Special: Pampers, Patience, and Perseverance: Balancing the Unseen Battles of Caregiving and Self-Care

This behind the scenes photograph and letter comes from an anonymous member of the Shepherds Daycare crew (pictured above). Through their candid words, we catch a glimpse of the dedication and resilience it takes to offer unwavering support to those in their care, even on the toughest of days.

"Taking care of someone you care about is one of the most rewarding roles you can have, but it doesn’t come without its challenges. For me, balancing my mental health while supporting someone else takes effort, patience, and a lot of self-awareness. Shepherd’s Daycare is a place where I pour my energy and heart every day, but sometimes, it feels like my mental health tries to throw curveballs at me—testing my limits and resilience.

My days are a bit like a game. I show up in the morning ready to give it my all, but there are times when I feel like I’m running on fumes. Anxiety kicks in when I’m juggling too much, or I start second-guessing myself—am I doing this right? Am I giving enough? That inner pressure can eat away at me, especially when I’ve got unresolved things in my head that carry over into the day. And look, I’m not saying every day’s a struggle, because honestly, most of it rocks. But when the tough days show up, they show up hard.

Picture this—you’ve got a lot riding on you. You’ve got somebody depending on you to stay solid and keep it all together. But there are moments where I’ll admit, I feel like I could crumble. Those are the days where I’ve got to actively check in with myself, almost like a pre-game warm-up. That’s been the key to having any kind of endurance for this role—taking little moments to breathe, to think, or maybe just to step back when I feel the pressure hit.

There was one day in particular that sticks out. Everything that could have gone sideways did. I woke up with this heavy weight on my chest—probably from not sleeping right. Then I spilled coffee on my only clean shirt, hit traffic on the way to the center, and by the time I walked in, I was already behind and feeling like a failure. But I had to rally. The second I stepped through the door, the people who rely on me don’t care if I’ve had a bad morning—they need my focus, my attention, my energy. That’s where I had to compartmentalize, tell myself, “Alright, game face on. Deal with the rest later.”

Still, in the middle of all that, I’ve learned the importance of calling a timeout when I need it. There’s no shame in taking a break, even if it’s just for five minutes in the break room, or stepping outside and letting the sun hit my face. I think I used to feel guilty about doing that, like I wasn’t allowed to stop. But if I burn out, it’s not just me who suffers—the work I’m doing does too.

One thing that’s helped a ton has been getting into a routine to keep my mental health in check. It’s not perfect—I mean, I’m still figuring this out, but I’ve realized that little habits like getting to the gym, eating decent food (most of the time), and just talking to someone I trust go a long way. Some days, it’s my mom who picks up the phone when I call; other days, it’s one of my teammates from college who knows exactly how to get me to snap out of a funk with just a dumb joke.

Another big thing I’ve learned is letting myself off the hook sometimes. I used to be so hard on myself whenever I felt off—as if struggling meant I wasn’t good enough to do this job. But that’s not true. Nobody’s perfect, and we’re all carrying our shares of ups and downs. Recognizing that doesn’t make you weak; it makes you human. And when I started seeing it that way, it felt like I had more room to be both a better caretaker and more forgiving to myself.

I think that’s why I do this kind of work, though—it keeps me grounded and reminds me why mental health matters. Shepherd’s Daycare gives me purpose on the days when I feel a little lost, and it keeps me pushing forward even when the road feels bumpy. There’s something about having people count on you that pushes you to fight through your stuff—it’s like showing up for your team, giving everything you’ve got because someone else is giving theirs too.

To me, being an informal caretaker is like being part of a team. It’s not about being perfect every play or having a flawless track record; it’s about showing up, giving it your best effort, and knowing it’s okay to lean on others when you need it. We’re not here to do this alone. And maybe that’s the part that’s taken me awhile to understand—that there’s strength in asking for help, in saying, “Hey, I’m not feeling great today.” That small amount of honesty goes miles in helping you face whatever comes next.

At the end of the day, when I wrap up and head home, there’s this quiet, satisfying feeling that reminds me why I do this. Sure, it gets hard, and yeah, sometimes I go home feeling more tired than I knew was possible. But this role teaches you perseverance. It teaches you what it means to put others first while still finding the time to care for yourself. To anyone out there in the same role, here’s what I’d say—don’t be afraid to take it one day at a time. Remember to do the little things for your own mental health. And know that you’re not alone in this. We’re part of something bigger, something that really matters, and there’s a lot of pride in that.

Working as a restaurant host has its challenges, but it’s a job that’s taught me how to juggle—tables, reservations, schedules—you name it. But nothing quite compares to the balancing act of taking care of my two-year-old nephew, Mitchell. Somehow, he went from this tiny baby to a full-fledged toddler in what feels like the blink of an eye. Now my days with him are filled with Gerber snacks, Mickey Mouse reruns, and the occasional diaper disaster. Picture this: me in my server uniform, trying to juggle not just plates but also a wiggly, giggling little tornado who thinks the floor is the perfect place for his favorite puffs.

Of course, there’s more to the story than just cute anecdotes and toddler chaos. What people don’t see is that I’m also navigating my own mental health challenges—battling anxiety and managing the ups and downs of bipolar disorder. Some days, Mitchell shows up right when my brain is already running on overdrive, whispering worst-case scenarios in my ear and making me triple-check everything. Other days, I feel drained, like the energy has just been siphoned out of me, and it takes all I have just to move through the motions. On those rough mornings, adding a toddler to the mix feels like an impossible equation to solve.

There are moments when I have to call for backup, asking Mitchell’s dad to come pick him up earlier than planned—not because I don’t love Mitchell, but because I need to prioritize my own wellbeing. Those calls come with their own guilt, a nagging voice telling me I’m somehow failing. But deep down, I know it’s the right thing to do. I can’t take care of him if I’m neglecting myself. Then there are the days we play schedule Tetris as a team, figuring out drop-offs, pickups, or rearranging plans on the fly to make sure everyone’s needs are met. It’s far from perfect, but somehow, we always make it work.

Mitchell has taught me a lot—about patience, about leaning on others when things get hard, and about finding joy in little moments, even during the chaos. Some days, it’s overwhelming. But other days, it’s a reminder of just how much love can fill even the most exhausting moments. Together, we’re figuring it out—one snack, one diaper, and one big exhale at a time.

In this behind-the-scenes photo—it’s a little different. We had arrived on set to shoot episodes of Shepherds Daycare on a particularly rough day. I didn’t have to go home early, but I did need a fifteen-minute break to pull myself together. I took that time to breathe, take my medication, and call my doctor for some advice. Those moments to reset were exactly what I needed. Meanwhile, Mitchell hit wardrobe and got ready without missing a beat. By the time I returned to set, we were back on track, ready to make it happen. It’s not always a smooth ride, but days like this remind me just how important it is to take care of myself so I can show up for the things and people I love."

Essay Prompt:

Balancing Plates and Pampers

Imagine you are a member of the Shepherds Daycare crew, tasked with caring for young children while maintaining your own mental health and well-being. Write an 850-word essay reflecting on the following:

Describe a challenging day where your mental health was tested while working Shepherds Daycare. What emotions or struggles did you experience, and how did they impact your ability to perform your responsibilities? Discuss the adjustments you made or anticipate making in similar situations, whether they involve self-care, teamwork, or reaching out for support. Finally, outline how those challenges and adjustments have helped you return more powerfully and with greater determination than before.

Your essay should capture the resilience, personal growth, and the importance of maintaining balance while in a caregiving role. Focus on specific strategies you used or could use to stay grounded, and reflect on what this experience taught you about perseverance and the power of community. Be candid and introspective, and consider the unique sense of fulfillment that comes from supporting others, even during tough times.

Reference: It was one of those days where everything seemed to hit all at once. Picture this: an overcast Wednesday, the kind where even the weather seems to whisper "Good luck, buddy." The kids were tired, cranky, and running on some sort of chaotic energy that could only come from who-knows-where. Snack time had turned into a battlefield over who got the bigger apple slice, nap time was nothing short of a mutiny, and to top it off, one of the toddlers decided to "express themselves" all over the carpet—twice. By lunch hour, my patience felt thinner than a sheet of paper.

And then it hit me. Not just the stress of the moment, but everything else I had been lugging around silently. I was feeling the weight of being responsible for these tiny humans’ needs while my own mental health was taking a back seat. I wasn’t just tired—I was depleted, running on fumes. I felt those sharp whispers of self-doubt creeping in, questioning whether I was cut out for it. The frustration, the exhaustion, the guilt—it was a cocktail of emotions I couldn’t ignore.

But here's the thing about those days—they teach you stuff in ways smooth sailing never can. That day forced me to pause and make some real adjustments. The first thing I did was step aside for five minutes when I felt like my temper might flare. Handing things over to a teammate for even a short breather—that was a game-changer. It reminded me that asking for help doesn’t mean you’re checked out; it means you care enough to want to do better.

The next move was keeping it simple. I set mini-goals for the day. Just make it through lunch. Just get them to nap time. Instead of trying to conquer the whole mountain, I focused on one step at a time, and somehow, the day didn’t feel so insurmountable.

By the end of it, I realized something that has stuck with me since. Surviving those tough days—and trust me, there will always be more of them—isn’t about toughing it out on your own. It’s about knowing your limits, leaning on others, and letting yourself be human. That’s what got me to the end of that exhausting Wednesday and helped me show up better the next day.

Looking back now, I’m grateful for the chaos because it taught me resilience and the importance of a strong support system. That sense of fulfillment from being there for these kids, even when things get messy, is worth every challenging moment.