Between Generations - - Navigating the Holidays When You’re in the Middle
As a therapist who works with parents, I spend a lot of time talking about the invisible weight we carry—especially during transitions, like the start of the school year, the arrival of a new baby, or the holiday season. But I don’t just see this struggle in my therapy room; I feel it myself. Like many of my clients, I’m also living in the so-called sandwich generation—that unique stage of life where you’re caring for your kids while also supporting aging parents.
And during the holidays, the weight of that role grows heavier.
Suddenly, I’m not just holding space for my clients as they wrestle with the overwhelm of this season. I’m navigating it myself—keeping up the magic for my kids while stepping into the traditions my parents can no longer carry alone. It’s a constant balancing act of caregiving, logistics, and emotional labor, and while the season is often beautiful, it’s also…a lot.
The Holidays Look Different—But the Load Is Heavier
When I was young, the holidays just happened. The meals, the traditions, the decorations—it all appeared with a sense of magic I never questioned.
Now, I know better.
In the sandwich generation, the magic doesn’t appear—it’s made. And more often than not, we’re the ones making it. I’m not just hosting or wrapping or planning; I’m navigating the mental load that comes with holding everything together:
Recreating family traditions so my kids feel the same wonder I once did.
Making space for my parents, whose needs have changed, and whose energy has shifted.
Trying to bridge the gap between what the holidays were and what they are now.
It’s a role that’s both beautiful and heavy—a mix of honoring the past, holding the present, and creating space for something new.
Caring for Two Generations—At Once
One of the hardest parts of being in the sandwich generation is the constant pull in two directions. I’m creating joy for my kids—buying presents, making holiday crafts, and keeping the magic alive. At the same time, I’m supporting my parents—checking in on their health, adjusting to their new limitations, and making sure they feel cared for in a season that can highlight what’s changed.
For some, this might mean helping a parent who’s still grieving the loss of a spouse. For others, it’s coordinating doctor visits, simplifying gatherings, or coordinating travel which may be harder than it used to be. It’s the quiet ache of watching our parents age while juggling the relentless demands of parenthood.
Emotionally, it’s hard to hold. On one side, there’s the wide-eyed excitement of your kids, and on the other, your parents’ slowing pace and changing needs. In between, you stand—managing joy, grief, guilt, and exhaustion—while trying to hold it all together.
I’ve felt this more deeply than ever this holiday season. This past year my mom was diagnosed with macular degeneration, which has severely impacted her vision. I’ve watched her grieve not only her eyesight but also her sense of independence and ability to do the things she once did so effortlessly. This reality has only been highlighted this season when once simple tasks such as ordering presents online, cooking, decorating, now come with a mix of frustration and disappointment. But it’s not just my mom who’s impacted. My dad has stepped into more of a caregiving role, which brings its own set of challenges and adjustments. It’s a lot for him to hold too, and I can see the overwhelm and exhaustion that comes with it. There’s a new pressure to support him as well—to hold space for his experience while trying to manage my own.
It’s a poignant reminder of what it means to be in the sandwich generation during the holidays. I’m holding my kids’ excitement and wonder while also holding space for my mom’s grief, my dad’s overwhelm and the changes that come with aging.
This season has made me realize just how much we’re asked to carry in this role: the joy of the present, the grief of change, and the effort it takes to keep it all together.
It’s made me reflect on what “keeping it all together” even means. Truthfully, I’m not sure what it “keeping it together” actually looks like or feels like most days. Am I doing it right? Is anyone? Some days, it feels like a series of small wins—getting dinner on the table, managing the kids’ holiday excitement, and finding a quiet moment to check in on my mom or dad. Other days, it feels like I’m just barely keeping my head above water, constantly treading in an ocean of responsibilities.
And I know I’m not alone in this. So many people I’ve talked to in this phase of life are feeling the same way. We’re holding so much—kids who need us, parents who depend on us, and the invisible weight of all the love, expectations, and emotions in between. We’re all just trying to do our best, even when it feels messy, even when it doesn’t feel like enough.
Keeping it all together doesn’t mean perfection. It means showing up, however we can, and offering ourselves the grace to know that sometimes, just staying afloat is enough.
Holding Space for Others—and Myself
As a therapist, I can name this experience for what it is:
Emotional labor: Holding space for two generations’ needs.
Role transition: Moving from “child” to “leader of traditions.”
Ambiguous grief: Mourning the change in your parents’ abilities while they’re still here.
The mental load of care: Coordinating all the details—holidays, appointments, logistics—on top of your regular responsibilities.
But as a person living this, I also know how messy and complicated it feels in practice. I’m not immune to the overwhelm of it all. There are moments when I’m wrapping presents and feel deep joy, knowing my kids will remember this. And there are moments when I look across the room at my parents and feel my throat tighten, thinking about how many more holidays we’ll get together.
It’s hard to hold these contradictions.
How I’m Navigating It—And How You Can Too
If you’re in this stage of life, too, I want to share a few things I remind both myself and my clients:
Simplify and Adjust Traditions: Let go of the idea that everything has to look the same as it always has. Maybe it’s time for smaller gatherings, less elaborate meals, or a simplified gift-giving process. It’s okay to prioritize what’s meaningful over what’s expected.
Share the Load: You don’t have to carry it all alone. If siblings, extended family, or friends can help—let them. Share the tasks, even the emotional ones.
Name and Normalize the Grief: It’s okay to feel sad about the changes in your family. Whether you’re mourning the way things were or anticipating what’s to come, your grief deserves space.
Find Presence in the Small Moments: Amidst the overwhelm, try to anchor yourself in moments of joy: the sound of your child laughing, the way your parents light up when they see family, the smell of cookies baking. These are the moments that matter most.
Prioritize Your Care, Too: When you’re caring for everyone else, it’s easy to neglect yourself. Give yourself permission to set boundaries, rest when you can, and ask for help.
From Holding It All Together to Simply Holding What Matters
There’s so much pressure during the holidays to hold it all together—to make the season magical for kids, to honor traditions for aging parents, and to juggle it all without missing a step. But the truth is, no one can hold everything. Sometimes, it’s about choosing to hold what truly matters and letting the rest go.
This season, it’s okay to give yourself permission:
Permission to simplify traditions.
Permission to grieve the changes.
Permission to say no to what feels like too much.
Permission to rest, even during the busiest time of year.
Because “holding it all together” doesn’t mean doing it perfectly. It means showing up in the ways that count, with care, intention, and grace. For those feeling stretched thin, know this: it’s okay to let go of the impossible and focus on what’s meaningful and manageable.
If you’re in the thick of this, know you’re not alone. How are you balancing the demands of the holidays while caring for two generations? I’d love to hear what this season looks like for you—because when we share the load, even in conversation, it gets just a little lighter.