My parents had me when they were in their 40s, so I became a primary caregiver and decision-maker much earlier than most of my peers. Since my parents' passing, my husband and I have started living with his mother, anticipating caregiver duties which are coming soon. Moving from child to a more, well, "parental" role is one of the most challenging changes in family dynamics anyone will face, and one of the least talked about. Whether they stay in their own home, move in with you (or you with them) or they transition to an adult care or nursing home, facing their aging, changing health, and needs can be beyond overwhelming. How do you talk to them about driving, about their budget, about end-of-life? How do you balance your own personal and professional responsibilities while taking on a more active role in your parents' care? And, for many of us, how do we negotiate difficult relationships with our parents now that they need so much of our attention and energy?

For the first 40 years of my life, I struggled with belonging and understanding who I truly was. Growing up in foster care for my first seven years left me with deep feelings of abandonment and being unwanted. Healing those wounds took time, reflection, and compassion. Now, I want to offer that same understanding to others who have faced similar experiences. You are not alone in feeling lost, unseen, or unsure of your place in the world. Together, we can talk through the pain, build a sense of self-worth, and find peace in knowing that healing and belonging are possible.

I cared for Dad for 7 years, first in my home, then in his, each posing unique challenges. He was deferential in mine, but very controlling in his. I was building a professional practice, he was dealing with consequences of bladder cancer surgery. We had complicated feelings about each other: he praised my dedication to him, and feared I'd harm him with his medications; I resented leaving my home, being the caregiving sibling. I acted horribly at times (I locked him out of my RV which he dearly wanted to work on) and he reciprocated (making my friends feel unwelcome in his home). He'd call me by my mother's name. (Parental conflict was the norm growing up.) I came to have great compassion for her. We had moments of great generosity and we even had fun together, too. It brought out the worst and the best in us. But it never occurred to us to seek help, a trusted outsider to help provide perspective and verbalize frustrations. If this sounds familiar, let's work on it together.

I have experienced many situations that left me living in what I call "crisis mode," including growing up with an abusive parent, losing a parent suddenly as a teenager, marrying a man who became violent and abusive, and later caring for him through seven years of illness until he passed away. I have faced fertility challenges and, after eight years of trying, was finally successful with IVF and had twins, including seven months on bedrest. Tragically, one of my twins became seriously ill at 16 and battled numerous health issues until she passed away at 24 after a year in the ICU. Throughout all of this, I have navigated my own health challenges and am now disabled.

My mother lived with me over 12 years. She was healthy when she moved in but shortly afterwards she developed Alzheimer's. I walked beside her through her journey. I had to learn how to navigate self-care and her care. It is very difficult. The bulk of managing her care (i.e. finances, doctors/health) fell to me. It was demanding with significant emotional, physical and financial investment for me and my family. While rewarding, I had to learn to ask for help and then let go. Letting go was hard to do but I had to take steps to take care of me so that I could be a loving caregiver. Mom passed in March of 2025 after a traumatic fall. I then had to deal with all of the end of life details and grieve.

I had gotten myself into a relationship with a person who was sober, on house, arrest, and was going through the cycle of wanting to be better. And one snowy night I had found them passed out unknown what happened until they took my partner to the hospital, and I had found the bottle of vodka hiding from that relationship. I was the soul caretaker of someone who is suffering from. SUD. The relationship lasted 2 1/2 years and it was very codependent from me making sure that they were OK and for them having me as the caretaker there was abuse in the relationship from someone who did not want to get help I was able to leave that relationship completely heartbroken and tornand took time to grieve my own expectations from this person. I removed myself from my environment and started my healing journey while they got into another relationship while we were still together technically, I found myself now better because I was able to have the support from my friends to leave.

It has been my experience that while being a wife and a caregiver for a spouse with disabilities and mobility challenges I have had to learn to prioritize my self-care and boundaries and limitations and know when I need to ask for help or call for help because I don't have the strength to pick him up or move him into his wheelchair under my own capacity and need help and that I need to take care of myself in the process

I was my dad's caregiver for 7 years. He had multiple health conditions and double bypass surgery. I juggled work life balance, and also my own health. I lost my dad earlier this year and It's a very hard thing to go through. I lost my mom to cancer in 2016, and also helped care for her. We all grieve in our own ways, I am here to listen and talk you through that grief and immense sorrow.

I grew up in a conservative society, married young, and moved to a new country. For years, I didn’t even realize what abuse truly was. I endured physical, emotional, mental, and financial abuse, all while giving my marriage and partner 100% of myself — and more. I lost a home, I was beaten down in many ways, yet I kept pushing forward, believing that love and effort would eventually be enough. It wasn’t until twenty years into this rollercoaster that I sought hypnotherapy, searching for clarity. That single step became the beginning of my journey back to myself — to rediscovering my worth, my strength, and my voice. Five years later, I’m still on this path of growth. I remain in my marriage, but I now stand with strong boundaries, a renewed sense of self, and a business I’m proud to call my own. My story is not one of defeat, but of resilience. I’ve learned that healing is possible, no matter how late it may seem to begin, and that empowerment comes from within.

My struggles with drugs started when I was just a teenager. Over the years, I used a variety of substances, and despite my family’s efforts to help me—sending me to treatment programs—things got worse. When I became pregnant, something shifted in me, and I found the strength to get clean. I stayed sober for 20 years while raising my three kids, but after a few deeply painful events, I spiraled into depression. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and during that time, I relapsed hard—cocaine, meth, heroin—anything I could get. What changed everything was meeting the man who would become my husband. He was also struggling with addiction, and together, we decided to fight for our recovery. We leaned on each other, showed up for one another, and started rebuilding our lives. Today, we’re both clean, happily married, and I offer support to others who are walking through similar pain and hope.

You are not alone, and together we can find ways to live a full and meaningful life with bipolar disorder. I understand the highs and lows, the confusion and clarity that come with this journey. I'm here to offer a safe, non-judgmental space where you can share your experiences, ask questions, and look into ways to manage your symptoms. We can talk about what it was like to be diagnosed, how to build a routine that supports your well-being, how important it is to take care of yourself, and how to find hope at every step of your recovery.

Raising a child with a disability is a journey filled with love, challenges, and unique joys—but it can also feel isolating, overwhelming, or uncertain at times. You may carry questions, hopes, and worries that are hard to put into words, and you deserve a space where those feelings are heard and honored.

I’ve spent eleven years as a caregiver and know firsthand how overwhelming and lonely it can feel. My journey changed my life in ways I never expected, and every emotion—grief, hope, fatigue, and love—is something I’ve truly felt. If you want someone who gets what you’re going through, I’m here to listen, support, and share. I welcome honest conversation and understand the twists and turns. Caregiving isn’t easy, and you don’t have to face it alone. If you need a caring, relatable person who understands this road, let’s talk. Your story matters and I’m here for you.

Watching single moms (including my own) navigate financial hardship while raising children was never easy, and experiencing it as a child wasn’t either. Now, as a mother myself, I’ve lived it more times than I can count. Relationship choices set me so far back that it’s taken everything just to return to “starting over.” Today, I’m rebuilding. I’m going through a divorce, raising children (some with disabilities), breathing through uncertainty, and working toward my degree. The bills still come. The anxiety didn’t disappear when the relationship ended; in some ways, it got louder. But I’m still here. Still showing up. And I know what it feels like to be unemployed, underemployed, a stay-at-home mom trying to find work and school, and carrying others through it. I've lived through crises as a child and as an adult. I can hold space for you as you walk through your.

For the ones carrying the weight of caregiving and wondering how much longer you can keep going. When your days revolve around doctor’s appointments, medications, and constant worry, it’s easy to forget that you deserve grace. Resentment creeps in even though you love the person you’re caring for, and the financial strain of missed work or hard choices only adds to the guilt. It can feel like you’re choosing between their needs and your well-being—either way, you’re the one left drained. Do you feel like no one really understands what you’re carrying? That you don’t even know how to ask for help, or what kind of help would actually make a difference? If you’re overwhelmed, grieving, and running on empty, let’s talk. Maybe you need to vent the resentment you’ve been ashamed to admit, or maybe you want to unpack the guilt of not being able to do it all. I’ve been there too. What kept me going was allowing outside support and rewriting the expectations I thought I had to live up to.

Mentor and Grief Coach. Navigating life after loss can be the most difficult path you ever walk. Just like you, after the loss of family, friends taken too soon and both of my Grandparents I needed to experience peace and live with hope. For me feelings of grief knowing that I would listen to old voicemails or see photos but never see my loved one again was hard. Crying and bug emotions were needed, but it was also draining. Time heals and I would love to connect with you and help you find courage and peace.

My husband was chronically ill off and on for a couple of years, during which time he wasn’t really able to work or do much to help support our family of 6 at the time. This put a lot of strain on me because I was trying to juggle homeschooling our kids, working part time, and taking care of our home mostly by myself. I felt so alone during that time even though I had 5 other people around me everyday. I was stressed, exhausted, and overwhelmed. My husband unfortunately became depressed during this time because he wanted to be there for us more, but when he would try it would just end up making his symptoms worse and sending him back to bed for the day. He was seeking answers from doctors, who suggested all kinds of things including allergy shots, diet changes, exercise routines, medications, etc but nothing was really helping. I had to deal with my own somewhat irrational anger at my husband because while I knew he was doing everything he could to get better, I was left with so much responsibility. I even had a hard time accepting that he was really sick at times because the symptoms weren’t always easy to see on the surface, and unfortunately my father had little understanding and would tell him to do things like “just go for a run”. Thankfully, I was able to find some ways to take things off my plate like sending my kids to public school, and my husband slowly found his way back to health through emotional work as well as physical solutions.

Back in September 2024, I received a phone call that my mother had been found my local police sitting in her seemingly confused about how she got there and uncertain how to get home. I flew to Ohio the next day. I discovered that my mother had let the cleanliness and clutter of her home get out of control, that she had not been taking her medication, and that her financial life was getting out hand as she was not being diligent with paying her bills. For the next three weeks, I organized her home, finances, and health visits. I also noticed that she was not sleeping during the night and was suffering from bouts of disorientation. Now, over a year later, my mother, still insists on living on her own. I am respectful of this, but also have stepped up to ensure that her bills are paid, doctors' visits are happening, and that her home stays in good shape. It is difficult to "parent" a parent, but also one that has made us better at communication with each other.

Parenting a child with special needs changes everything. Your pace, your priorities, and often your sense of self. I know the exhaustion that comes with endless appointments, meltdowns, sleepless nights, and feeling like no one truly understands. I have walked that path, learning how to show up for my children while still trying to hold on to myself. Over time I realized that being a good parent does not mean being perfect. It means being present, adaptive, and kind to yourself too. Now I help other parents find their rhythm again. Balancing advocacy with rest, guilt with grace, and chaos with connection. Together we explore ways to support both your child’s growth and your own well-being.

Me and my wife have been in a relationship for my entire experience of losing my mobility. She has witnessed my decline from fully independent to being now fully dependent on her and my family. Throughout our relationship we have dealt with many different hardships. From infidelity, raising Children, losing a child, arguing about care, and family drama but still find ways to come back together and figure this journey out. Now we are in a place where it has become positive and healthy.