Finding Independence While Caring for Loved Ones

Personally, I don’t like the word sacrifice. It sounds like I’m going to do something ritualistically damaging. I frame it through a different lens. It’s not that I haven’t made sacrifices—it’s that I’ve learned to reshape what that word means to me.

Right now, I’m in a chapter of my life that feels more like a selfless act.

I’m a full-time caregiver for my mom. She’s struggling with mobility issues, among other things. It’s certainly a role I never foresaw or planned for, but I stepped up to the plate without hesitation. I wholeheartedly believe that one of the most selfless things you can do is care for those who once cared for you.

As an only child, I feel added pressure sometimes. But I never view it as a burden or a hassle—I’m grateful to do whatever I can for my mom. My dad is in the picture and helps tremendously, but when it comes to round-the-clock care, it really is a two-person job. It can be physically and emotionally draining, but this is something I choose to do.

So yes, parts of my life have been put on pause.

My mom encourages me to get out and live my life. But I can’t abandon her in the state she’s in—not when she needs me most. I don’t see this as a job; I see it as a privilege.

Still, I’m ashamed and embarrassed to admit that I’ve never truly been on my own. I want nothing more than to move out and be independent—to find out where life might lead me outside of this role.

I struggle with guilt and shame over wanting more for myself. As a neurodivergent person, I know I have attachment issues. It’s hard to separate my identity from the people I love—especially when caregiving is such a big part of my life. The idea of leaving feels like betrayal, even though deep down, I know it’s not.

I find it odd that caregiving is rarely spoken about in depth—especially the emotional toll it takes. It’s also a role that doesn’t receive the recognition or praise it deserves. I hope that one day, I can be part of the conversation that helps shift that.

Sometimes, I grieve the life I could’ve had if I made different choices. But the guilt of thinking that way can be overwhelming. Still, there’s a quiet strength in showing up day after day—not out of obligation, but out of love.

I don’t regret caring for my mom. I never will. She’s, my heart. But I owe it to myself to acknowledge the hard parts, the lonely parts, the parts that yearn for something more.

Perhaps one day, I’ll find the balance between showing up for others and showing up for myself. Until then, I’m doing my best. 

“Sometimes we give up pieces of ourselves, not out of duty, but out of love. That doesn’t make those pieces any less worthy of being reclaimed.”

Morgan Harper Nichols