Daughters, Aging Parents, and the Unspoken Weight of Caregiving

If I allowed myself to feel it, I could be feeling guilty. My dad had a very difficult first night in assisted living. His fracture set him back, has affected his balance and he needs help with some of the tasks he was able to manage on his own before this latest rehab admission. The good news is that his new facility has the certification and the staff to support him while he regains his independent status. The not so good news is that a major miscommunication between administration and the clinical staff made for a very difficult night and an early morning SOS call from dad asking me to come right away.

What was supposed to be my first free day in over a week turned into another day consumed with having difficult conversations to reach acceptable solutions. In the midst of my frustration, I could feel my guilt rise up from that inside place it hides within me. If only I had figured out a way to bring dad home and arrange the care he needs at home in the only place he really wants to be

I caught myself. Really? Seriously? 

Lately I’ve crossed paths with several caregivers who, like me, are walking that uneasy bridge between what was and what’s next — the transition from rehab to assisted living, to permanent long-term care, or to a fragile version of “independent living” that depends on 24/7 help to make it work. For a couple of weeks, it wasn’t clear which path my dad’s situation would take. It could have gone any number of ways, and it wasn’t clear what my role would be in the outcome.

I started to feel frustrated. Maybe even resentful. I didn’t choose to live in Florida. I didn’t choose to ignore a walker and risk another fall. I’m not the only child my dad has. Yes, I’m the only daughter. Yes, I’m the oldest. Yes, I'm the health care professional that has always been the one to take charge when a health crisis hits. And yes, I’m usually the one to start the hard conversations — about living wills, healthcare advocacy, DNRs, POAs, and all the other things involved in living one's life.

The Caregiver’s Circle
Every day at rehab or the assisted-living facility, I run into a familiar crowd, mostly women, doing the same dance. We pop in for our daily check-ins, making sure our loved ones are eating, monitoring their PT/OT progress, collecting their complaints, solving their problems, and bringing in the little things that might make them more comfortable.

We talk in hallways and waiting rooms about how tired we are. And then we rush off to handle one more phone call, one more form, one more crisis.

A few things have become painfully clear:

• Most caregivers are women who are also senior citizens themselves, managing their own health issues and their own lives, while also managing someone else’s life.
• Many of us are consumed by what we should do, or what we think we must do, to be “good” daughters, wives, sisters, or friends.
• Very few of us are good at putting on our own oxygen masks first.

We put ourselves last. Our time, our energy, our needs are always secondary. And typically, we only begin to focus on ourselves when the demands and the stress of caring for another make us burn out or collapse from sheer exhaustion.

Once the system realizes a patient has an engaged advocate, the calls, texts, and decisions never stop. It’s endless. And somewhere in that chaos, we forget that our loved ones are being taken care of, even when we’re not there. We forget that sometimes, they’re even better off figuring a few things out on their own. We forget that not everything is an emergency that needs to be handled immediately. 

It’s okay to take a break. It's okay to shorten our visits to make time for whatever else we would rather be doing.  It’s okay to skip a visit for a day — or two, or three. It’s okay to watch a sunset, sleep in, or have  dinner without checking your phone.

Because caregiving shouldn’t mean disappearing from your own life.

The Invisible Load
Many of us were raised to believe that caring for everyone else is our job — our identity, even. We cared for our children. We cared for our spouses. We managed households, careers, and communities. And now, just as we’re beginning to imagine retirement or freedom, we find ourselves caring for our parents; a generation living longer than ever before, often well into our own senior years.

The guilt is palpable. We say things like, “It’s what we have to do.” or "It's what we should do." I found myself telling myself, "He taught me how to use a spoon and how to do so many things. How can I not do this!" But, when I'm in the thick of it, I find myself asking, Why? And why me?

Why do we assume we’re the only ones who can handle it? Why do our siblings get to plan their retirements while we manage medications, paperwork, doctor visits, and everything else involved in living someone else's life? Why does the system for elder care feel so fragmented and so dependent on unpaid, exhausted family members to hold it together? And perhaps the hardest question of all: Why are we so attached to prolonging life at all costs, even when quality of life fades away?

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if we simply stopped, even for a moment, and looked at the bigger picture. Another conversation for another day, perhaps ...

Gratitude in the Middle of It All
For all my questioning, I am grateful. immensely grateful, for the closeness I shared with my mom before she passed. For the deepened bond with my dad these past few years. For the caregivers — the nurses, aides, therapists, and companions — who consciously choose this work every day. They are, without question, earth angels.

Caregiving asks more of us than we ever thought we had to give. And yet, within that asking, it reveals something extraordinary. It shows us our capacity for love, for patience, for grace, which, I believe is why we're here living this one precious life.

But what about balance?

Maybe we don’t have to carry it all. Maybe it’s enough to love fiercely, show up honestly, rest when we can, and ask for help. Maybe that’s what “what we have to do” really means.

These are the reflections that inspired me to write Caregiving Essentials: What to Say, Do, and Prepare Before Caregiving Becomes Your Second Full-Time Job — a practical guide for high-capacity women navigating aging parents, tough decisions, and caregiving curveballs with clarity, confidence, and compassion. If you’d like to follow along as I write — and be the first to know when the book is released — I’d love to have you on my list.

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