You Come Last — Until You Can't Afford To Anymore
By Jennifer Saless | LanternForFamilies.com
Nobody warns you that taking care of your parents means watching your own future arrive faster than you expected.
My parents used to say it all the time. "I hope you and your husband are taking trips. Getting out. Enjoying yourselves now that the kids are gone."
They meant it lovingly. They genuinely wanted that for us.
And every single time they said it, I would smile and say "we're trying!" — because I never wanted them to feel like a burden. Because I knew if I told them the truth, it would hurt them. And because, honestly, I had made my peace with it.
But the truth was: we weren't. Not really. Because we were taking care of them.
The exhaustion nobody talks about
I am not the same person I was at 40, energy-wise. I still have a lot of energy — I hike, I walk, I show up every day. But stress lands differently now. It accumulates. It stays. And the sustained, low-grade stress of being responsible for another person's wellbeing — day after day, year after year — is the kind of tired that sleep doesn't fully fix.
In many ways, having my parents move in was like having children again. The same constant availability. The same mental load. The same reality that when something needs to be handled, you are the one who handles it.
And just like when my kids were young — I came last.
My own exercise, my own health appointments, my own mental health, my own marriage — all of it got the leftover version of me. The version that was already tired.
I'm not saying this to complain. I would do it again. But I want to be honest about what it costs, because nobody was honest with me.
Watching your parents age is looking in a mirror
Here is the part that surprised me most: taking care of aging parents doesn't just exhaust you. It frightens you.
My parents were both very active well into their seventies. My mom was a daily walker — up early every morning, rec center fitness classes, always moving. My dad was a Nordic Track, treadmill, racquetball, kayaking kind of man. And it still didn't protect my mom from cognitive decline, or my dad from the spinal stenosis that slowly took his mobility. Watching that happen — up close, over years — makes you look at your own body differently.
We live in a moment of "eat more protein," "preserve your muscle mass," "your habits now determine your eighties." And when you combine that cultural noise with watching your parents physically and mentally decline in real time, you end up staring down your own future in a way that is, honestly, quite daunting.
I started taking my own physical health more seriously not because of a doctor's recommendation but because of my parents. Hiking and walking stopped feeling like something I did when I had time and started feeling like something I genuinely needed to do. Not optional. Not extra. Necessary.
The irony is that caregiving — the very thing that clarified why I needed to take care of myself — was also the thing that made it hardest to do.
The friends who kept me sane
I did not get through this alone. I had a friend group — women who were in it with me. Different parents, different situations, but the same season of life. We gave each other advice. We vented. We sat with each other in the hard moments.
It was, in many ways, like having a new version of a mom's group. Except instead of comparing nap schedules we were comparing Medicare paperwork and memory care facilities.
But here is the honest part: even with that group, you are still alone in the specific way that matters. Your friends are not going to call in sick to come watch your parents so you can take a day off. They are not going to handle the thing that needs handling at 6pm on a Friday. That is yours. Your friends can love you through it. They cannot do it for you.
What they can do — what mine did — is remind you that you are not crazy. That this is hard. That you are doing a good job even when it doesn't feel like it. That is worth more than people realize.
What actually kept me going
The thing that kept me going, at the end of every hard day, was simple: they did this for me.
My parents showed up for me my entire life. They sacrificed, they prioritized, they put me first in ways I didn't fully understand until I was old enough to see it clearly. Taking care of them in their final years was not a burden I resented. It was something I wanted to do. It was, in fact, something I needed to do.
Watching your parents age is watching your own future self. It is closer than it feels. And the way you treat them is, in some ways, a practice run for the grace and dignity you hope someone will extend to you one day.
I just hope I eventually take my own parents' advice. Get out there. Travel. Have adventures.
They were right. They were always right.
What I want you to do differently than I did
You cannot pour from an empty vessel. You have heard this before. It is true in a way that caregiving makes undeniable.
Here is what I would tell my younger self, standing at the beginning of those eight years:
Protect your physical health like your future depends on it — because it does. Exercise is not a reward for finishing your to-do list. It is the foundation that makes the to-do list survivable.
Find your people. The ones who are in the same season. You need witnesses, not just supporters.
Let your kids help. My adult children stepped in more than once — taking a grandparent to a doctor's appointment, sitting with them when I needed a break. They were glad to do it. I just had to ask.
Say yes to the trip when you can. Even a small one. Even just a weekend. Your parents want that for you. Honor that by actually doing it.
See your own doctor. Get your own bloodwork. Fill your own prescriptions. You cannot be someone's caregiver if you are falling apart.
Tell someone when you are struggling. Not just "it's hard." The real version. Find one person you can be completely honest with and use them.
You are not just a caregiver. You are a person in the middle of one of the hardest seasons of adult life. You deserve to be taken care of too.
If this resonated with you, subscribe to Lantern for Families for your free stage-by-stage guide to navigating aging parents — from the first signs of decline through end of life and beyond. Written by someone who has lived every stage of it. www.LanternForFamilies.com
This guide is for informational purposes only and does not constitute legal, financial, or medical advice. Every family's situation is different. Please consult qualified professionals — including an elder law attorney, financial advisor, or medical provider — before making decisions about your parent's care.
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