As a 40-year-old Pinoy guy, living with aging parents can quietly wear you down in ways people don’t often talk about. On the outside, it looks like responsibility. On the inside, it can feel like slow, constant burnout.
I live with parents who are both ill. My father is a stroke survivor. My mother has diabetes. Their conditions don’t pause, don’t take weekends off, and don’t wait until it’s convenient. Every day comes with monitoring, reminders, appointments, worries, and that ever-present fear of “what if something happens today?”
What makes it heavier is that I’m struggling too.
There are days when the weight of it all feels unbearable—not dramatic, not loud, just exhausting. The kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix. The kind that makes you wonder how long you can keep doing this before something inside you gives way.
Caring for sick parents doesn’t just take time. It takes possibilities.
It takes away the chance to live freely—to save for yourself, to travel the world, to say yes to opportunities without calculating who will take care of whom if you’re gone for a few days. Romance? That feels like a luxury. Not because I don’t want it, but because I don’t even know where I’d find the space for it.
To keep everything afloat, I work two to three jobs. Not for ambition. Not for passion. But for survival. For hospital bills. For medicine. For food. For stability. And while I’m grateful to be able to provide, it doesn’t change the fact that it leaves me drained—physically, emotionally, mentally.
There’s a kind of loneliness that comes with being the “strong one.” People assume you’re fine because you’re functioning. Because you show up. Because you don’t complain much. But strength, when stretched too long, starts to feel like a trap.
I don’t share this for sympathy. I share it because there are many people like me—especially in Filipino households—quietly carrying this same burden. Eldest sons. Breadwinners. Caregivers. People who were never asked if they were ready, only expected to step up.
Some days I manage. Some days I barely do. And that doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human.
If you’re reading this and living a similar life, know this: being tired doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful. Wanting more doesn’t mean you love your parents any less. And feeling burned out doesn’t mean you’ve failed—it means you’ve been carrying more than most people ever see.
Life may not look the way I imagined it would. But for now, I’m still here. Still trying. Still showing up—one day at a time.
And some days, that has to be enough.
The Quiet Corner is a weekly Friday feature on this blog, offering reflections on the everyday musings that occupy the mind. It's a space where Filipinos in their early to late 30s can find relatable insights on navigating life’s balancing act—work, relationships, and all the little moments in between. Whether you're juggling responsibilities or just seeking a moment to breathe, The Quiet Corner is here to resonate with your journey.
