The Heart and the Weight of Caregiving 💎

Before I ever stepped into the world of women’s wellness, I was a caregiver.

I’ve worked in special needs classrooms, served as a job coach for adults with disabilities, lived with the people I cared for, and supervised a group home for teenage boys with special needs. It was some of the most meaningful and rewarding work I’ve ever done, but also some of the most mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausting.

There were seasons when I worked forty hours a week, and others when I clocked one hundred and five. At one job, I was on call 24/7. The burnout was real; the kind that seeps into your body until you can’t tell where your exhaustion ends and your identity begins.

When I finally clocked out, I’d pour myself a large glass of wine and cry. I couldn’t separate myself from the job; not emotionally, not mentally, not spiritually. My heart was always still there, worrying about a student, a client, or a family who needed more than I could give.

I am someone who invests deeply in people and that depth can be beautiful, but it can also break you. When you love the people you serve, their stories live in you. Their pain sits heavy on your heart. And even when the day ends, your mind doesn’t stop spinning with all the “what-ifs” and “did I do enoughs.”

The feeding tubes, the grinding and measuring of medications, the panic that hits when the person you’re working with is nonverbal and crying, and you don’t know what they need. I know what it’s like to be spit on, kicked, scratched, or screamed at during a behavioral escalation that leaves your body shaking long after it’s over and still come back the next day with love in your heart because you know they can’t help it.

I know the emotional duality of being terrified and tender at the same time; holding space for someone’s rage or fear while making sure they’re safe, choosing compassion when exhaustion tries to harden you. I know what it’s like to coordinate doctor and dentist appointments, to advocate for a client who can’t advocate for themselves, to make sure every provider understands not just the diagnosis but the human behind it.

And I know what it’s like to step out into the world with them; the frustration of realizing that so many public places still aren’t ADA-compliant, that there are no proper changing facilities, that someone has parked in the grid next to the handicap spot so the wheelchair ramp can’t come down. The constant mental checklist of accessibility, the quiet rage of watching someone you love struggle because the world wasn’t built with them in mind.

Students moved away. Clients transferred to new programs. Some grew too sick for the level of care I could provide. Each goodbye felt personal; like losing a piece of my heart all over again. The emotional weight of caring so deeply without being able to control outcomes was a lesson in surrender I didn’t know I was learning.

And then there was the financial side; the one people rarely talk about. At one point, I was supervising a staff of thirty-eight people, on call around the clock, and still making under $50K a year; in Washington state.

I’ve seen what caregiving can do to relationships, too. Studies show that nearly 80% of marriages involving a child with disabilities end in divorce. I’ve watched couples crumble under the weight of constant stress and sleepless nights. But I’ve also seen the opposite; families who rise together, who find strength, unity, and grace when the right support system finally steps in.

The truth is, most caregivers across the United States earn far less. According to recent data, the average caregiver salary ranges from $29,000 to $36,000 a year, with many earning closer to $14 to $17 an hour; often without benefits, paid time off, or mental health support. For the amount of emotional labor, physical effort, and responsibility this role demands, that pay barely covers the cost of living, let alone the toll it takes on the heart.

The emotional labor didn’t match the paycheck. The burnout wasn’t just from long hours; it was from holding too much, too often, with too little support.

That’s the duality of caregiving: it’s both sacred and brutal.

It asks more of you than you think you have, but it also gives you moments of connection so pure they change you forever. The kind of love that doesn’t ask for anything back — it just is.

I carry the faces, the laughter, the breakthroughs, and even the heartbreak of every client I’ve loved. They taught me what resilience looks like, what grace feels like, and what unconditional care truly means. They taught me that being of service isn’t about saving people — it’s about walking beside them with dignity and compassion.

But here’s what I also know: you cannot heal the world by abandoning yourself.

You cannot pour from an empty cup, no matter how strong your calling. You cannot be the light for everyone else if you keep dimming your own.

If you are a caregiver or someone working in this field - I see you.

I understand the exhaustion that lives in your bones and the love that keeps you showing up anyway. I see the sleepless nights, the missed meals, the tears you cry alone in your car, the silent prayers that no one else hears. I know how much you hold and how rarely you are held in return.

I’m here to listen, to hold space, and to help you find your way back to you. Together, we can find ways to fill your cup again; to reconnect with your own needs and rhythms so you can continue serving others without losing yourself in the process.

Because at the heart of every caregiver is a rebel - a soul brave enough to keep showing up, to keep loving in impossible circumstances, and to keep choosing compassion even when the world forgets to return it.

So this is your reminder: you are rare. You are radiant. And you are allowed to rest, to rise, and to reclaim your sparkle.

You are the diamond — uncut, unfiltered, and unapologetically human. 💎

I Want To Come Back To Myself