One, no one and one hundred thousand: the bodies of the caregiver
If you were asked: who are the most strategic people in the world? You’d probably think of an astronaut, a warrior leader, or a visionary CEO. And yet—are we sure we really know where value is created? What about those who wake up every morning with one hand on someone else’s medicine and the other on their own cup of coffee? Those who can read a medical prescription as if it were a mystery novel, yet never have time for the actual book waiting on their nightstand? Those who have two bodies to manage: their own and that of the person they love? Yes, we’re talking about caregivers.
Numbers that (don’t) count: caregivers in Italy
According to Istat, there are over 7 million people in Italy who regularly care for a non–self-sufficient family member. Yet only a small portion—about 250,000—are formally recognized as family caregivers, a legal status still lacking concrete protections. The only clear exception is for caregivers who are parents of children. But who is truly a caregiver? It’s not only those who assist a relative with a disability, but also those who accompany their partner or child to medical appointments every day, or who physically support an aging parent affected by a condition such as Alzheimer’s. In reality, millions are missing from the official count—invisible to the law, yet indispensable to their families.
The body that cares (and the one that’s forgotten)
In public discourse, the “body” is often seen as something individual. But in caregiving, the body is doubled. On one side, there’s the body that needs care—fragile, dependent. On the other, the body that holds everything together—bent, active, resilient. And yet, who takes care of the one who takes care? Spoiler: almost no one. The caregiver’s body grows weary, gives things up, wears down. It’s not “ill” by definition, but it’s often neglected. Fatigue goes unnoticed, because there’s no certificate for emotional exhaustion. Only silence, and a lack of empathy—often born out of ignorance of the issue.
Before the caregiver, there is a person
A caregiver isn’t born as one. First and foremost, they are a person—with passions, desires, unfinished hobbies, unread novels, and evenings missed. Their body is not only the one that lifts and washes. It was once a body that danced, traveled, laughed. And when it stops doing so, it’s not because of the person they care for. It’s because the burden is not only physical—it’s about identity. The mind switches into constant alert mode. Empathy becomes a 24/7 activity. Yet even those who care for others have the right to doubt, to be vulnerable, to take a break.
Caregiver – job posting
Imagine being called in for a job interview. They ask if you can administer medication, lift people without hurting yourself, handle relatives in crisis, communicate with doctors on the edge of burnout, fill out public health forms, and cook meals that are soft yet nutritious. Does such a job exist? Of course it does. Only—it’s neither paid nor officially recognized. It’s the role of the caregiver. And yet—and here lies the complexity—being a caregiver isn’t only about exhaustion; it’s also about connection. It’s reading a look without words. It’s knowing that a gentle touch, a bowl of soup, or a bath given with respect are worth more than a hundred mechanical gestures. To be a caregiver is both a political and an emotional act: you resist a system’s indifference through daily dedication. You mend a relationship with your hands, your patience, your listening.
The problem of the caregiver’s two bodies
To speak of bodies today also means recognizing the relationships that flow through them. Caregivers live in a suspended time—the time of care. In that slow space, deep skills emerge: emotional resilience, clarity in crisis, genuine empathy. Recognizing the caregiver’s role—and the abilities it fosters—is the first step toward truly transforming the care system into a human system.