It's not parenting. (Or is it?)

I'm annoyed when caregiving for an aging parent is described as parenting.

There’s an almost-2-year-old little girl who lives two doors down from us. She has a Cabbage Patch face, big bouncy curls, and a sure-footed toddler waddle. I saw her last week, toddling over to the Halloween decorations her parents set out in the yard. “Hi, Olivia!” I said brightly. She held up her hand in a wave. Her mom told me she now speaks in demanding two-word sentences like “Mama, come!”

Every time I see her, she’s talking more, walking more confidently, making new memories.

I was thinking about little Olivia in the context of this newsletter, and I wanted to share an uncomfortable truth you may not have thought about, especially if you’re Gen-Z or millennial and you still see caring for your aging parents as something far in the future.

The truth is this:

Your parents are probably doing as well now as they are ever going to be doing. In other words, every time you see them, they’ll probably be doing a bit worse than the time before.

If you see them often, it’ll be imperceptible. But they’ll be a little weaker, a little less steady on their feet. When I say hi to the the neighbor’s kiddo, she can make a beeline back to her mama, no stopping. She doesn’t need to grab onto the edge of her stroller as she walks by. But your parent will start to furniture-surf—they’ll lightly touch the edges of chairs and tables as they pass them, reassuring their body that they have the balance to keep going.

Your parent’s hearing, speech, memory, fine motor skills, balance, strength, and mental acuity—it’s all, right now, probably as good as it’s going to get. Unless they’re embarking on a new exercise program or recovering from an injury, they’re probably not making big fitness gains at this point.

If you’re waiting to have a conversation or make a big change until your parent is “doing better,” I would like to gently nudge you toward the idea that they may be as good as they are going to be, right now.

When you’re parenting, your kid is growing stronger and smarter with every day. When you’re caring for your aging parents, it’s the opposite. Because taking care of your parents is not parenting. There are things we can learn from parenting and apply to taking care of your aging parents, but they aren’t the same thing. In addition to the idea that your kid is growing and your parent is, likely, not, there are other important ways that caregiving for an aging parent differs from parenting.

My parents explaining to me that one day, I’d have the chance to do all this stuff for them, too.

Your kid isn’t losing their dignity or independence

When you have a baby, changing their diaper feels natural and expected, like the sun coming up in the morning, the temperature rising in the summer, carrots coming home untouched in the toddler lunchbox. This is how the world works. You knew this baby was coming. You knew babies need diapers. Changing a diaper isn’t a task you relish, but sometimes you tickle their tummy and make them laugh. It’s not so bad.

Changing your parent’s diaper is a whole other thing. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t want to be in this role. You are wincing, not because of the smell, but because of the indignity of it all. A baby doesn’t lose dignity because they’re on a changing table, but your parent, half naked on a crinkly mat, prone and dependent, does.

When you take care of your child, reading them a book feels like pure joy. Often, when I lie in bed with my kindergartner and read him a story, I have to almost pinch myself with happiness. I can’t help but think of the poet Loren Brantz: “I used to wish for just this.” But having to read something for your parent because their eyesight is going? Seeing them stumble over their words? That’s not something anyone wished for. Watching your parent lose independence slowly feels different from helping your child when they haven’t yet gained it.

Caring for your baby isn’t a role reversal.

Carrying a child down the stairs won’t send you into an existential crisis. I remember at one point, when my dad was very dependent and vulnerable and had lost most semblance of dignity and privacy, I started to cry because he was just so weak. Selfishly, I asked, who would care for me?

I remember reading that unhappiness arises because of unmet expectations. You aren’t upset when your partner gets you Taylor Swift’s tour hardcover for your birthday if you expected a book. You’re upset when your partner gets you the book when you expected tickets to the Eras tour.

If you expect your parent to need your help more and more, maybe it won’t rattle you to your core when they ask you to steady them as they walk. Perhaps it won’t send you reeling when they tell you they don’t feel comfortable driving and ask you to get behind the wheel instead. Maybe, if you start preparing now, before they need you to do everyday tasks or help them manage their lives, you won’t be as blindsided as I was. As hard as it is to accept what’s happening, if you close your eyes to the reality of now, you won’t be able to plan for what’s next.

I wish I had come to terms with what my dad was likely to need before he needed it. Instead of pushing against what was happening, perhaps I could have found more joy in being there for my dad as his life was coming to an end.

I’m not saying that you have to enjoy changing your parent’s diaper, or that you have to greet their mental or physical changes as you would a child’s (please don’t clap when your parent walks across the room to you or stands up on their own) but maybe there’s a world in which you accept a few things and change your expectations.

Your parent is growing older, and they will need you more and more. One day, you may have to care for them physically, feeding them, reading to them, or, maybe, changing their diaper. If you’re not saying to yourself, “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” maybe it will be a little easier.

It is a gift to spend time with your parents as they age (ask anyone who lost a parent far before their parent was “old”), and coming to terms with what’s likely to happen might help you treat it more as such.

You don’t have a lifetime of baggage because of your relationship to your baby

Even if your child pushes back against something you want them to do, it isn’t likely to trigger a resentment from 30 years ago. When my dad refused to get dressed to go to the doctor, I immediately reverted to the child version of myself, yelling and throwing things. Caring for your parent is likely to bring up things for you that are harder to manage than your baby’s kicking legs during a diaper change.

Working with a therapist, finding a support group, or taking time to talk to friends, even if they haven’t been in a caregiving role (yet), can help. I suggest identifying what’s causing an emotional reaction in you. In the moment, it can be hard to identify what you’re truly feeling. For example, the time I threw the wheelchair? I think I was feeling angry that my dad wasn’t willing to help himself. My brain told me a story: he wasn’t willing to help himself, so everything related to his health was on me, and I wasn’t capable of holding him up forever. He’d die, and then I’d be alone. That’s a lot to be thinking of in the moment! All I felt was a blinding rage at his complete intransigence. When you’re calm, try to dissect what story your brain is telling you, and imagine where your parent is coming from. Talk to them about their goals and values instead of just the tasks you want them to complete.

In “When Your Aging Parent Needs Help,” Leslie Kernisan and Paula Spencer Scott emphasize that resentment and frustration build when we don’t recognize our parent’s agency, goals, and preferences.

“The essence of helping an older parent is that you’re traveling the journey through this phase of life with them, not efficiently rushing to any particular destination. (And especially not rushing them to the destination that YOU think is right for them.)

In the coming weeks, I want to talk about lessons we can learn from parenting and apply to caregiving for elderly parents, but I had to acknowledge, first, to me, it’s not helpful to think of taking care of your aging parent as parenting. It is infantilizing to talk about your parent as though they aren’t capable of having goals, values, histories, and desires.

Does it help you to think of it as parenting?

Maybe, though, for you, thinking of it as “parenting” allows you to access the nonjudgmental part of yourself, the part that can change a diaper or make a meal or drive from here to there without building up resentment. Maybe you’re able to tap into a well of compassion when you think of how your parent once picked you up after a fall, held your hand, read your favorite story, and so in doing those things for them, you are simply returning the favor.

What do you think? Is it helpful or not helpful to think of yourself as “parenting” your parent as they age?