My journey as a caregiver didn’t begin with a job title — it began with a promise.
Before my grandmother passed, I sat beside her and told her I’d take care of her two babies: my sister Kim and my mother. I didn’t know what that promise would come to mean. I just knew I wanted to honor her love. I just knew I wanted to be present.
But what I’ve come to learn is that caregiving is more than acts of service — it’s a spiritual assignment.
I take care of my mom now — fully. She requires a lot of support, from her daily routines to dialysis and beyond. And some days it feels like too much, especially with two kids of my own. But then I remember who she was before the pain, the surgeries, and the silence. I remember her laugh. I remember how much she gave, even when she didn’t have the emotional tools to give well.
My mom wasn’t always present growing up. She worked long hours and came home late, tired, and withdrawn. I didn’t understand then that she was doing the best she could. I just knew she wasn’t fully there — not emotionally, not relationally. That absence shaped me. It hardened me in places. It made me overfunction in relationships and shut down when I needed help.
But now, life has brought us full circle. I’m her caregiver — not just physically, but emotionally. And in this strange and sacred space, I’m learning to forgive her while also loving her.
Some days are beautiful. Some are brutal. And in between, I’ve found moments of grace that only caregiving can teach you.
It’s not easy watching your mother’s body betray her. It’s not easy hearing her say, “I don’t want to be a burden.” But I’m learning that love isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s quiet acts of patience. Sometimes it’s bringing her dinner when she refuses to eat. Sometimes it’s being gentle with a woman who didn’t always know how to be gentle with herself.
This journey has forced me to slow down and sit with things I’ve avoided for years — my grief, my anger, my disappointment. It’s all rising to the surface now. And instead of running from it like I used to, I’m finally facing it.
Scriptures like Galatians 6:9 — “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up” — remind me that this work is not in vain. And Exodus 20:12 — “Honor your father and your mother…” — takes on a new meaning now. I’m not just honoring her as my mother. I’m honoring the part of me that still needed her to show up.
This is what healing looks like — messy, holy, exhausting, redemptive.
So if you’re caregiving right now, whether for a parent, a sibling, or a child, I want you to know this: your love matters. Your effort is seen. And even when you feel invisible, God sees you.
You’re not just showing up for them. You’re showing up for generations before you who couldn’t. And for the version of yourself that still needed someone to stay.
Black, Christian & 