When You’re the Center of the Sandwich
Welcome to what’s often called The Sandwich Generation—a season of life where you find yourself in the middle of two worlds, caring for aging parents while still actively raising children. You’re fielding calls from doctors and teachers, coordinating family dinners and therapy appointments, and trying—somehow—to still have a sense of self. It’s a unique pressure point where love, obligation, and exhaustion collide.
May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and there's no better time to pause and reflect. Not just on your to-do list, but on your emotional bandwidth, your needs, and your support system. Because the truth is, this middle space isn’t just about logistics. It’s deeply emotional, often confusing, and occasionally beautiful.
We often talk about the “sandwich” in terms of being pulled between parents and kids, but that pull has real consequences for how we show up in each relationship. Your children may be growing up in a home where love and care are abundant—but so is stress. They may notice the tension in your shoulders when you get off the phone with your dad, or the way your calendar is always full. They’re watching, learning, and absorbing, even if they don’t always have the words to express it.
Your children have their own needs for attention, reassurance, and emotional attunement. They need structure and flexibility, safety and play, honesty and presence. And when you’re dividing your emotional energy between generations, something often feels like it’s falling short.
So how do you do it all?
You don’t. Not all at once. Not perfectly.
But you can begin to weave these experiences together in a way that fosters growth, connection, and even deeper family bonds.
Here’s what I’ve been learning:
Mental health matters at every age.
Whether it’s your child’s emotional regulation or your parent’s cognitive decline, mental well-being is not reserved for one chapter of life. It’s a lifelong journey that deserves attention and care.Children benefit from being part of intergenerational care—when it’s done with intention.
Let them help where appropriate. Let them visit grandma’s new apartment. Let them be part of the conversation, within reason. It teaches empathy, patience, and the reality that families care for one another across the lifespan.Your needs matter, too.
In the middle of everyone else’s stories, you’re living your own. Caregiving doesn’t mean disappearing. It means setting boundaries, asking for help, and naming what you need—even if that need is 15 minutes of quiet in the car before walking into the house.
Some grounding reminders:
It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. This is hard.
You’re allowed to mourn the simplicity that once was.
And you’re allowed to celebrate the moments of tenderness and connection this season brings.
Recently, my own father—whom we affectionately call FDP (Father, Dad, Pop)—started exploring retirement communities. What began as a daunting task quickly became an unexpected opportunity. Instead of feeling like we were closing a chapter, we found ourselves opening a new one. These communities weren’t sad or lifeless. They were full of vibrant people, connection, and purpose. His hesitation softened, and so did mine. It reminded me that change, though uncomfortable, can bring renewal.
What can we do to stay grounded in the in-between?
Talk early and often. Have conversations about expectations, needs, and concerns—both with your parents and your kids.
Make space for feelings. Yours, theirs, everyone’s. Name them. Allow them. And know they will pass.
Build a village. You were never meant to do this alone. Whether it’s friends, neighbors, professionals, or support groups, find your people.
Being in the middle doesn’t mean being crushed. It can mean being a bridge. A connector. A witness to two generations, holding both the past and the future in your arms while still trying to live in the present. It’s not easy. But it’s sacred work.
So take the time to check in—with your parents, with your children, and most of all, with yourself. These conversations, these choices, these messy moments—they matter. And they’re shaping something beautiful, even if you can’t quite see it yet.
Let’s keep talking about it. Let’s name the tension, the tenderness, and the toll. Because when we do, we make space not just to survive this season—but to grow through it. Together.
