Just a few months ago, I wrote about how lucky I felt. My husband is a firefighter with long shifts (and overtime), and I’m a morning radio personality who wakes up hours before the sun rises. Though our work schedules can be difficult, we have a village that includes both my mother and my in-laws, and not only are they close by, but they’re also dependable.
That is, until everything changed one night.
My mom’s cancer diagnosis changed everything
About a month ago, my mother was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer during a visit to the emergency room. In one night, my whole world turned upside down. I went from being a thriving, working mother with a strong support system to becoming part of the sandwich generation, where I’m balancing my career, motherhood, and caregiving all at once.
There’s a special kind of heartache that comes with this transition. I’ve gone from coordinating zoo outings and babysitting details to learning about chemo protocol and how to interpret lab results. The mental load didn’t just double — it’s rewired my brain.
I still wake up early in the morning to do morning radio, and I’m growing a business that requires both consistency and visibility. Now, however, my days look a little different. Oncology appointments, extra chores, and pharmacy runs are all part of my day, too — all while trying not to show any more fear than I need to.
And even through all of this, I still have a toddler to raise. When the sun starts to set, I’m reminded that I still have to handle bathtime and pretend I’m not exhausted, so my daughter doesn’t even notice for a second that something is off.
I learned what happens when your support system needs support
This experience has taught me just how delicate our support systems really are, and how things can truly change in an instant. We talk about “having help” and “having a village,” and oftentimes, that system is built on the health and stamina of a few key players, who will assume will always be there. And when things get rough, and those you depend on now need help themselves, the entire structure has to be rebuilt.
There is a lot of guilt and grief in rebuilding. Guilt that I can’t show up with the energy I once had, the same way I used to. For my daughter, my career, my family, and my business. Grieving a life and future I once envisioned for myself at this stage, where my present mother would be the most involved and loving grandmother there ever was.
I also find myself feeling guilt that my daughter doesn’t get as much time with her babcia, who once helped raise her. And there’s guilt, too, for even admitting how much easier life was before, even though I know grief and gratitude can coexist.
I was not prepared to watch the person who once raised me become the incredible grandparent she was meant to be, and then suddenly need extra support and help with all types of tasks. It’s absolutely reshaped how I think of the phrase “having it all,” too. As someone who felt like I was thriving in motherhood, my career, my personal life, and my business, I quickly discovered this was all attainable because someone else made it possible.
Despite the changes that have occurred in just one month, I will say that I still believe in villages. I still believe in asking for help and for support wherever you can. But now, I understand how quickly all that can change, or go away. I realize just how important it is to acknowledge both the privilege of having a support system, and what it’s like when your village needs you just as much in return.
I’m also choosing resilience on purpose — not by doing more, but by doing less. I’m proudly narrowing down my world to be a caregiver for my mom and my daughter and letting nearly everything else take a backseat right now. This is the sandwich generation: holding your parent in one hand, and your child in the other, and being resilient while loving in both directions at once.