When Life Asks you to Recalibrate

Hello, friends.

If you've been listening to Boomer Banter for any length of time, you know that I don't usually start episodes this way.

But today, I need to talk to you about something that I've been thinking about, something I've been avoiding saying out loud because, honestly, I wasn't sure how to say it without disappointing you.

For six years, we have been on this Boomer Banter journey together.

Six years of conversations about aging well, about finding purpose, about staying connected as we navigate this stage of life.

And you've trusted me to bring you amazing guests who inspire, who challenge, who remind us that getting older doesn't mean getting smaller.

And I have loved, truly loved, showing up for you every week.

But I need to tell you that I'm going to be stepping back from the weekly rhythm.

Not forever.

That's not goodbye.

But for now, I need to recalibrate.

And let me tell you why.

Just about two months ago, my mom moved in with me.

And if I'm being completely honest, I thought I had this figured out.

You know, I'm a coach.

I help other people navigate transitions.

I teach about purpose and meaning in retirement.

And as we age, I know how to plan, how to anticipate, how to create systems.

I thought, I can do this.

I'll make it work.

What I didn't anticipate, probably what I couldn't have anticipated, was how profoundly this would change not just my schedule, but my entire sense of identity and freedom.

So here's what I mean.

I knew there would be doctor's appointments.

I knew I'd need to plan meals differently.

I knew my mom would need company and conversation.

Those are the visible, tangible parts of caregiving.

And yes, they do take time.

But what I wasn't prepared for was everything else.

The mental load, the constant recalibrating, and the loss of spontaneity and freedom.

I'll give you an example.

My partner, Leon, and I used to decide on a whim to go out, to dinner, to go dancing, to even just go get ice cream.

Now, even if mom is already in bed, I leave her a detailed note.

Where I'm going, who I'm with, when I'll be back.

Because if she wakes up and she doesn't find me in the house, she.

She might not remember that I told her we were going to do this.

And then she gets worried and she gets scared, and her sense of safety and security is rocked.

So, you know, this is not a complaint.

This is a recalibration I've made.

It's.

It's the reality.

It sounds like a small thing, a note on the counter, but it represents something bigger.

The shift from living spontaneously to living with careful intention and a constant awareness of someone else's needs.

I've just been focusing on my own needs for so many years, especially since the kids moved out.

And here's the harder truth, the one I'm learning to say out loud.

And I'm not handling this caregiving role as gracefully as.

As I thought I would.

So here's the truth.

My mom's hearing.

It's not just that it isn't great.

It's really bad.

And I know this.

But I still find myself getting frustrated when I have to repeat something for the third, the fourth time.

I get upset when she forgets something I told her.

And then I feel guilty because I know it's not her fault.

It's probably my fault for not communicating more clearly or for not writing it down and for expecting her memory to just hold what it apparently can't.

There's this voice in my head that keeps saying, you should be better at this.

You should be more patient.

You should be handling this with more grace.

Oh, we know about those shoulds, don't we?

And the truth is, some days I do.

Some days I'm the daughter.

I want to be attentive, loving, present.

And some days I am just exhausted and wishing I could have two hours to myself without feeling guilty about it.

I thought caregiving would be more about the tasks, but it's so much more about the emotional recalibration, the grief of losing my old life while trying to honor this new one.

And then the guilt of feeling like I'm failing everyone, including myself.

Because here's what else is true.

This isn't just impacting my relationship with my mom.

It's impacting my relationship with Leon, who has been unbelievably understanding.

He's been through this with his own mother, so he gets it in ways most people wouldn't.

But I still see the moments we've lost.

Those quiet mornings, the spontaneous adventures, the uninterrupted conversations.

And we're learning to be intentional about protecting our time together.

We're learning that two hours alone, really alone, is something we have to plan for, not something that just happens.

And then there's my relationship with myself.

I need my exercise.

I love to read.

I love to cook.

And I'm pretty good at it.

But meal planning now has different constraints.

My mom has preferences, things she won't eat, things that are easier for her to manage.

So I've started using a service called Home Chef for dinners.

They send the ingredients, I just prepare them.

It lets me cook without a lot of pre planning, and it's one less decision to make.

But breakfast and lunch, those still require thought, planning and energy.

And my time for exercise or reading, those have become luxuries I have to carve out and defend instead of rhythms I can count on.

Now I want to be really clear about something.

This isn't all hard, and it's not all about loss.

My mom is doing so much better since she moved in.

She really is.

She's more engaged.

She tells me she's happier.

This is cute.

She's become the keeper of the birds.

She lets me know when the feeder needs refilling, when the squirrel is stealing the food.

I've started posting our weekly dinner menu on the fridge so that she knows what to expect, what's coming up.

These small routines have given her purpose.

And I see that and I'm grateful for that.

But here's the paradox.

Something can be good and necessary and still hard.

It can be the right choice and still require you to grieve what you've given up.

And that's where I am at.

So here's what I've realized.

I can't do it all.

Not right now.

I can't show up for my mom the way I want to show up for Leon the way I want to show up for my kids and grandkids the way I want to, and show up for myself the way I need to.

And also show up for you every single week with the kind of thoughtful, deep, high quality conversations you've come to expect from Boomer Banter.

Something has to give.

And I've made the choice.

I'm choosing to focus my energy on the people who are in front of me.

My mom, my.

My partner, my kids and grandkids, and myself.

I'm choosing to prioritize the work I get paid for, the training I deliver called Feeling Useful Again course.

And I love teaching it.

And I'm choosing to keep writing because writing has become a way for me to process this caregiving journey, to make sense of it and maybe, hopefully, to help other people recognize themselves and feel like they're.

They're being seen and heard too.

But that means that I can't keep producing a weekly podcast.

Not right now.

And to be honest with you, I feel so much guilt about that.

I know guilt is not helpful, but I have been so inspired by you.

You were my purpose for the last six years.

You've trusted me.

You've shown up, you've written to tell me how much these conversations have meant to you, how they've helped you navigate your own transitions, your own questions about what's next.

And I don't want to let you down.

But I also know that if I keep trying to do everything, I'm going to burn out and do nothing well.

And I don't want to get to that place where I resent the work that I have loved.

So here's what I've committed to doing.

I'm not walking away.

I'm recalibrating.

When I meet someone with something particularly relevant to say, someone whose story I know you need to hear, I'll bring them on.

And when I have the bandwidth to record a short solo episode, something that's been like sitting with me, I need to share it.

I will do that.

But it won't be weekly.

It'll be when it's right, when I have something real to give.

And in the meantime, I'm going to be writing.

I've renamed my newsletter and substack Thriving Through Time, and I'm writing about this caregiving journey for two reasons.

One, to make sense of it for myself, to find the language for what I'm experiencing, because sometimes I don't know what I think until I write it down.

And two, because I hope it will normalize what other caregivers are feeling.

That guilt, the exhaustion, the love that's also mixed with frustration, the grief of losing your old life while trying to honor the new one.

I want to create a space where we can talk honestly about this, not to complain, but to witness each other, to say, me too, to remind each other that we're not failing just because it's hard.

And I'll still be writing about purpose, about health, about connection as we age.

I'm sure it's going to have a caregiving slant now, because that's the lens I'm looking through and that's the reality that I'm living.

So here's my intent, my invitation to you.

If you've been listening to Boomer Banter because you want to stay connected, because you want real talk about what it means to age well, I would love for you to subscribe to Thriving Through Time on Substack.

You can find it at wendy421.substack.com I will put that in the show notes, and I'll be there more consistently than I'll be here, at least for now.

And maybe in a strange way, this is exactly the kind of real talk we need to be having.

Because here's what I'm realizing.

We're all in transition.

You're aging.

I'm aging.

Some of us are caregiving.

Some of us are grieving.

Some of us are reinventing ourselves.

Some of us are just trying to figure out how to hold on to who we are.

Well, everything around us changes.

And maybe the most honest thing I can do, the most useful thing, is to say out loud that I do not have it all figured out.

That I'm making choices in real time.

Choices that feel scary and sad and necessary all at once.

That I'm learning to let go of the version of myself that could do it all, or I thought I could and make peace with the version that's just doing my best.

And if you're in that place, too, if you're recalibrating, if you're making hard choices about where to put your limited time and energy, if you're feeling guilty about what you can't do instead of proud of what you can, I see you.

I am with you.

I am one of you.

We're figuring this out together.

So thank you.

Thank you for six years of trust.

Thank you for listening, for showing up, for letting me be part of your journey.

I am not saying goodbye.

I'm just saying I'll see you when I see you.

And in the meantime, I'll be writing.

So take care of yourselves, take care of each other, and maybe take a moment to ask yourself, what do you need to let go of right now so you can hold on to what really matters?

And please stay in touch.

I love to hear from you.

We'll talk soon.

This is Wendy, and this has been Boomer Banter.