The Daughter, The Mother, The Caregiver: Midlife in the Middle of Generations

Midlife can feel like standing in the middle of a shifting landscape, being pulled in multiple directions, while quietly trying to hold your own centre. For me, that pull has never been about juggling traditional caregiving roles. I’m a single mum, raising my daughter, Khushi, on my own. My mother passed away 18 years ago. There’s no large, extended household, no one reminding me to eat or rest. It’s just us – me and her.

And still, the weight of care is real.

Midlife isn’t just a physical transition – it’s emotional, spiritual, and deeply relational. As South Asian women, we’re often raised with the idea that we must be everything for everyone. And even without a partner or ageing parents in my home, I’ve lived that expectation in my own quiet way.

Redefining what caregiving looks like

I visit my close friends’ parents every week. They feel like my own. I show up with cakes and flowers and sit with them over chai, sometimes in silence, sometimes in full conversation. I offer presence because I know what it means to long for connection. Care doesn’t always come with a title. It’s woven into our spirit.

At the same time, I’m caring for my teenage daughter, nurturing her emotional well-being, holding space for her dreams, while managing my own inner transformation. There are no shared loads. No backup team. No one to pass things on to when I feel unwell or overwhelmed. And still, like so many of us, I keep going.

The invisible load

I’ve spoken to countless South Asian women in similar situations – divorced, widowed, single, or simply feeling emotionally alone in a house full of people. We’re often not seen as “caregivers” in the traditional sense, but we’re carrying deep emotional loads: holding families together, managing cultural expectations, showing up to work and community even when we’re physically and emotionally depleted.

Midlife symptoms add another layer – brain fog, anxiety, sleepless nights, hot flushes. It’s easy to feel like you’re slowly unravelling while the world keeps asking more of you.

There were mornings when I’d sit at the edge of my bed, unsure whether I was more tired from the sleepless night or the weight of all that was unspoken.

The cost of silence

For many of us, this caregiving comes without acknowledgement. There’s no applause for showing up when you’re barely functioning. There’s no cultural language for the type of exhaustion that stems from carrying generations of responsibility and emotional labour.

And when we are told to “just rest,” it often comes from people who’ve never had to survive without a safety net.

This is why The Sattva Collective was born. To create a space where we don’t have to explain our exhaustion or justify our boundaries. Where women like me – and maybe like you – can be seen, held, and reminded that self-care is not a luxury. It’s survival.

Reclaiming space for ourselves

Reclaiming yourself in midlife is not about running away from responsibility. It’s about choosing to also show up for you.

For me, that’s been writing again, hosting meet-ups, and creating safe spaces for other women to speak their truth. It’s been taking walks without guilt, saying no without explanation, and sometimes simply giving myself permission to cry when no one else is watching.

It’s real, and it’s messy. But it’s also deeply powerful.

Finding sisterhood in the solitude

In our Midlife Circle meet-ups, I’ve met women who care for everyone but themselves – women who’ve lost their mothers, women raising children alone, women who smile through hot flushes and go to work with barely four hours of sleep.

When we sit together and share honestly, something softens. We realise we’re not alone. We are mirrors to one another. And that in itself is a kind of healing.

A gentle reminder

If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it – holding things together, navigating menopause, maybe doing it all on your own – I want you to know this: your care counts. Your effort matters. Your story is sacred.

You don’t have to wait for someone to give you permission to rest, to feel, to rise.

This season may be asking a lot of you. But you’re allowed to ask for more from life, too.