It was 1 a.m. by the time the crisis had quieted. I stood in my parents’ kitchen, exhausted and disoriented. My mom was furious with my dad, unable to remember why he was always checking her, and resisting the limits dementia had quietly imposed. My dad, weary but resolute, argued with her to keep her safe, pleading with her to not climb ladders again. I realized he hadn’t even eaten dinner yet. I had rushed over when my dad called, pushing aside a meal with my husband and teenage sons, noting how I was stretched across households, holding together needs that constantly collided. It was the second time that week.
That night, the question that haunted me wasn’t, “How do I manage all this?” It was, “Do I even know who am I anymore?”
The Gen-X Caregiver Predicament
We’re the first generation to delay having children into our late 30s (or 40s), while also having parents who are living much longer. At age 59, I find myself juggling:
- caring for my 84-year-old mother who has had vascular dementia since 2017;
- supporting my 86-year-old father as he discovers his caregiver identity as her primary carer, and;
- remaining present for my young adult sons navigating college.
My experience isn’t unique—Gen-X caregivers are caught in the extended sandwich generation squeeze. Many of us also are leaders at work, expected to be at our professional peak while managing family systems in crisis. The dual weight became clearer when in 2024, my sister-in-law died unexpectedly. My brother, though a present father, suddenly saw the invisible labor his wife had carried—school schedules, medical appointments, emotional work. I stepped in to fill gaps, while still dealing with my parents’ and my own family’s needs. In that moment, I understood viscerally how much caregiving—especially its emotional labor—remains hidden and gendered.
‘Respite wasn’t really respite; it was just another place to feel behind.’
As a Filipino American immigrant and only daughter, the cultural weight is heavier still. In my culture, the eldest daughter carries specific caregiving expectations—responsibilities that don’t always align with American ideals of independence or professional ambition. I live at the intersection of these demands, constantly negotiating who I am expected to be versus who I need to be.
When Questioning Becomes Everything
At first, I treated caregiving like any leadership challenge: I researched, organized, and systematized. Everyone told me the same things—practice time management, seek respite, prioritize self-care. I did all of it. Yet the overwhelm only deepened.
What made this even harder was that, for a long time, I didn’t call myself a caregiver. I was just a daughter doing what needed to be done. But if I couldn’t name what I was experiencing, how could I possibly seek support for it? That silence kept me isolated, and I now know this is incredibly common—so many Gen Xers are caregiving without ever using the word.
The real crisis wasn’t logistics—it was identity. The independent, capable woman I knew myself to be was fragmenting under competing demands: professional leader, dutiful Filipino daughter, attentive mother, supportive sister. Who was I supposed to be? And how could I live across such different expectations with integrity?
My father was asking similar questions at first: “How do I care for the woman I’ve been married to for almost 60 years when she doesn’t remember she has memory loss? I feel like the bad guy every day.” Watching him wrestle with his transformation from husband to caregiver revealed something essential: caregiving is always identity work. Every family member must integrate their role in a way that is uniquely theirs.
The Disorienting Spiral
Identity confusion showed up in strange ways. I cried in grocery store aisles—not from lack of time, but from uncertainty about who was doing the shopping. Was I the professional I’d worked so hard to become, the dutiful immigrant daughter, or some hybrid trying to honor both?
I knew I needed self-care—every article and support group repeated it—but nothing ever felt restful. Even when I tried to step away, I was stressed about what I should be doing, thinking about, or planning next. Respite wasn’t really respite; it was just another place to feel behind. And while advice focused on doing caregiving better, no one was talking about the deeper reality: how caregiving was reshaping me, and how I needed to take part in that transformation.
Even the smallest tasks stretched out of proportion. A 15-minute task—like organizing my parents’ paperwork or arranging their medications—could stretch into hours. I felt resentful that I could manage endless caregiving details while my own life was in disarray, so I procrastinated, resisted, and grew angrier at myself. That resentment bled into everything: I wasn’t just behind on their needs, I was behind on my own, caught in a spiral I couldn’t seem to escape.
As someone trained in public health, I had spent years creating interventions designed to change behaviors and improve systems, particularly in the field of HIV prevention. That work taught me how identity, stigma and behavior are deeply intertwined—and that meaningful change requires frameworks that honor the whole person. When I turned that lens on my caregiving experience, I realized the same gap existed here. What was missing wasn’t more tips, checklists, or time hacks—it was a framework. A way to define the journey itself, to map the identity shifts every caregiver experiences. That realization became the foundation of what I now call “caregiver identity integration.”
The Breakthrough
A turning point came when I stopped asking, “How do I manage all of this?” and started asking, “How do I integrate this role with who I am?”
This shift reframed everything. Caregiver overwhelm wasn’t just about having too much to do—it was about identity fragmentation. Integration meant:
- owning the reality of my situation instead of resisting it;
- placing my well-being at the center rather than shunting it to the margins;
- supporting my parents’ autonomy within safe boundaries;
- staying present instead of catastrophizing future crises; and,
- embracing how caregiving was reshaping me instead of fighting to preserve an identity that was now outdated.
Working with my father on his caregiver identity was transformative as well. He learned over time that being a loving husband and an effective caregiver for someone with dementia required different skills—that both identities could coexist.
Finding Integration, Purpose and Joy
The greatest transformation came when I realized I could choose how to approach my parents. Instead of focusing solely on duties or frustrations, I began cultivating moments of joy with them while they’re still here.
I began cultivating moments of joy with my parents while they’re still here.
That meant laughing with my mom when she repeated a story for the 10th time, instead of correcting her. It meant lingering over meals with my dad, even when I was tired, because those conversations were no longer guaranteed. By shifting from resentment to presence, I found I could enjoy them as they are—not as I wished them to be, or as they once were.
Integration gave me freedom from guilt. I no longer felt I had to sacrifice my whole self to caregiving. Instead, I found clarity: being a good daughter, mother, and sister didn’t mean being perfect. It meant being present, with boundaries, so that I could stay connected to the people I love without losing myself.
I’m not always great at it, and I don’t always know how to handle each moment. But I’m no longer nervous that caregiving is bigger than me. Once I was able to own the journey as mine, I could honor both myself and my parents along the way.
This work inspired me to found Kapwa AllCare, where I guide families through five stages of caregiver identity integration. Kapwa is a Filipino concept meaning “we are all connected”—our identities are formed through relationship and shared humanity.
My approach helps primary caregivers, spouses, siblings or children move from questioning and being overwhelmed to genuine integration. We honor caregiving as an identity journey, one that must account for cultural, gendered and personal dimensions.
What Gen-X Caregivers Need to Know
Our generation often faces unique challenges:
- We are digital natives caring for analog parents;
- We are individualists forced into interdependent roles;
- We are efficiency experts navigating unfixable situations; and,
- We are professionals with peak career demands who are simultaneously caring for children, older parents and our aging bodies.
The critical insight is this: caregiver overwhelm isn’t solved by better calendars or spa days (not that these things aren’t great!). It’s solved by better identity integration. The question isn’t “How do I do all of this?” but “How can I be myself while doing all of this?”
And, perhaps most importantly, how do we enjoy our loved ones while they’re still around? Integration allows us to let go of perfectionism, live with presence, and create moments of joy while enduring heavy responsibilities. That shift changes everything—for us, for our families, and for those receiving our care.
For a generation defined by resilience and a can-do spirit, the real power comes not from doing everything, but from giving ourselves permission to own the caregiving journey and make it ours individually. And that’s what we need most as Gen X caregivers—not perfection, but permission to claim caregiving as our own path. We grew up knowing that love is a battlefield—and, in the words of Pat Benatar, we know: “We are strong.” Our new battle cry is to bring that strength to caregiving on our own terms, in our own way.
Grace Macalino Schauf, PhD, MPH, is the founder of Kapwa AllCare, where she helps families navigate caregiver identity integration and move beyond the overwhelm toward sustainable caregiving. A public health researcher with expertise in HIV prevention and health equity, she combines lived experience with professional insight to guide caregivers in finding clarity, balance, and joy under the weight of great responsibility.
Photo caption: Grace Macalino Schauf with her parents.
Photo credit: Courtesy Grace Macalino Schauf.
