The Weight and Grace of Caregiving: A Midlife Perspective

Caregiving is sacred.
But let’s not pretend it isn’t also heavy.

I’ve given care most of my adult life.
To my kids. To my mother in her final years.
And now, to my husband, as we navigate his health and vision loss together.

I’ve also spent my career in health care, working as a Respiratory Therapist. I show up daily for strangers, offering kindness, comfort, and critical care. But the truth is, by the time I walk through my own front door, that tank is often running on fumes. (This even worse during the Covid years.)

No One Talks About the Quiet Costs

Caregiving, whether for aging parents, a partner, or patients, is an act of love.
But it’s also an act of depletion.

You don’t just carry tasks. You carry worry.
You carry guilt.
You carry grief that shows up before the loss even arrives.

There were days when I cared for my mom, knowing I was losing pieces of her a little at a time. And now, watching my husband adjust to a life with diminished sight, I feel that familiar ache…the mourning of what was, even as we learn what is.

I don’t resent it. But I do feel it.
And I think it’s okay to say that out loud.

You Can Love and Still Be Tired

Midlife is strange like that. You’re still showing up for everyone, grown kids, aging parents, spouses, and jobs. All the while trying to remember who you are underneath all that giving.

Sometimes I wonder when I last did something just for me, something that didn’t involve a clipboard, a call bell, or a blood pressure cuff.

Sometimes I cry in the car before I walk into the house.
Sometimes I don't have words left by the end of the day.
Sometimes the grace looks like frozen pizza and silence.

But Here’s What I Know

There is grace in this season.
Even in the weariness. Even in the weight.

Caregiving has stretched me. Softened me.
It’s taught me presence. Patience. And the power of quiet, consistent love.

I wouldn’t trade the people I’ve cared for, not for anything.
But I also won’t lie and say it’s easy. It’s not.

And that honesty? That’s the grace too.

When Life Shifts Overnight

Two and a half weeks ago, everything changed again.
My husband started having dizziness, vertigo, and weakness on his right side. Within days, the man who once moved around independently was suddenly unable to walk.

After scans and long days in doctors’ offices, we learned he’s had several small strokes. There’s no way to know exactly when they happened, only that they’ve left their mark.

And now, we wait.
For specialists.
For answers.
For the pieces of what’s next to fall into place.

He’s facing a new kind of uncertainty, and so am I.
The rhythm of our days has shifted, from helping him with his vision to helping him with everything. And while I’m grateful he’s still here with me, I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t shaken me.

Because love doesn’t erase fear.
And strength doesn’t mean you don’t cry while making another round of phone calls or figuring out how to make the house safer for him.

There’s a tenderness in these in-between moments, between scans and answers, between grief and gratitude. And I’m learning that caregiving isn’t just about what you do for someone.
It’s about being there; steady, even when your knees shake.

This is not the chapter I expected to write in midlife.
But maybe, like all the others, it’s one that will teach me something about endurance, devotion, and the quiet power of love that stays.

💬 Let’s Hold Space for the Caregivers

If you’re caregiving right now…for a parent, partner, or patients…I see you.
If you’ve lost someone you loved while caring for them, I hold that grief with you.
And if you’re tired and afraid to say it out loud, you’re safe here.

Leave a comment or message me privately. Let’s talk about what this season really feels like.

You are doing holy work.
And you still matter in the middle of it.

With love from Mabank,
Brandy