Ask people how they’re doing while waiting in line at the grocery store. How many will tell you they’re exhausted?
There’s the doomscrolling, the relentless news cycle, and that nagging feeling that even the simplest things have become unnecessarily complicated.
A friend had to get her health insurance policy reinstated because of a digital error. I went to the library for a book that was supposed to be available, only to be told they couldn’t find it. And then there was the parking garage that accepted payment by phone ONLY. I’d forgotten my phone. I couldn’t get out!
You can’t make this stuff up.
Now imagine managing all of that while coordinating medical appointments, handling insurance paperwork, keeping track of medications, worrying about a loved one, and trying to show up for the rest of your life.
It’s a lot. And it can feel like too much.
So what is my gosh-darn point?
It’s this: when life is already demanding so much from us, we need places where we can put down some of the weight. Places where we don’t have to explain why we’re tired, justify our feelings, or pretend we’re managing everything just fine. For me, one of those places has been Daughterhood.
Whenever I’ve helped facilitate a Daughterhood Circle, I’ve felt a little less alone. My intensive caregiving years ended with my mother’s death in 2017, but the experience has stayed with me. I still remember what it was like to have so many responsibilities and so little room to simply be a person.
And even now, nearly a decade later, I know how important it is—especially when we’re at our lowest—to feel that somebody sees us. That we matter.
We matter to our families, our friends, our communities, and the world around us.
At Daughterhood, we see you. We can’t take away the hard parts of caregiving, and we can’t promise to make everything easier. But we can offer a place to connect, to be heard, and to remember that you aren’t the only person navigating this complicated journey. Sometimes, that little bit of connection can make a real difference.
WHY WHAT YOU’RE DOING MATTERS
Not long ago, someone in one of our Circles said something that has stayed with me: “I feel like I don’t matter to anyone.”
It’s heartbreaking to hear those words. And yet caregiving can be profoundly isolating. So much of the work happens quietly, behind closed doors. You may be doing something essential every day and still feel as though no one notices.
I told her, “You matter to me.” And she did. She does.
Partly because I’ve been there. I understand something about what it feels like to carry so much for someone else. When I support another caregiver, it’s almost as though I’m reaching back through time to the person I was and telling her: I see you, too. I couldn’t have known then how things would turn out. But I know now that the hardest chapter wasn’t the whole story.
And the work caregivers do matters in very tangible ways, too. AARP has estimated the economic value of unpaid family caregiving in the United States at more than a trillion dollars annually. That’s an extraordinary contribution, much of it made by people who are simply trying to care for someone they love.
But you shouldn’t have to prove your worth with a dollar figure. You matter even on the days when you get nothing done, when you lose your patience, when you need a break, or when you just can’t find the energy to do one more thing.
YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS ALONE
If you’re having one of those days—maybe it’s one of those weeks, or months—when everything feels impossible, lonely, or infuriating, I want you to know that support exists.
Come to a Daughterhood Circle, whatever your caregiving role may be. Listen to the Daughterhood Podcast for practical information and a little emotional reinforcement. Reach out to someone who can listen without immediately trying to fix everything.
You don’t have to be endlessly strong. You don’t have to be grateful for every moment. And you don’t have to earn the right to receive support by reaching your breaking point first. I wish someone had reminded me of that more often when I was caregiving.
Times are strange. Life is complicated. And I know that telling someone “It’s going to be okay” doesn’t magically make the difficult things disappear. But I do believe that the circumstances we’re living through now won’t stay exactly as they are forever. Things can change.
Support can be found. And even in a very hard chapter, there can be moments of relief, connection, and hope.
So, if you’re caring for someone right now, please remember this: You matter, too. We see you. And we’re here.
