I graduated high school in 1985. 40 (yes, 40!) years ago.
I’ve tried to recall what 18-year-old Payton thought her future would look like on many occasions. Not so much the idealistic anything-is-possible, kind of daydreaming any young person may be doing a lot of…but the reality.
Did I ever imagine what my 50s would be like?
What did I think about growing older? What did I consider “old”?
Did I imagine what 57-year-old me would be doing?
Not much comes up. In my tender and formative years, I seemed to lack any ability to conjure up a future reality. Reality was my parents talking me out of a performing arts degree and doing a fashion merchandising program instead which led to my illustrious and short career at Suzy Shier. It’s true they won the education battle but, in the end, I followed my dreams anyway, dancing and singing, bypassing "reality" for as long as I could.
I've often wished I could step back in time to relive envisioning the future. Maybe it’s because I want to measure how good, bad or different reality is versus what I imagined as a young woman. Because sometimes it’s difficult to decipher what is good, bad or simply different. The normalization of experiences – all experiences - can be a double-edged knife.
This experience: women of a certain age, with jobs, families, and full-to-the-brim lives, suddenly being thrust into caretaking aging parents. Some of these women also have a mothering job that goes far beyond keeping your kid alive until the age of 18. Mothers of high-needs kids and/or kids struggling with mental health or addictions don’t necessarily go through the bittersweet experience of helping them out of the nest. I have an almost 20-year-old I am fully responsible for. He doesn’t eat, bathe, zip up his coat or have social interactions without support of some kind. He towers over me and weighs 180lbs. On bad days, he is like a giant toddler. It’s a heavy load. Of course, I can’t write another sentence without saying he is brilliant, and I am grateful for his many strengths and wonderful qualities. He is a teacher like no other.
My caretaking role with my parents began about ten years ago. My Mom was diagnosed with dementia after a series of mishaps and eventually passed away in 2022 after falling and breaking her hip. My Dad followed right behind her, also breaking his hip. He held until the summer of 2024. After my mom passed, he went into long term care and only left his wheelchair with the help of a motorized lift. I had been doing all their financial care from afar for years at that point. After the fall and my mom's death, my dad needed even more care, more attention and more love. For me that meant more visits which I could manage. I can work from anywhere and often did Zoom calls in his room while he slept. We had the financial means to cover most of my travel expenses. I could arrange the visits when my son was with his dad. And so, every six to eight weeks, I would make the journey – a four-hour flight and a three-hour drive with my brother, who graciously came and picked me up every trip.
I would spend some of the visit running dad’s errands – banking and shopping. But mostly I spent the time in his room at the home, sitting on a hard, wooden stool beside his chair, watching old movies, westerns and musicals being our favourites. I’d help him eat lunch and dinner. I’d rub moisturizer on the pale, flaking skin of his hands and face. Sometimes, we would venture outside for a walk. Pushing this large man in a wheelchair up and down the sidewalks and hills around the home was surreal. My Dad, the man who used to pick me up with one arm, throw me on his shoulders or tickle me as I hung in mid-air squealing for him to stop, totally reliant on others. He turned as small and quiet as a sleeping baby in his final days. My heart cracked open a little wider each visit, watching him curl up into himself physically and mentally, slowly disappearing from life. I did everything I could to care for him in his final days. Even then, it never felt like enough.
Taking care of aging and sick parents can be grueling and not only because of the added tasks and stress. For me, the distance was crushing. I had to decipher exactly what was going on through the perspective and opinions of family and strangers, and then through texts, phone calls and emails. Because I didn’t live near them and wasn't present on a daily basis, I didn’t know the ins and outs of my parents’ care. I often didn’t learn about problems until they were obvious. There were times when I thought something I was doing was helpful, only to be steamrolled by facts I did not know. There were many triggering moments of guilt and regret for not knowing...for leaving all those years ago.
My visits to dad were always quick and jam-packed. I was squeezing them into the weeks where I didn’t have my son or work obligations. Upon arrival home from a trip, I was immediately thrown back into mothering mode, ping-ponging from caregiving to caregiving. Some trips I was juggling a very busy work schedule. I would arrive back home and need to immediately ramp up for an event or retreat. One time I messed up my flights and had less than 24 hours between disembarking, and being back at the airport, departing for a work trip. On top of that ridiculous turn-around, I had to care for my son while unpacking and repacking.
When we are the caregiver, especially caregiving beyond raising our own kids, it’s difficult to remember to put on our oxygen masks before trying to do so for others (this is where one usually learns that they may have some codependence to work on). There's always something that feels more urgent or important than caring for ourselves. And even if we had the time or space, what exactly do we need? Sometimes an uninterrupted few hours can be transformational…but not always. Even if there's respite, it has a start and an end, often filled with doing the never-ending list of things you can’t do when you are caregiving. I spend a good amount of my downtime, prepping for my caregiving time because I know if I don’t make that investment, I'll pay the price. These days I am focused on the opposite of multi-tasking. It likely doesn’t jive with the reality of my schedule, but the more I try to do in any given moment, the heavier my load feels. Doing one thing at a time has become a piece of my self-care and like most things we know we should do, resistance is always tagging along.
Of course, I give credit to my recovery tools. The things I have learned in my 12 years of recovering and healing alcohol misuse, from being in codependent relationships and overworking, from my journey of relinquishment trauma and the trauma of being a high-needs mother, my tools and practices have helped me to build resilience and endurance. But I think my biggest ally in this journey of caregiving has been the support of others going through similar experiences. Women truly do hold up the world. We are stronger than we know, stronger than believe we are. Our compassion, willingness to nourish and cultivate positive change in the world, our innate and embodied understanding of creating life rather than destroying it…this makes us a mighty, healing force. For me, self-care means connecting to myself and connecting to humans who understand the love and devastation of caring for someone who cannot do it themselves. Because of my recovery, I am forever connected to a beautiful circle of women whom I can hold and be held by.
So many people say to me: “I don’t know how you do it.” Most days, I don’t either. On the bad days, doing anything outside of caregiving is like moving boulders. And yet still, I am determined to create my life. It’s all intertwined, I suppose. The human experience I have been gifted includes everything. Life IS a gift. (I say this for both you and I.) It’s quite an incredible thing, to stand in gratitude for the creation of our own lives by our own hand, as we give care and creation to another. I suppose that has always been the nature and the reason for life, right?
If you are a woman and you are caring for your children and your parents, for siblings or other family members, or in a helping/caregiving career, and also…making and managing a home, getting yourself out the door to work, doing community service, getting an amazing project of the ground, building relationships, managing finances, doing art, finding time to take care of your physical health, as well as the gazillion other things there are to be done…well, I hope you know how amazing you are.
If you are woman in or entering mid-life, caring for those around you, you ARE holding up this uneven and shaky world. No longer are you empty of the experience that manifests sheer determination and will. You are powerful. You are a woman of a certain age and you are my hero.
Sending "don't-give-up' vibes and so much love,
Payton
P.S. In between life and caregiving, I am doing some creating these days. Retreats in particular! Looking for a special way to celebrate yourself and/or take some respite? Check out the two retreats I have launched for 2025: Grace Happens in York Harbor, Maine, an Autumn renewal retreat with coaches Kathy Robbins, MaryBeth Murphy and “mwa”. And another group of women will be expanding beyond recovery in Northern Costa Rica again at the incredible Finca La Anita (an amazing property that features a cacao plantation and chocolate-making enterprise). And pssst, a third 2025 location may be on its way. Learn more HERE and stay tuned!
If you like Austin, Texas and horses, I'll be joining SHE RECOVERS for the Redefining Recovery Retreats in June 2025. Learn more about these retreats at SHE RECOVERS.
P.S.S. Speaking of SHE RECOVERS, mothers of high-needs child or youth (including those struggling with addiction or mental health challenges) are invited to join the SHE RECOVERS Support for Mothers of High Needs Children private Facebook group and gathering (no cost involved). I can’t begin to describe how supportive this group is and what a difference it has made for me in my journey of caregiving.

A photo of me "caregiving" our retreats pups (the owners dogs) in Costa Rica!
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