Lately, I’ve been caught in a season of life I never fully saw coming—the one where you’re a mother to young children and a daughter to aging parents who now need you in ways you never imagined. I’m in the thick of a midlife squeeze.
Three kids who still need help brushing their teeth, packing lunches, and sorting through big emotions after long days. And two parents who once did all of that for me and now need help navigating the next phase of life. Oh, right, and managing a demanding, fulfilling career.
Some days, I feel like I’m being pulled in two directions—one hand reaching toward my children, the other holding on to my parents—and I’m afraid I’m not doing enough for either. My career goal is to care for other children and help teachers, as well as their parents, understand their needs. Often, it feels like advocacy is my full-time job – for my kids, my parents, and my students.
There’s a unique kind of guilt that comes with this stage of life. When I’m helping out at my parents’ house, I wonder if my kids are missing me at home. When I’m watching my kids play in the pool, I wonder if I should be doing something else to help my parents.
There’s no “right” place to be, just a constant weighing of where I’m needed most at any given moment.
And then there’s the ache. The ache of watching the people who once seemed invincible become more fragile is unlike anything I’ve known. It’s like watching your childhood superheroes slowly lose their strength—only now, I’m the one who has to tell them what to do.
I’m the one gently setting limits for their safety, making decisions they used to make with confidence and clarity. It’s a delicate dance—protecting them while still honoring their dignity and authority as my parents. At the same time, I’m watching my kids grow up too fast while I’m distracted by things I can’t control. It’s a double ache—grieving what’s shifting in both directions.
I’m learning that grace has to live in the space between those roles. It’s okay not to do everything perfectly. That my children are watching me show up for family in a powerful way—and that matters. They are learning that family means sticking together, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.
If you’re in a midlife squeeze—caring for the generation before you and the one after you—I see you. This is heavy work. We may feel torn, but we are also woven into something profoundly meaningful.
So I’ll remind myself: love doesn’t keep score. It just keeps showing up. And I’m doing exactly that: one day, one moment at a time.
