If you are burnt-out or stressed-out, you can’t create a good healing environment."
:::
Maybe the most difficult part of caregiver burnout to manage--and one that is almost automatically assumed to be in balance by external support groups--is this: the diagnosis and healing process for caregiver burnout is placed on the caregiver' own shoulders, despite the fact that it creates a conflict of interest that the caregiver is left to resolve almost entirely on his or her own.
There was this line once in Fringe, a beautiful moment, where Olivia says that she knows that her place is to care for others, and Peter responds, "But who cares for you?" The fact is that most caregivers have no caregivers. You are responsible for your own care. You are responsible for putting the cared ones first and yourself second, but so as not to exhaust yourself but to take your own rest in a way that is not selfish or irresponsible, and all of this is left to your own discretion because you alone are holding the hands of their cared ones and nobody is holding yours.
What does it mean? It means that you don't break down because when you do is the only time family looks at you, and you'd think it would be in sympathy but so often it's not. You feel selfish because that's the state of mind you've been in for years now and it's reinforced by what you hear-"you should have said something sooner," "all you have to do is call me," "you need to think of yourself, too"-because you see it's all on you to take care of you and the one you're caring for, too; nobody puts in that thought for you. So you're left to juggle between feeling selfish for taking this nap here or going out with friends there and being more and more entrenched in exhaustion because, you see, there's never a moment that they don't need you there. You constantly balance whether they will be all right while you take a breather or if this breather will be the one that you come back to find them on the floor. You're expected to be responsible for reading your own health as well as your loved one's, because no one is reading yours for you and nobody ever says, "Let me look after you while you look after them," but their support comes in phrases like, "You need to look after yourself." It's relief they think they're offering, you see, but it's not: it's additional responsibility. It's a conflict of interest, and if you're in a position where there's no one stepping in to mediate, you're also in a position where there's no one stepping in to work the graveyard shift for you. You don't "take a weekend" and get better; it doesn't work like that, however much you wish it would. You don't complain because when you do is the only time family asks, "Is there something I can do?" but they'll be gone again when the conversation is over and they don't like it much while they're there. It's like classical conditioning; you learn not to complain at all except when something wrong happens, something breaks, and all of a sudden people care, asking, "how the hell did that happen?" and you might blow up because you can only take so much, and then people shake their heads and throw up their hands and say, "why didn't you say anything?" because the burden is always on you.
My mother has Alzheimer's; this is coming from a very personal, very emotional place. Maybe I'm over-identifying with Dean because it pisses me off that he's been placed in this perpetual caregiver role with no release, and that's realistic, sure. He's been burnt out for years; that's realistic, too, and the support he's gotten has been haphazard at best. When they've said, "you need to take care of yourself," what they've also been saying is, "I can't do this alone" and "think of what Sam would want" and "find your reason for getting back into the game." While Sam and while Cas have their critical medical problems, his problem has been that he's breaking down because he is trying to keep them from breaking down and trying to keep them together after he's failed to keep them from breaking down. That's not a problem family always recognizes, actually, and sometimes not even friends. And the thing about Dean is he's been in this role for most of his childhood and adult life. Until the last several years, he's had no support framework of his own to lean on, and now it is being stripped away again without him ever having found respite. John had said that Dean was the emotional caregiver of their family; we saw in S5 that he was filling that role even before Mary died. There have been countless volumes of meta devoted to the intense, deep-rooted caregiver aspect of Dean's relationship with Sam. He is the solid ground Sam stands on; whether Sam is aware of it or not, in his very outreach to Dean, he often entreats him for strength and toughness, rather than an actual laying down of walls. This isn't a criticism of Sam; this is their dynamic, and it's a dynamic that the show is addicted to. It's is such a dominant aspect of their relationship and of the show itself that I've often seen meta to the effect that because Dean isn't comfortable with being cared for rather than the cared one, because Dean "didn't need to be told" (per "All Hell Breaks Loose…") to take care of Sam, because Dean needs this role to feel complete, and so on, that the best way to care for Dean is to let Dean care for others. If asked by Peter as Olivia was, he might answer in confusion, "No, I'm the caregiver. It's my job." The role may be that simple. But people aren't.
This comes out so clearly to me in his confusion with his own exhaustion, in trying to deal with how messy his feelings were in 7x21, in 7x17, in 7x03, and on and on. When in 7x17 he tried so hard to reason with himself why it was so hard to let go of this hurt:
Dean: "I just know that this whole thing couldn't be messier. You know, I used to be able to shake this stuff off. You know, whatever it was. It might take me some time, but I always could. What Cas did… I just can't. I don't know why."
Emmanuel/Castiel: "Well, it doesn't matter why."
Dean: "Of course, it matters."
Emmanuel/Castiel: "No, you're not a machine, Dean. You're human."
That Dean was trying to find a reason at all speaks volumes about how deeply entrenched he is in the caregiver role. It has to matter, because you're not only responsible for yourself. You have to understand why and you have to find some way to deal with it on your own, because you're expected to be able to shake it off, whatever it is, even if it took some time. You can't allow for it to be messy, for it to exhaust you, for it to be impossible to shake off, because it's not your own health and your own time and your own comfort you're safeguarding; it's someone else's. It only doesn't matter why if you've only yourself to care for, when you can take as much time, when you're alone or when you're cared for by someone else, when there's no other tab for you to pick up. That's not the caregiver life. There's no space to take up and no time to waste recharging, because there's never a moment that they aren't going to need you there. There's no time to have a "bad day," and there's no space to release tension. They'd never call it "machine," and they'd never expect it of you in those terms, not at all, but they rely on you to that effect: to be constant, to be there, to be what they have always known you to be while they all go through what all they're going through.
I've seen it written that the ill shouldn't be expected to apologize for inconveniencing the well, and that's absolutely valid. My problem with it is that it doesn't hit all the marks, you see, because this is also real life. Depression is no less in need of healing than any other illness. Ditto alcoholism. And caregiver burnout, which is not an illness at all, so what does it matter, really? Because we're not machines. We're human. It's not an apology for mental illness or for being "other" that is asked for, but awareness. I don't ask my mother for an apology for having Alzheimer's; that would be absurd. But it would be nice, you know, it would be so nice if family would sometimes not only ask, "How's your mom doing?" but also ask, "Is there anything I can do for you?" rather than leave it up to me to hold in and hold in and keep holding in because it's selfish to bring it up yourself when mom can't help that she's sick and there's no one else here to help her. Comforting the caregiver isn't an apology for the cared for. I find that incredibly offensive. Comforting caregivers doesn't Other the cared for, but not comforting caregivers does Other the caregivers. Why is it offensive? Why does it even matter? How dare I say that? Because we're not machines. We're human. Castiel offering Dean comfort before he took on Sam's hell whatever isn't apologizing for the mental illness; it's a friend offering another friend comfort in the last moments he believes he might be able to. Both the caregiver (Dean) and the cared for (Sam) were cared for by someone outside of their dynamic. The beauty of that moment is that Dean had been fighting being cared for all along, because that's who he is and because that's the caretaker role and that's what is expected. But Cas-real Cas, Emmanuel Cas-addressed his needs, too, anyway. He took a moment to breathe for Dean because Dean wouldn't take it for himself. (Do you know how often this happens in real life? Do you have one hand? Don't worry; you'll have fingers left.)
So what does it matter? It's this simple recognition that--just as this or that character's being isn't defined by mental or other illness or some supernatural "wrongness"--so also Dean's being isn't defined as "caretaker" alone. His humanity doesn't begin and end there, and it offends me that the common perception around fandom is that it should. Nobody says that, of course, but what else is one to take away from Dean's issues being seen primarily as attitude problems and Dean's behavior criticized so frequently as some form of failure to understand and support those he is supposed to love? Am I overcritical of this? Is it a coincidence that Dean is taken to task for not being supportive of Castiel in 7x21, for leaving him behind in 7x17, for leaving Sam in the panic room "to rot" various times, for not welcoming Bobby's ghost with open arms? What about this: is it just coincidence that Castiel's beat-down response to Dean's suicidal depression in S5 is met with fandom cheers? Is it just a coincidence that the episode in which that took place ended with Dean's attitude being adjusted? That he, more specifically, learned that he could be strong for his brother and not let him down? I'm sorry; I must have that wrong. Who was the suicidally depressed brother in that episode? Who was at rock bottom? The man who needed someone to take care of, I suppose? Because depression is solved by beatings and caregiver burnout is solved by reminding the caregiver that he has someone to take care of. Is that part of the CW ointment? I guess it is.
You see, this is not just fandom perception. This is very deeply entrenched in-show, as well. From the tail end of Season 5 through the current status in Season 7, Dean has been increasingly isolated as the primary caregiver of TFW. And no one in-show talks about it. Well, what does that matter? Let me talk a bit about that. To begin with: his loved ones have only once discussed his needs (7x09). Once. So who does that leave to talk about it? Dean. Remember what I said about caregivers talking about their burnout? Remember how they learn not to talk about it, because it's 1) beside the point and 2) selfish and 3) detrimental to the health of their loved ones? So guess what? When he talks about it, he's reamed for being selfish and/or whiny by fans (because other characters are actually, you know, ill and therefore have it worse), and he's encouraged to soldier up within the show (because other characters are actually, you know, ill and therefore have it worse). And all of this is just fine and exactly what he needs, of course, because that's just who Dean is. Right? Who needs to worry about caregiver burnout when it's who you are? Well, that's like saying why do soldiers need to worry about PTSD when that's who they are? How absurd is that? I appreciate that it's realistic that the caring of caregivers doesn't always happen, but it's absurd to me that the show might suggest that because Dean isn't comfortable being the object of his family's caring attention and concern, that means that he actually doesn't need it. A person doesn't stop having their own needs because they must endlessly care for others' needs. Isn't that something Sam has said to him several times? Bobby, too? Certainly Cas. A person doesn't stop needing to breathe because they're underwater all of the time. A person doesn't stop being human because being human is (apparently) a boring, repetitive plot. Dean is generally either told to be human (as in, "Tell someone how bad it is," "Look after yourself," etc.), or he's told to soldier up. Most of the time, he's told both in the same breath and sometimes (as in S7) over and over again over the course of the season even as the shit continues to pile up.
What happens when Dean's issues are commented on in passing rather than settled on as the central plot point of a script is that issues like alcoholism, depression, caregiver burnout, etc., are marginalized in comparison to the other characters' issues. What happens when members of their support group gather to discuss and plan help for everyone's issues but Dean's ( as is so very often the case) is that he has no caregiver network. What happens when his issues rest almost entirely in the performance of the actor rather than in the page of the script is that his issues become treated as attitude (trivial) problems rather than psychological (real) ones. What happens when we're almost always looking through his eyes at the issues of everyone else and rarely through their eyes at his is that his issues become invisible. What happens when his issues are marginalized and become invisible and are treated as attitude problems without any caregiver network is that Dean's "plot" is an emotional one to which shit is only added and never relieved. There is only additional responsibility placed on him to take care of his own health as well as those who rely on him, and his exhaustion is filed under "it's just who he is," like a soldier being told to take his PTSD on the chin and stop whining, already.
I really wish I felt that the show had a better appreciation for the impossible position they place him in by continuing to be told to relax and let his loved ones go even as he is being told to soldier up because everyone around him continues to be placed in a crisis that he is relied on to fix or to be that strong one who holds steady while all else goes to pot. Jensen's performance is where I find the center point for this exhaustion; it's not in the script.
You know what, though? All of that said, Dean's "plot" has been so understated and so dependent on the internal consistency of Jensen's performance that his journey by far the most emotionally satisfying to me. It has been the most realistic, the least dependent on convoluted supernatural shenanigans and transient tv illnesses. Whatever he has been, whatever he has done or said, has always been him; there are no fingers to point at external causes. There are no excuses, no walls between the audience and Dean. Dean is just Dean. His relationships with the other characters have been the most complex, the least cheaply sentimental, the hardest worn, the most carefully built, and the most consistently characterized. Because, for better (and others might say for worse), he has always been their Dean. He could stop soldiering up and he could stop being there.
But he won't. 'Cause he didn't. Because that's just not him, is it?