A sandwich caregiver is someone who’s caring for both younger and older generations at the same time—often their own children or grandchildren, and aging parents. It’s a role filled with love, responsibility, and sometimes, deep emotional conflict.
I know this role all too well. I’m a sandwich caregiver for my 3-year-old grandson, whom I adore with every fiber of my being. Being a grandmother is pure joy—his laughter lights up my days. He is my sunshine, my joy, my reminder that innocence and wonder still exist in this world.
But on the other side of my “sandwich,” I’m also a caregiver for my father, who has vascular dementia—a type of dementia caused by reduced blood flow to the brain. It can lead to confusion, memory loss, mood swings, and difficulty with reasoning. Life expectancy varies, but often ranges between 5 to 10 years after diagnosis, depending on overall health and progression.
Caring for him feels… different. Unlike the joy-filled moments with my grandson, this care sometimes feels more like an obligation than a gift. My father wasn’t a present or good father when I was growing up. Now, in his illness, he’s trying to be better, and while I allow him the space to do so, it’s an odd, complicated dance. We’re trying to find our “new normal.”
He’s in therapy now—something I wish he’d started 50 or 60 years ago. I insist he goes, even when he protests. I know the road ahead will get harder, and as his dementia progresses, therapy will give him a safe place to talk, release fears, and process emotions with someone other than me or my sisters. His therapist has also been a sandwich caregiver—her own mother had dementia. That shared understanding makes a world of difference.

I see her, too. She gives me insight, perspective, and tools I wouldn’t have considered, helping me approach my father with more patience and empathy, even with the baggage of our past.
One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that I have to make space for me. I’ve had to grieve the life I thought I’d be living at this stage. I take time for myself, no matter how small, because without it, I’d lose myself completely. That’s why gardening is sacred to me. It’s mine. My refuge. My safe space. It’s where I dance, cry, meditate, speak to God and my ancestors. It’s where I’m reminded that life still grows, still thrives, even when it’s surrounded by decay.
The truth is: this shit is hard. I cry—a lot sometimes. But I get up, and I try again.
The Stress of Sandwich Caregiving
Sandwich caregivers often juggle work, family obligations, financial pressures, and the physical and emotional demands of caregiving—all at once. These stressors can lead to chronic fatigue, depression, anxiety, and burnout. Unlike single-generation caregivers, sandwich caregivers carry the weight of being “everything to everyone” in two opposite stages of life at the same time. It can be overwhelming.
A Few Ways to Manage Stress and Protect Your Mental Health:
- Set boundaries. It’s okay to say no. Protect time that’s yours.
- Make time for joy. Whether it’s gardening, walking, crafting, or reading—give yourself guilt-free moments.
- Delegate when you can. Involve other family members or use respite care services.
- Stay connected. Support groups, friends, or online communities can remind you you’re not alone.
Why Therapy Matters
Therapy isn’t just for your loved one—it’s for you, too. A good therapist can help you process complicated emotions, manage stress, and keep perspective. Therapy is not weakness; it’s survival.
If you are a dementia caregiver or a sandwich caregiver looking for help:
- Find a therapist: Psychology Today Therapist Finder
- Resources for dementia caregivers: Alzheimer’s Association – offers a 24/7 helpline at 1-800-272-3900 and local support groups.
Life doesn’t pause when you’re a sandwich caregiver—it keeps moving. There will be preschool milestones, bike rides, and belly laughs. There will also be hospital visits, memory lapses, and hard conversations. Somewhere in the middle of all of that, you must claim your space. Because you matter, too.





