The single parent daughter, or when the tables slowly turn…
A personal blog about care, love, being overwhelmed – and dignity.
It’s Boxing Day. Christmas is almost over. And I’ll be honest: Hallelujah.
Not out of ingratitude. But out of exhaustion. Out of depth. Out of that very special feeling that arises when you love someone – and at the same time reach your limits.
This blog is called ‘The Single Daughter’.
And it’s different from anything I’ve written before.
This blog is about how I brought my mother to Spain.
That I care for her. That I accompany her. That I – figuratively speaking – raise her on my own.
It’s about the quiet and loud hurdles of caregiving.
About bureaucracy, fatigue, patience.
But also about laughter, closeness, absurd situations and those small, precious moments that you never forget.
It is about a shift in roles that no one is prepared for:
At some point, the daughter becomes the mother.
And the mother – to her daughter.
That’s no big deal.
But it’s a process.
And sometimes a bloody exhausting one.
I firmly believe that in the coming years, we will live in a time when more people will be caring for their parents than raising their own children.
Parental care is not a marginal issue.
It is a social reality – and a deeply human experience.
Caring pushes you to your limits.
At the limits of strength.
At the limits of patience.
Sometimes even to the brink of despair.
And yet – or perhaps precisely because of this – it is one of the most dignified things one can do in life.
This blog will be honest.
Personal.
Sometimes funny, sometimes lively, sometimes quiet and heavy.
There will be everyday stories.
Tips and tricks.
Thoughts on care, ageing, closeness, saying goodbye – and on life in between.
Perhaps other perspectives will also be added:
Nurses, carers, retirement homes, other daughters, other stories.
I’m not yet sure exactly where this blog is going.
But I know one thing for sure:
It is a project close to my heart.
My other blogs feature fictional characters, dating anecdotes, and observations from the lives of others.
Not here.
This is about me.
And about my mother.
I invite you to accompany me on this journey.
To read.
To share.
Have a say.
To be honest.
After all, there is hardly anything more important in life than being able to look your own parents in the eye even when they grow old.
To endure it without getting angry.
To love – even when it hurts.
Care often oscillates between deep love and genuine anger.
Between gratitude and the feeling of missing out.
Between closeness and the loss of freedom.
And that is exactly what I want to write about.
When we start talking about it, community emerges.
And community becomes strength.
Because ultimately, it’s about nothing less than giving our parents back a piece of what they once gave us:
Time.
Patience.
Love.
Welcome to ‘The Single Daughter’.
