What Remains: A Mother’s Caregiving Voice
You didn’t choose this caregiving journey. Caregiving chose you.
I had no idea what it meant to be a caregiver until I became one — not in theory, but in the sacred, daily rhythm of parenting my son, Robert, who lived with a rare disease and profound medical complexities. His life taught me that caregiving isn’t a role you step into. It’s a calling built around love.
Through 18 years of caregiving, I learned lessons that continue to shape how I live, love, and lead. I offer these thoughts to moms walking this path:
You Are More Than One Title. You’re not just a mom; you’re a nurse, protector, and comforter. Some days, you wear an invisible superhero cape. Other days, you feel invisible yourself. Your love is the glue holding everything together.
This Work Is Sacred, Even When Unseen. Sleepless nights, hospital stays, advocacy trials — it’s easy to feel overlooked. But the sacrificial work you do is love in motion. It deserves to be honored.
Cherish Your Identity. Caregiving can consume you, but it doesn’t have to erase you. I continued teaching voice and public speaking through most of my caregiving years because it brought joy and balance. That space was my self-care.
Grief and Love Can Coexist. You may grieve the life you imagined while fiercely loving the one you embrace. When Robert passed away, my caregiving didn’t end. It became part of my DNA. I’ve learned to turn pain into purpose — helping others find their voice while mine carries Robert’s echo.
You Are Not Alone. That’s why I founded InOurArms.blog, an advocacy initiative born from Robert’s legacy. It uplifts and connects caregiver families and reminds them:
- Your love matters.
- Your work is sacred.
- You are not alone.
Let Your Voice Be Heard. Whether whispered in a support group or shouted from a stage, your story has power. Caregiving gives you a voice shaped by tenderness and tenacity. Use it. Share it. Celebrate it.
To every caregiving mom: I see and honor you. What remains is not just memory — but the strength of who you’ve become through your pain.
Juli Henderson, www.inourarms.blog
