There’s something Grace Paley once wrote that stops me in my tracks every time I read it: “The word ‘Grandmother’ is a little old lady in the corner. But if the corner is large and well lit, she can see everything and comment on most of it.”
Maya Angelou’s words about sustaining ourselves with family love hit differently when you’re watching your own mother or mother-in-law quietly hold everyone together.
You know what I mean? That endless well of giving that grandmothers seem to draw from, making it all look as natural as breathing when we know it’s anything but.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, especially during my weekend park visits with the grandkids. Four of them now, ranging from three to eleven, and watching them interact with their grandmothers has been eye-opening. There’s this unspoken expectation that grandmothers will just… give. And give. And somehow never run dry.
The invisible labor of love
Remember when you first realized your grandmother wasn’t just magically producing cookies and comfort? That moment when you understood she was actually working, planning, sacrificing?
For most of us, that realization comes embarrassingly late. We grow up taking for granted that Grandma’s house always smells like something delicious, that she remembers every birthday, every school play, every scraped knee that needs kissing better. We don’t see the grocery lists, the early morning baking, the careful budgeting to have treats for the grandkids.
What strikes me most is how grandmothers make this look effortless. They’ve perfected the art of making their exhaustion invisible. My wife and I have been married thirty-eight years, and I’ve watched her transition into this role with our grandkids.
The preparation that goes into a simple afternoon visit would astound you if you paid attention. But that’s the thing – we’re not supposed to notice.
The generational shift nobody talks about
Here’s what I’ve observed: today’s grandmothers are caught in a unique bind. They’re often still working full-time jobs, yet expected to fulfill the same nurturing role their own grandmothers did when staying home was more common.
Think about it. How many grandmothers do you know who are juggling careers, their own aging parents, and still trying to be the family’s emotional anchor? They’re sustaining multiple generations simultaneously, stretching themselves thinner than phyllo dough.
And here’s the kicker – they rarely complain. There’s this stoic acceptance, this belief that this is just what you do. But at what cost? The exhaustion I see in the eyes of grandmother friends at the park tells a different story than their cheerful voices.
When giving becomes expected
You know what’s particularly tough to watch? When the giving becomes so routine that it’s no longer acknowledged. The birthday cards that arrive like clockwork, the babysitting that saves thousands in childcare costs, the meals that appear during every family crisis – all of it starts to blend into the background of family life.
I’ve noticed this with my own grandkids. The younger ones still light up when Grandma arrives, but the older ones? They’re starting to take it for granted. Not maliciously, mind you. It’s just that consistency breeds invisibility.
It reminds me of something I heard recently: “The magic trick of grandmotherhood is making everyone believe you have unlimited resources – time, energy, patience, love – when in reality, you’re running on fumes and determination.”
The emotional toll of endless nurturing
Being a grandfather has taught me something about the difference in expectations. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my role. Taking the grandkids to the park is genuinely the highlight of my week. But nobody expects me to remember which grandchild doesn’t eat carrots or who needs their sandwich cut diagonally.
Grandmothers, though? They’re expected to be the family historians, the keepers of traditions, the ones who notice when something’s wrong before anyone says a word. They’re sustaining not just with practical support but with emotional labor that would exhaust a team of therapists.
I’ve discovered that grandchildren will tell you things they won’t tell their parents if you just stay quiet long enough. But grandmothers? They’re expected to not just listen but to somehow fix everything with a hug and the right words.
Breaking the silence around grandmother burnout
Can we talk honestly about grandmother burnout for a minute? Because it’s real, and it’s happening all around us while we pretend not to notice.
The grandmothers I know are tired. Not just physically tired, but soul-deep weary from carrying everyone else’s needs while their own get pushed further down the list. They’re dealing with their own health issues, their own fears about aging, their own dreams that got deferred once again because someone needed them.
Yet bring this up in conversation, and watch how quickly it gets brushed aside. “Oh, but I love doing it,” they’ll say. And they do love it. But love doesn’t make it less exhausting. Love doesn’t pay for the gas to drive to every soccer game. Love doesn’t restore the energy spent comforting a crying grandchild through another night terror.
Reimagining how we show up for grandmothers
So what do we do with all this? How do we honor the sustaining love of grandmothers without perpetuating the cycle of endless, unacknowledged giving?
First, we start noticing. Really noticing. Not just the big things but the small acts of love that keep families functioning. The remembered food allergies, the extra hugs, the willingness to drop everything when needed.
Second, we reciprocate. Not with grand gestures but with consistent consideration. Ask grandmothers what they need. Insist on contributing to the costs of family gatherings they host. Show up early to help with preparation, stay late to help with cleanup.
Third, and this might be the most important one – we give them permission to not be everything to everyone. We remind them that their worth isn’t measured in how much they give but in who they are.
Closing thoughts
Maya Angelou sustained herself with the love of family, but she also knew how to receive that love, not just give it endlessly. That’s the piece we’re missing when we talk about grandmothers and their role in our lives.
The question I keep coming back to is this: How can we make the effort less invisible? How can we acknowledge that what looks effortless is actually the result of a lifetime of practice in putting others first?
Maybe it starts with saying thank you more often. Maybe it starts with asking our grandmothers what sustains them, beyond their love for family. What dreams did they defer? What would they do with a day completely to themselves?
Because here’s what I know for sure – the grandmothers in our lives won’t stop giving. It’s who they are. But maybe, just maybe, we can make sure they know that we see them. That we recognize the effort behind the effortless. That their sustaining love sustains us in ways we’re only beginning to understand.
