As a parent of a special needs child, I understand the love, challenges, and burnout that come with caregiving. It can feel so very isolating to constantly advocate, juggle appointments, and be 'on' while trying to do all the things for your family and yourself. I know the overwhelm, the stress, and the guilt that can creep in when you realize how heavy it all is to carry. Over time, I've learned the importance of small, but essential self-care, ways to find balance, and remembering that we are more than just caregivers. If you need someone who truly gets the highs and lows of this journey, I'm here to listen-whether you want to vent, process, or share whats on your heart. I'm here, I understand.

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.

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.

Growing up, I didn’t have it easy—my mom struggled with her mental health, and I experienced instability and even homelessness at a young age. It took years of learning how to prioritize my own well-being and leaning on therapy and the right people to find my sense of peace and strength. Now, I’m a mom to two incredible neurodivergent daughters, including one with autism. Navigating their diagnoses, advocating for them, and building a safe and supportive environment has pushed me to grow in ways I never imagined. Through caregiving, trauma, and life’s curveballs, I’ve learned how to show up—with patience, resilience, and love. I know how hard it is to feel isolated and overwhelmed. That’s why I’m here: to be a calm, supportive voice when you need someone who just gets it.

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 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 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.

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.

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.

Hi, my name is Luanne and I’m a 64-year-old white female. I have been through a lot in my life. I am in recovery for mental illness. Probably had mental illness at an early age, but wasn’t diagnosed till I was in high school. I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. But in my 30s IHi, my name is Luanne and I’m a 64-year-old white female. I have been through a lot in my life. I am in recovery for mental illness. Probably had mental illness at a early age, but wasn’t diagnosed till I was in high school. I was diagnosed then with anxiety and depression. But in my 30s, I was diagnosed with bipolar. I went through a divorce around that time and had financial instability. I’ve been through a lot of losses in my life. Losses through death losses through divorce job losses career losses. I can help you navigate Life. Life can be painful at time, but I can help you navigate And regain the life. God meant for you to have.

In 2019, my dad suffered a heart attack (needed a quintuple heart bypass surgery) and the doctors found an Abdominal Aortic Aneurysm. I moved back in with my parents 10 hours away for 5 months to be a caregiver. The stress of his recovery, limitations, adjusting to new life and diet, and the unknown of whether the aneurysm would rupture was overwhelming and exhausting. We lived in fear for 3 months of whether or not he would be recovered and strong enough to have the surgery to fix the aneurysm. Every day we faced the challenges of if we would get another day. The doctors informed us that if the aneurysm ruptured, he would die within minutes. I slept on the couch for 5 months watching him recover and wait. The emotions that he felt and I felt were something that cannot be explained unless you have been there. Every day was a gift and a challenge. A 5 bypass surgery is very difficult to recover from. We had to learn to slow down, be vulnerable, push ourselves, and live a whole new life. We spent everyday learning new exercises that were exhausting and sometimes arguing to just try. I wanted him to do everything to get better, but he was tired. I was tired, too. All time stopped during those days. The only thing that was real was living in that living room next to him and just praying for another day. Our only outlets were doctors visits, tests, cardio rehab. Watching my dad unable be strong and unable to take care of himself was devastating and depressing. I hurt for him. I hurt for me. Every test was stressful. Every day we waited. The whole world stopped those 5 months. But we got through it. And he made it to the surgery. He recovered and he is well. I moved back to my house. I had no idea what a caregiver went through until I became one. The challenges of taking care of someone and living with them, giving up all of yourself and not knowing if they will make it another day is stressful on everyone, but the most important thing I could do for him and me.

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.

For a long time after multiple accidents and failed relationships I was aimless and had no compass to guide me or anyone to tell me I was way off track. My goal is to help others find their true north so they don’t get lost for too long. It’s ok to stumble and that’s how we learn, but it becomes too much if we don’t address our troubles and remove the obstacles to get back on track.

I am definitely the kind of person who has overly prioritized taking care of others over myself my whole life. While it can feel selfish or shameful to think about our own needs, we can't be there for other people if we are not taking care of ourselves. I kept getting mad at myself for what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of caring for someone a lot and then, over time, them seeing me less as a friend and more as a tool that can be useful. I often played into it myself since I believed people would at least stick around longer if I were useful. This only ended with ruined friendships and toxic relationships. Over time, I've started managing my energy output better and providing high-quality support to people I care about without draining my own reserves. I've learned to set personal boundaries to protect myself and identify whether I am offering something because it's needed or because I'm feeling anxious or insecure about the relationship.

I’ve dealt with trauma before and had to manage stress in my life and read a lot of different books to help resolve my problems. I’ve dealt with different health problems before and learn learned a lot through reading or my personal journey about mental and physical health. I’d love to provide help or support to someone else struggling with these type of challenges and help someone else feel less alone. I’ve navigated the medical and mental health system before and know the struggles that come with that and learned a lot.

I spent five years caring for my mom, who suffered from dementia. Looking back, I realize I was probably a caregiver for her long before her diagnosis. Growing up in a co-dependent household with an alcoholic, abusive father meant that I learned early on how to put others’ needs first—even when it wasn’t healthy. After my mom was diagnosed, I stepped in to provide care, all while raising three kids and working full-time. It was a delicate balance, and it felt like I was constantly giving but never receiving in return. What I didn’t know then was how important boundaries would be in preserving my own mental and emotional health. At first, I struggled to say “no,” feeling guilty about not doing enough. But over time, I learned how to set firm yet compassionate boundaries, both with my mom and with others who needed my support. It wasn’t easy, but it allowed me to stay emotionally grounded and avoid burnout. I’ve also spent a lot of time helping friends and family navigate caregiving roles, and I’ve organized resources for others dealing with aging or ailing parents. There’s no blueprint for caregiving, but I’ve learned that it’s vital to find your own balance and remember that self-care isn’t selfish.

The experience of caregiving for a terminally ill partner is one that few can truly comprehend unless they've lived it. Each day, you witness the person you depend on transform into someone unrecognizable. I'll never forget the day the word 'leukemia' shattered our world. The following two years reshaped me in ways I never imagined. Day after day, I served as his primary caregiver, navigating the journey with a woefully inadequate support system. The emotional rollercoaster of that time was a constant, overwhelming challenge. You're suddenly thrown into a life for which few are prepared, a world shrouded in unfamiliarity. The very person you'd normally turn to for support now relies entirely on you. My first, and biggest, mistake: neglecting myself. Self-care isn't a luxury; it's a necessity. I'm certain I made countless missteps. But life has taught me that failures often hold the most valuable lessons. My hope is that by sharing my story, you'll find solace in knowing you're not alon

I've always been surrounded by mental health struggles, starting with my mother’s mental illness and my father’s alcoholism. Therapy has been a part of my life since I was seven, and over the years, I've learned how to cope with the weight of these challenges. Now, as my parents age, I’m experiencing a new layer of difficulty caring for them while also trying to navigate my own life. The healthcare system doesn’t make it easy, and I often feel like there aren't enough resources for aging individuals who need complex care. I've had to become a caretaker in ways I never anticipated, juggling my job as a crisis counselor with the emotional and physical demands of caring for my parents. The loneliness can be overwhelming, especially when the system doesn’t provide enough support. But in these tough moments, I’ve found solace in therapy, friends, and the small wins that make each day bearable. I’ve also learned to approach my mental health with curiosity, knowing that healing doesn’t always happen linearly, and I hope to help others who are facing similar struggles with caregiving and family dynamics.