Caring for an Elderly Parent: The Hardship and the Love

Caring for an elderly parent is one of the hardest and most transformative experiences of a lifetime. For eight years, I looked after my mother. Those years changed me in ways I could never have imagined, and they also reshaped the relationship I had with her and with myself.

When you step into the role of carer, the parent-child dynamic shifts completely. To your parent, you’re still their son or daughter. But in reality, you’ve become their carer, their advocate, their lifeline. That change is often uncomfortable for them, and at times for you as well. Suddenly, the balance of authority and dependence is reversed, and navigating that shift can be painful.

My mother taught me many things, but the deepest lesson was unconditional love. And yet, our relationship was not always simple. She often placed conditions on her love for me I had to do what I was told, or she would withdraw from me. Still, no matter how complicated the past was, I found myself loving her without condition, right to the end. That was the truth I held onto.

The bond between us was intense. At times, I felt as though we had been joined at the hip across lifetimes, inseparable, bound by something I couldn’t escape. Caring for her brought both closeness and strain. Watching someone you love so dearly change, decline, and lose pieces of themselves is heartbreaking.

Caring for a parent is not just an act of love; it’s also a 24-7 commitment that consumes everything else. I gave up my job, went onto a carer’s pension, and dedicated myself entirely to her care. There were no breaks, no holidays, no separation between “my life” and “her life.” It was just us. And as natural as it seemed to step into that role, the toll was immense. By the end, I was diagnosed once again with major depressive disorder — a weight that caregiving had deepened.

And yet, through all the hardship, there was love. Love that endured the frustrations, the exhaustion, and the heartbreak. Love that kept me by her side for eight years. Love that made the sacrifice both unbearable and necessary.

One of the most profound lessons I carry is this: even when your loved one appears unconscious, they can hear you. For seven days, my daughter and I stayed by my mother’s bedside. She hadn’t spoken a word in all that time. I never truly believed she thought much of me. But as my daughter left on the seventh day, I whispered to Mum, “There goes your favourite.”

And then, out of nowhere, from the depths of her being, she answered loudly and clearly: “No, you are.”

It shook me to my core. Her mouth and throat must have been unbearably dry, her body so weak, yet those words broke through. I will never forget it.

So, talk to your loved ones. Tell them what’s in your heart. They hear you, even when you think they don’t.

Looking back, I sometimes think how different my journey of caring for Mum might have been if I’d had certain tools earlier. Discovering The Pillar Code after she passed gave me something I didn’t even know I was searching for peace. It helped me make sense of the pain, let go of the weight I was carrying, and reconnect with myself when the emptiness felt unbearable.

It’s hard to put into words what happens when you go through it. For me, it was like being gently guided back to my own strength, reminded that life still had purpose and that love doesn’t end, it transforms. Those 12 steps supported me to move forward without losing the bond I’ll always have with Mum.

Caring for Mum taught me unconditional love. Finding The Pillar Code gave me a way to heal afterwards. Becoming a Practitioner gave me the chance to turn that healing into a gift for others. Together, those experiences shaped who I am today — and for that, I carry gratitude every single day.