A culmination of anxious days and lonely nights led me to completely change my life at the age of 25. I was tired of hearing myself complain about my career confusion, my lackluster dating life, my choice overload. I wanted to flee the tsunami of uneven emotions and bad choices that plague your twenties, so I moved to a new city, I started my career path over and I soon met my partner in love and art. If you’re unhappy, change your life became my new mantra, confirmed by the endless essays with similar verbiage that continue to germinate across the Internet. With no dependents, I continue to live my adult life this way.

That is why when I talk to my spouse and sibling-less mother every day about her emotionally and physically challenging role of being my dear grandmother’s caretaker, there is a small piece of me, a dependent-free adult who hates to see her beloved mother so distressed, that grossly thinks, if you’re unhappy, change your life.

But that thought is always replaced by the salty reality: She cannot change the situation.

For 65.7 million Americans (29% of the U.S. population), not being a caretaker is not an option. Whether it’s because of family obligations or financial reasons, these 65.7 million people, cannot just “change their life,” even if 40–70% of caregivers show symptoms of depression or major depression.

Even if 70% of caregivers say their work life and finances suffers due to being a caregiver.

Even if 17–35% of caregivers say that their physical health is poor or fair.

Being a caregiver can be one of the most challenging, if not isolating, jobs one can ever face, and it often one of the most underappreciated and understated.

You won’t see essays on Medium or elsewhere screaming How I Abandoned the Person I Was Caring For and Traveled the World.

My mother is an only child who for 35 years was an employee of my ambitious and strong-willed grandmother. They owned a women’s clothing store in Upstate New York and frequently made buying trips to the City. The mother-and-daughter duo spent nearly every day together- they were also friends- but the obvious superior in the friendship was my grandmother. And I believe that has played into my mother and grandmother’s current dynamic, which often includes words laced with resentment and frustration. As my grandmother has gotten older, several of her negative traits have amplified; as my mother has gotten older, she no longer wants to be under her mother’s thumb.

She would never abandon her mother, but this loyalty has come with a price: my mother’s own physical and mental well-being. I’ve witnessed over the past few years as my mother has become increasingly harried and forgetful. And though I try to help financially, emotionally and with whatever tasks I can do when I’m visiting or when I’m afar (my mother and grandmother live across the street from one another in Upstate NY; I’m in Austin, Texas), there is only so much I, or anyone else, can do to relieve the full burden of the caregiver, particularly when the loved one receiving the care insists on the sole support of the caregiver.

I say that caregiving is lonely because resources typically exist more for the loved one than the caregiver, thought that is changing due to the rising population of caregivers. I say that caregiving is lonely because the caregiver often feels too guilty to share their own feelings of fear, frustration and pain. I say that caregiving is lonely because the loved one being cared for may be cruel, unfair, abusive or dismissive, but the caregiver can never share that truth. The one being cared for is the victim; the caregiver must be the strong one- no matter what has happened in the past.

As for my mother, I’ve suggested exercise, support groups, meditation or yoga to deal with her stress, all actions that are very limited in her small town, and I’m always met with the same response: I don’t have the time. This phrase was something I didn’t accept or understand until I took on the temporary role of being my grandmother’s caregiver. By the end of the day, if the caregiver isn’t physically exhausted from the lifting, the escorting, the appointments, the errands, and in some cases, the bathing and cleaning, then the depression comes knocking (caretakers spend an average of 20–40 hours giving care). The want to be the best caregiver to your loved one battles with feelings of being stagnant. Sleep is often the nicest reprieve.