It happened somewhere between the beige carpet, the endless waffle-maker beep, and the sound of suitcases dragging across tile.
I realized I’m back in a club I never wanted to join.
The truth that asks strength to take a new shape. |
It’s Day 14.
Starting week three on a trip that wasn’t planned — and somehow was inevitable.
We’re here as a family to face the truth.
The kind of truth that asks strength to take a new shape.
A truth that shifts depending on who’s in the room,
What happened yesterday,
And how much fear people are willing to look at directly.
This isn’t new for me.
It’s my fifth time in this club since 2023.
Five chapters of decline, decisions, emotion, logistics, and love.
Five times watching a family reorganize itself around vulnerability.
Five times learning how quickly life can change.
It’s a strange thing to witness.
Denial takes one person.
Anxiety floods another.
A helper jumps in, trying to fix what can’t be fixed.
And somehow, a calm center emerges.
Without ceremony, without training, without being asked, strength shifts.
And a family becomes a caregiving team.
Strength isn’t force — it’s presence. |
Maybe you’ve been here.
Maybe you’re here now too.
Maybe you’re the emotional ballast,
the steady one,
the translator,
the witness,
the person who can’t look away —
Discovering that strength isn’t force, but presence.
Or maybe you think it won’t happen to you.
Here’s what hit me this morning as another wave of travelers moved through the lobby, blissfully unaware:
Most of us will join this club.
Not some of us.
Not the unlucky ones.
Most.
And when we do, strength won’t look the way it used to.
It will look personal and unique to each of us.
The numbers are staggering:
• Nearly 60 million Americans are caregiving for an adult
• Most are in midlife
• 1 in 4 feels completely alone
• Up to 70% experience symptoms of depression
And the majority never planned for it, expected it, or felt ready
Caregiving reveals strength you didn’t know you carried. |
Caregiving isn’t a niche experience.
It’s a life stage.
But unlike parenting…
there are no baby showers,
no cute milestone photos,
no cultural script.
There’s just the quiet weight of responsibility.
And the ache of watching someone fade
or change
or struggle
or slip.
And in the middle of it — you.
Still holding things together in ways no one sees,
learning that strength can be quiet, tired, tender.
And while sitting here — part of a family circling around truth from different distances — I realized something:
Caregiving is love in its most unfiltered form.
Not romantic, or performative, or convenient.
But gritty.
Exhausted.
The “showing up again tomorrow” kind.
The kind that asks strength to take a new shape.
If you’re not in this chapter yet — you will be.
Not because life is cruel.
Because connection has a cost.
And, because we're wired to serve the people we love.
The New Shape of Strength: Honor your needs too |
So, if caregiving finds you — and strength takes a new shape — remember:
• You can be strong and still overwhelmed.
• You don’t have to be the hero.
• It’s okay to grieve someone who’s still here.
• Love isn’t measured in sacrifice.
• This chapter will shape you, not consume you.
• You’re allowed to have needs, too.
A gentle invitation...
If you’re in a chapter like this — caregiving, anticipatory grief, family upheaval, midlife sorting — and you need a place to talk, to name what’s unspoken, to breathe:
Send me a message.
You don’t have to navigate it alone.
Most of us won’t be able to.
Mark Wigginton, MS, Certified Professional Coach
Personal Coach | Midlife Guide | Strength Partner
📬 MarkW@FocusingOnResults.com
🌐 www.focusingonresults.com
🔗 Connect with me on LinkedIn
P.S. If this message resonated with you, it might speak to someone else too. Forward it to a friend who’s ready for their next chapter—you never know what kind of shift a few words of encouragement can spark.
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