Caregiving As a Parent — Monthly Discussion Series
Hello and welcome to Caregiving as a Parent — a discussion by caregivers, for caregivers. This is a space for honest, real conversation about life as a parent caregiver. Each person in this collaboration brings their own unique voice to the discussion, and if you’re looking for a place to be seen, heard, and understood — you’re in the right place.
My name is Amy Brown. I write at More Than a Caregiver, where I write about life-giving practices for an overwhelmed life. Why? Because my life was — and honestly still can be — quite overwhelming. I’m a mom to six grown kids, three of whom are adopted. My three youngest children came to us through adoption, and I know firsthand how isolating and exhausting it can be to parent a child from trauma who struggles with mental health and attachment.
My passion is sitting with women who are in the trenches of parenting children with mental health challenges and invisible disabilities. If you are burned out and need a sympathetic, shame-free space to share your story, I am your girl. I believe our stories matter. We learn from each other. We encourage each other. And most importantly, we feel less alone. It is a genuine privilege to hear your story.
I have thirty years of parenting experience and parent children with Reactive Attachment Disorder, mental illness and Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder.
My writing comes out of my own need to make sense of my world — to figure out how to live with joy and intention in the middle of everything. I mean, we would all love a weekend spa retreat or a quiet house for a week, but how do we actually resource ourselves well in ways that fit our real lives? That’s why I write. I’m also a spiritual director, an author, and a mentor.
This discussion is part of the Caregiving As a Parent Community Network, curated by Victoria of Carer Mentor
Here is our team:
Each month, one of us hosts a discussion with all of us showing up in the comments for each other and for you.
• Chris B
Make sure you go back and check out all of our previous posts:Last month, Sara Clime hosted our discussion, The System I Forgot to Build
I was impacted by this article because Sara shares how she built every system imaginable to keep her family’s life running and yet somehow never built a single thing for herself. That hit close to home. So many of us, as caregivers, are incredibly competent at holding everything together for everyone else, and we disappear in the process.
What stayed with me most was this line:
There’s a big difference between livable and full of life.
Sara reminds us that joy doesn’t schedule itself; we have to make room for it. She’s right. Check out her post and the comments.
As I read her post, I started thinking about a joyful moment and how I managed to make it 1000 times harder because I was overthinking it( can any of you relate??)
The 75 Second Ride:
What a Roller Coaster Taught Me About Preparing for Everything and Being Present for Nothing
A few years ago, I traveled to Walt Disney World with my son, Evan. For years, I sat on the sidelines while my whole family went on rides I couldn’t handle because I have always been terrified of roller coasters. But on this trip, I decided to conquer my fear. I was going to ride the Rock and Roll roller coaster.
My strategy? Arm myself with as much information as possible. I spent hours online learning everything about it — zero to sixty in under three seconds, two loops, one corkscrew, entirely in the dark. I kept going, searching Google with questions like, “How scary is the ride?” and “Can people who are afraid of roller coasters handle it?” I read stories of little kids who loved it and old ladies who conquered it. I decided maybe I could, too.
And that’s not even counting the time I spent obsessing over it and asking Evan repeatedly if he thought I could handle it. Or the hour in line doing deep breathing and more research on my phone.
Here’s the thing about this ride: it lasts 75 seconds. All those hours of research, fear, and anxiety for a 75-second ride.
I did it. I’m really proud of myself. It was fun, though I can’t honestly tell you much about the experience because my eyes were closed and I was screaming the entire time.
So what does this tell you about me? I’m a real barrel of fun at Walt Disney World. But more honestly, it tells you something true about me: I like control. I hate not knowing what comes next. Yes, I conquered my fear — but I spent three days obsessing over something that was over in 75 seconds.
Can you relate to that?
Being a caregiver sometimes feels like a roller coaster ride. You’re going along in life, and all of a sudden, the bottom drops out, or you feel like you’re going too fast, and you just want to get off. Maybe you feel like you’re in the dark, being jerked around by loops and corkscrews. That’s why this fear can feel so familiar. Fear can be a caregiver’s most predominant emotion,worst-case scenarios and scarcity thinking ride shotgun everywhere we go.
And here’s what’s weird: even when things are going well, when it’s quiet, when we’re not in some emergency, we still carry that never-ending sense that the other shoe is about to drop.
We remember the phone calls. The rush to the hospital. The treatment plan that didn’t work. The meds that didn’t come through. We’ve lived those moments again and again. And our nervous systems don’t forget.
So I’m trying to figure out how to live without a scarcity mindset. Without over-preparing. Without being afraid when things are calm. Because even on a normal day, when everything is okay, we know things can turn on a dime. How do we live in bodies that have known real trauma, real hospitalizations, long phone calls with insurance companies, and answers we didn’t want and still find moments of calm?
How do we appreciate those moments without immediately battening down the hatches for the next crisis?
A few years ago, I started working with a somatic coach. One of her first assignments was to take a nap in the afternoon. I expected something harder. Like most caregivers, I thrive when the work is hard.
I could not do it. I circled my bed for 45 minutes, unable to lie down. The moment I tried, I thought of everything I needed to do, should do, could do. I thought about all the ways I needed to prepare for whatever might come through our door next.
I wonder how much present-moment living I’ve missed because of this mindset?
I’m not dismissing the weight of this life. Caregivers have real emergencies, real hospitalizations, heartbreaking challenges. We’re up all night with a sick or struggling child. We spend hours on the phone trying to get help. Those things happen. But they don’t happen 24/7 — and yet we live as if they might.
All of that creates fear. And fear is a very common emotion for caregivers, but I don’t want it to be a constant companion. Here’s what I’ve learned about fear in my own life, and I’m not talking about the healthy kind that keeps us from danger. I’m talking about the kind that overtakes us. Fear lies. It distorts our thoughts and hijacks our reason. It creeps into everything. If I’m afraid of one thing, anxiety quickly takes on a life of its own and can spread to every other area of my life. More than anything else, fear keeps us in the dark. We need to learn to recognize fear before it overwhelms us.
We need to get out of the dark and step into the light.
This starts with noticing.
I am learning to pay attention to my inner dialogue: Often, when I am fearful, I go to a worst-case scenario and perseverate on it.
I am learning to practice critical awareness. I am learning to approach fear with curiosity instead of resistance.
It helps to write this out in a journal after I am overcome with fear and or worry.
What thoughts am I having? (Hint: they are usually irrational!)
This is how my body reacted.
This is the story I was allowing fear to tell me.
This is the truth, right now, in this moment.
Finally, I am learning to breathe, to pause, and to notice what is right in front of me. That is how I want to meet fear: by staying present instead of bracing for what might come next.
Maybe that's the real lesson from the roller coaster. I spent three days preparing for 75 seconds. I survived it, but I didn't really experience it. And I wonder how much of my life as a caregiver has looked exactly like that. So afraid for what might come next that I miss what's actually here. The ride is happening either way. I'm learning to keep my eyes open.
Today’s Prompt for Discussion
Where in your life are you doing the most preparing and is that preparation actually protecting you, or is it keeping you from being present?
What is one moment this week where you were fully present not bracing, not preparing, just there? What helps you come back to the present moment?
Drop your thoughts in the comments — however they come out
Reply to each other, because someone else’s answer might be exactly what you needed to hear
Share, connect, and find each other here
Every one of us is in a different situation. What works in my life might not work in yours. There are no right or wrong answers here. Just a community of caregivers who actually get it, showing up for each other.
The team will be here too. Come find us in the comments.
The next “Caregiving As a Parent” discussion will be on Friday, August 7th. It will be hosted by Mary Beth Kaplan of Mantras & Coffee . You don’t want to miss it.







Amy, this is beautiful. I felt seen in so many parts of your story. Thank you for putting words to something that so many caregivers experience but rarely know how to explain.
I feel this in my bones.
Hypervigilance has a way of disguising itself as responsibility. It tells us we’re being prepared, vigilant, good caregivers. It convinces us that if we just think one step further ahead, anticipate one more problem, or prepare for every possible outcome, we can somehow protect the people we love.
But eventually, I realized something painful: I wasn’t just preparing for emergencies anymore. I was preparing for life.
Even when things were calm, my body wasn’t.
I’ve had to learn that hypervigilance isn’t a personality trait—it’s often a nervous system that has spent too long believing it has to stay on guard. And when you’ve lived through enough crises, that response makes perfect sense. Our brains are trying to keep us safe by assuming danger is always around the corner.
The hard part is that the same instincts that help us survive difficult seasons can quietly rob us of the peaceful ones.
Your line about spending days preparing for a 75-second ride hit me hard because I’ve realized I’ve done the same thing in my own life. So much mental energy spent bracing for what might happen that I sometimes miss what is happening.
Relearning presence has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done because it feels incredibly vulnerable. There is a strange comfort in scanning for the next problem. Letting myself enjoy today can almost feel reckless, as though I’m tempting fate by relaxing.
But I’m slowly discovering that caring for myself isn’t abandoning the people I love. It’s making sure I can keep loving them well.
Sometimes that looks like taking a walk without solving anything. Sometimes it’s sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee and noticing the breeze instead of my to-do list. Sometimes it’s taking a full breath before responding to another email, another appointment, another unknown.
Presence is becoming a practice instead of a destination.
I still prepare. I probably always will. Experience has taught me that life can change in an instant. But I’m trying to hold preparation in one hand and presence in the other.
Those ordinary moments are the life I’ve fought so hard for.
Thank you for the reminder that keeping our eyes open for those moments may be the bravest thing we do.
Amy, your words landed at the perfect time, enveloped right into my heart. Thank you! We are about a year and a half out after our son rang the bell. His leukemia treatment was a very long process. And my nervous system is still over stimulated. Especially, when holidays roll around, I’m noticing. Like, right now, over this 4th of July holiday. We have family visiting and in answering your prompt questions…gosh have I noticed my need for control. Just wanting to be uber planned and ready for whatever! But, it’s actually just muscle memory. And fear. So hard to just roll with the fun. Because we can now. I’m a big journaling advocate, so I will be journaling on your second question. I really appreciate your vulnerability and showing us it’s okay to talk about the fears we carry.🙏🏼💛