02/07/2026
One of the hardest parts of being a parent caregiver isn’t just the exhaustion or the burnout—it’s the quiet loss of connection.
And almost no one talks about it.
We spend our days managing the pressures of caring for our special needs children, and over time our world narrows. We become so hyper-focused on caregiving that we lose the ability to connect with others about anything else. Conversations with coworkers, people at church, fitness classes, even family or old friends can start to feel distant—because they simply can’t relate to this life.
They talk about date nights, vacations, empty nest plans, annoying coworkers, or how tired they are after staying up late watching Netflix. And while none of those things are wrong, they can feel impossibly far away from our lived reality.
So we smile.
We say we’re “fine.”
And we keep the hard parts locked inside.
How do you share the fear you carry every single day about what will happen to your child when you’re gone?
Most people don’t have a place to put that kind of truth.
In my book, ‘Selling Vegetables to Drunks,’ I talk about recognizing a familiar pattern from my childhood growing up with an alcoholic father—the need to perform. I showed up everywhere with high energy and a smile, even when life at home was chaos.
I realize now that I do the same thing as a caregiver.
I’m exhausted because my autistic adult son may be up all night or wake at 2am. He needs full assistance with every daily living task—feeding, changing, showering, dressing. I worry daily about what will happen to him when I’m gone.
And yet I show up to my full-time job smiling, never missing a deadline, recognized for being exceptional. I attend 5am yoga three mornings a week—positive, happy to be there. People describe me as someone who always has it together.
The truth? I’m often overwhelmed. And I’m lonely.
This is one of the hardest parts to explain—especially to ourselves.
You can be capable, reliable and outwardly positive and still feel like you’re falling apart. You can love your child fiercely and still grieve the life and relationships you don’t have.
Somewhere along the way, many of us lose close friendships. Not because we don’t care, but because we don’t have the time, energy, or emotional bandwidth to maintain them. Or because the gap between our realities becomes too wide.
And after years of carrying everything alone, it becomes harder to even know how to let someone in.
So, if you feel disconnected from others…
If you feel unseen even when you’re surrounded by people…
If you’re praised for being strong while quietly wishing someone would ask how you’re really doing…
You are not failing at relationships.
You are responding normally to an extraordinarily hard life.
There is nothing wrong with you.
This loneliness doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful. It doesn’t mean you’re negative.
And it doesn’t mean you’re broken.
It means you’ve been surviving for a very long time.
My hope in sharing this is simple: that other parent caregivers read these words and feel less alone.
That you recognize yourself here and realize your feelings make sense.
That the mask you wear was once protective—and maybe still is—but that you deserve spaces where you don’t have to perform.
You deserve connection that doesn’t require a smile.
You deserve to be held, too.
You deserve to be seen.
And even if you don’t have that yet, please know this – I SEE YOU.
And you’re not alone in this.
*Link to my book here: https://amzn.to/49PUQRs
