I opened a drawer the other day and found my passport.
Tucked away, unused for so long I didn’t realize it had expired.

Something about that discovery broke my heart a little bit.
Not in a dramatic way, but in the quiet, hollow sort of way that caregivers will recognize.

That tiny blue book used to represent adventure. Possibility.
The next big meeting. The next event. The next city, country, culture. It reminded me of a time when my life was full of movement—when my calendar was packed and my purpose felt outward-facing and exciting. I’m not sure that’s exactly how it was because life in events is stressful and it takes a lot of grit.

Now? Most days, I don’t even leave the house – my clothes are a uniform, not a style. Make up and hair decisions are made by whether there is a zoom call for my business or not. I want to go to the gym, work out, and walk, but I’m emotionally exhausted. I literally cannot finish one thing without something piling on right behind it. Yes, to a point that’s always life, but this feel so different.

A Smaller World

Caregiving shrinks your world.

Not because you don’t care. But because you care so much, you start to let go of everything else. Every decision is made around someone else. There it is in writing and reality. Every decision is made around someone else.

Social circles disappear. Spontaneity vanishes. Planning anything feels like wishful thinking. And before you know it, your whole world fits inside your office, your living room—and often, the doctor’s office.

Sometimes, like today, that makes me feel trapped. Sometimes, it makes me feel forgotten. And more often than I’d like to admit, it makes me feel like I’ve disappeared. Don’t misunderstand, I’ve always loved helping people, but caregiving is way beyond that.

I used to have a big career—stressful, yes, but also exhilarating. I accomplished things. I made things happen. Now, a good day means I accomplished my to-do list at work and there has been no medical crisis.

Why I Said Yes

When my parents needed me, I said yes.
Because that’s what love does.

The Bible says, “Honor your father and your mother.” It doesn’t say only when it’s convenient. Or easy. Or when you have no other dreams.

So I came home.
And I’m still here.
Six and a half years later.

And yes, there are beautiful moments. Yes, there is slower joy.
But some days—like yesterday—it feels like the whole world just kept moving while I had to stop.

This Is Hard for Me… but for Her, it’s Everything.

Here’s something I remind myself when the bitterness creeps in:
This life I’m living? This slow, small, careful life?

It’s hard for me…But it’s an answered prayer for my mom.She is safe. She is not alone. She is surrounded by love – and my grouchy sometimes too (gotta keep it real).
And for her, that is everything.

So for now, this life, has to be enough.

People always ask men about my plans after mom goes

How can I possibly answer that? The possibilities are endless. Only one thing is for certain, I’m gonna do me for a little while.

A Small Step Toward Someday

But I also need something for me, right now. A flicker of hope. A sliver of someday. Plans that light me up when I think of them. They don’t have an expiration date. Places I want to see and experience. Thinking of it is like breathing in fresh mountain air, and I felt my heart stir.

So I renewed my passport.
It doesn’t mean I’m hopping on a plane tomorrow.
But it does mean I believe there’s still more to come.

It means I’m still here. Still leaving room for joy, and adventure, and a life that doesn’t end when caregiving does—because it won’t.

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To My Fellow Caregivers

If your world feels small, I see you. I feel your heart – and it’s tears.
If you’re grieving the version of you that used to be, I get it.
If you’re trying to be faithful while feeling a little lost, I’m right there with you.

But hear this: (notice that I’m included in what I’m about to say):
We are not stuck.
We are not forgotten.
And that “person we used to be” is not gone. We have to keep them alive and planning for when the time is right and the opportunity comes.

Right now, we are just holding space—for someone else, and for ourselves. One day, “this present” will be a beautiful memory of living with integrity, doing the right thing and cherished memories that will give your heart peace.

Keep the passport. Keep the hope. Keep going.

Caregiver Hack of the Week: Pack Your “Someday” Bag

Feeling stuck doesn’t mean you can’t still dream. When life feels small, symbolic actions can keep your spirit spacious.

This week’s hack? Create a “Someday Bag.”
It’s not a to-do list or a Pinterest board—it’s a tangible reminder that you still matter and your future still exists.

Inside your “Someday Bag,” include:

• Your renewed passport 📘
• A favorite travel-sized item (lip balm, tea, notebook, etc.)
• A postcard or photo of a place you’d love to visit
• A note to yourself that says: “We’re going. One day.”

Place it somewhere safe but visible. Let it remind you that this season, as hard and consuming as it is, will eventually shift.