My mother has dementia and I'm the only one of three siblings who does anything. Everyone asks how she is. Nobody asks how I am. I feel guilty even writing that.

Don't apologise for the sentence. You're describing something with a name, ambiguous loss, and the reason it's so heavy is that you're grieving a person who is still alive, while also doing the logistics of keeping her safe. There's no ritual for that and no obvious place to put it down.

The invisibility is its own injury. When every conversation orbits your mother's condition, your own condition becomes background information, including to you.

Three things worth trying.

Ask specifically. Vague offers of help from siblings almost never convert into anything. Requests do. "Can you take the Tuesday pharmacy run every week" is answerable. "I could use more support" isn't. If they say no, you at least have clarity rather than resentment doing quiet work.

Get the load out of your head. A shared document with appointments, medications and decisions does two things: it reduces the mental weight of being the only person who knows anything, and it makes your labour visible to people who currently can't see it.

Find one place you're not the caregiver. A friend, a walk, a group where nobody asks about your mother. Carers who keep one non-caring space last considerably longer than carers who don't.

And the guilt: feeling resentful about an unfair distribution of work doesn't mean you love her less. Those aren't connected, however much it feels like they are.

If you're consistently exhausted, sleeping badly, or feeling flat for weeks at a time, please raise it with your own GP, carer burnout is a recognised clinical issue and you're allowed to be a patient too.