My Mom's Legacy
I remember when a neighbor's granddaughter came to my mom and said her stepdad was saying and doing inappropriate things to her.
My mom handled that situation so well. She knew exactly what to say, how to listen, how to make that girl feel safe. I had no idea at the time that the same thing had happened to my mom when she was younger.
The genuine care my mom had was so authentic. She didn't just give advice. She gave understanding. She was known in our neighborhood for helping people, for being someone you could trust with your worst moments.
My mom didn't teach me through words. She showed me through actions.
She helped others even when she couldn't afford to. She sacrificed her time, her energy, her health. She found a way to show up for people, even when showing up meant she had less for herself.
I watched that. I learned that. I thought that's how everyone was.
Until I found out it wasn't.
What I Learned About Helping
I wanted to be like my mom. I tried to be like my mom.
I can remember times when my friends didn't have clothes or food in their house. I would sneak food and clothes out of my house so they could have it. I wanted them to feel like someone cared. Like someone saw they were struggling.
I wished others would have been there for me like I was there for them.
They weren't.
Those friends disappeared when I needed them. When I was 11, taking care of my mom on dialysis, helping my grandma after her stroke, those same people I'd helped? Gone.
Some people are greedy. They take and take and take. They don't care about you like you care about them.
My mom knew this. She turned away negativity. She turned away the ones who only use you until there's nothing left. She had boundaries I didn't understand when I was young.
Now I do.
The Breaking Point
Helping everyone wasn't sustainable.
When you give and give and give some more, there's nothing left. You get misused. Drained. Burned out.
The takers, the users, the ones who drain you, they make you feel like everyone is like that. So you stop trusting. You start watching. You see their actions instead of believing their words.
I learned the hard way that my mom's heart for helping people was rare. Most people don't show up. Most people take what you give and disappear when you need them.
So I stopped helping everyone.
And I started helping caregivers.
Why Caregivers
I'm more experienced in caregiving. Not in helping everyone with everything. Caregiving is what I know. It's what I lived. It's what I understand.
Caregivers give. Everyone else is draining.
That's the difference.
My mom helped everyone because she had a heart that couldn't turn away from pain. I help caregivers because I know what it's like to carry invisible weight while everyone else walks away.
I help caregivers because I was afraid I was alone in this. That nobody could relate to me. That nobody understood what it's like to be 11 years old, cleaning catheters, missing school, being woken up by a bell in the middle of the night because someone needs you.
Seeing invisible caregivers means you're not alone in this fight. It means there are more of us out here. You're not by yourself, even though you feel alone.
That's what I needed when I was 11. Someone to say "I see you. You're not alone. This is hard and you're not imagining it."
Why I Don't Help Everyone
I turn away negativity now. I turn away know it all mentality. I turn away people who want to take without giving. I turn away the users, the drainers, the people who see your exhaustion and admire it instead of fixing it.
I don't help everyone because helping everyone killed my mom. It drained her. It cost her health and time and energy she didn't have to give.
I learned from that.
I'm selective now. Intentional. I help caregivers because that's where my experience, my pain, and my purpose align.
If you're not a caregiver, if you're not carrying invisible weight, if you're not exhausted from showing up when everyone else walked away, this isn't for you.
And I'm okay with that.
How This Honors My Mom
Helping caregivers honors my mom's legacy because it gives me peace knowing she would be proud of me.
She helped others so they wouldn't feel alone and afraid. That's what I'm doing. I'm just doing it with boundaries she never had.
I'm helping the people who help everyone else. The invisible ones. The exhausted ones. The ones who give until there's nothing left and still feel like they're not doing enough.
My mom was one of those people. So am I.
This is for us. For the caregivers. For the ones who show up when no one else will.
You're not alone. I see you. And you deserve to be seen.