The Unseen Load: Being a Working Parent and Caregiver to a Child with Disabilities
There’s a story I carry quietly—a layered one.
It’s about waking up before sunrise to prep for work and school, helping my child regulate emotions while also trying to regulate my inbox. It’s about attending IEP meetings between client calls, researching therapies at midnight, and wondering if I’m doing enough—every single day.
It’s about being a full-time professional and a full-time caregiver. And most of all, it’s about the kind of pain you don’t talk about at team lunches.
The Ache of Small Talk
I sit in meeting rooms and Zoom calls and happy hours, listening to my colleagues talk about soccer games and birthday parties, school friends and weekend getaways. And I smile. I nod. I listen.
But sometimes, my heart aches quietly.
Because while they talk about their child’s social milestones, I’m thinking about how mine struggles chronic pain or not knowing if my child will take her life.
While they talk about playdates, I wonder if my child will ever experience true friendship—or if they even want to, and how to support that.
Sometimes I feel worlds apart in those moments. Not because I resent them—but because I carry a version of parenthood that doesn’t get talked about.
And that difference can feel like a wall.
What Most Don’t See
Here’s what people often miss:
The internal guilt when you're late to a meeting because of a meltdown at home.
The sting when a colleague complains about “just one” extracurricular event, while you’re managing ten appointments a week just to meet basic needs.
The way your identity stretches thin between being a professional, a parent, a therapist, an advocate, and an emotional anchor—all before noon.
This isn’t about comparison—it’s about truth. Because when your child’s path is different, your life is different.
The Invisible Labor of Caregiving
Being a caregiver and a professional at the same time means holding opposing truths:
You’re reliable, but perpetually on edge.
You love your job, but you dread being judged as “less available.”
You’re happy for others—but often feel unseen yourself.
And still, you carry on.
Not because you don’t feel the weight, but because you don’t have the option to set it down.
To My Fellow Caregivers: You Are Not Alone
If you’ve ever felt like your world doesn’t fit into workplace conversations...
If you’ve ever avoided small talk because it stings too much...
If you’ve ever stayed quiet about your exhaustion because you didn’t want to seem like you were complaining...
You’re not alone.
Your grief, your pride, your fatigue, your resilience—all of it is valid.
You are not less than. You are more than most people will ever understand.
To Employers & Colleagues: What Support Really Looks Like
Supporting a caregiver in your workplace means more than policies—it means presence.
Be mindful when conversations shift into “mom brag” or “dad vent” territory. It can unintentionally isolate those walking a harder road.
Assume complexity. Just because someone isn’t oversharing doesn’t mean everything is fine.
Offer flexibility without explanation. Not everything can or should be justified.
When someone shares, listen—not to respond, but to understand.
This post isn’t about pity—it’s about presence. It’s about creating workplaces where real life isn’t something we hide, but something we hold together.
So if you’re reading this and it resonates—share it. Let’s normalize the conversation.
Let’s hold space for the full truth of parenting, caregiving, and working in a world that often asks us to pretend.
Your strength is real. Your tears are sacred. Your love is infinite.
You belong here too.
Alex Karydi
