Looking after my mom takes a toll on me every single day—on my time, my energy, my emotions, my sanity. Some of it is obvious. The phone calls, the doctor’s appointments, the medication refills, the decision-making, the endless paperwork. But there’s so much more that isn’t as easily put into words. The weight of it lingers in ways that aren’t always tangible but are deeply, unmistakably felt.
It’s in the constant state of vigilance, the background hum of anxiety that never fully quiets. The way my brain is always running a silent checklist—Has she eaten? Did she take her medication? Is she feeling okay today? It’s in the emotional whiplash of managing her needs while also managing my own feelings about her decline. It’s in the conversations that leave me drained, the unspoken expectations, the guilt that sneaks in even when I know I’ve done enough.
Caregiving is not just a list of tasks. It is a state of being. It reshapes your days, your relationships, the way you move through the world. And if you’re not careful, it can slowly chip away at the parts of you that exist outside of this role.
That’s why boundaries are not just important—they are essential.
The Complexity of Boundaries in Caregiving
Setting boundaries with an aging parent is unlike setting boundaries in any other relationship. There is an added layer of responsibility, an ingrained sense of duty, a history that cannot be unwoven from the present. This is the person who raised you—or at least, the person who has existed in your life longer than anyone else. And now, the roles have shifted.
It can feel unnatural, even cruel, to say no when they need something. But without boundaries, caregiving becomes all-consuming. And that is not love. That is survival at the cost of yourself.
But boundaries, when set with intention, are an act of love. They allow both of us to maintain dignity, to respect each other as individuals rather than collapsing into the weight of obligation. Boundaries say, I care about you, but I also care about myself. They create space for patience, for kindness, for presence—because when I am not running on empty, I can show up with more compassion and less resentment.
What Boundaries Can Look Like
Boundaries do not mean abandoning or neglecting. They mean preserving. They mean ensuring that both you and your parent are being cared for in ways that are sustainable.
Emotional Boundaries: Recognizing that you are not responsible for fixing everything. That their frustrations, fears, or complaints do not all fall on your shoulders to absorb or solve.
Time Boundaries: Giving yourself permission to have moments of your day that belong to you—without guilt, without interruption.
Conversational Boundaries: Changing the subject when a discussion turns toxic or refusing to engage in repetitive negativity that drains you.
Physical Boundaries: Knowing when you need space, when you need to step away, when you need rest.
Mental Boundaries: Separating their fears from your own, their needs from your identity.
The Guilt That Comes With Boundaries
It’s impossible to talk about boundaries without talking about guilt. The moment you start enforcing them, the voice creeps in: Am I being selfish? Am I abandoning them? What if something happens and I wasn’t there?
But guilt is not an indicator of wrongdoing—it is an indicator of conditioning. The belief that love must be self-sacrificing. That being a “good” caregiver means giving endlessly, even at the cost of your own well-being.
I have had to remind myself, again and again, that boundaries are not a rejection of my mother. They are a preservation of myself. They allow me to continue showing up with love instead of resentment, with patience instead of exhaustion. And, in many ways, they allow her to retain her own sense of self, rather than becoming entirely dependent on me for her emotional or physical well-being. Respect flows in both directions when boundaries are honored.
Choosing Balance Over Burnout
At the end of the day, caregiving is a marathon, not a sprint. And I don’t want to reach the finish line completely depleted, having lost myself along the way. I want to be present, not just for her, but for my own life as well.
So I set the boundaries, even when it’s hard. I remind myself that I deserve rest. That I am not a failure for needing space. That my life still belongs to me, even in the midst of caring for hers.
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