The Caregiver Chronicles: How to Serve Karma with a Side of Love
Life is a series of cycles. We hear all these theories—developmental stages, sociological frameworks, biological aging charts—and somewhere in between, people throw in their own spin like it’s a potluck dinner. Some of these theories make perfect sense. Others make you tilt your head like a confused puppy. But one that stuck with me recently is the three-stage cycle of parent-child relationships.
It’s simple. Almost too simple.
Stage One: The Tyrant Reigns
This is the dictatorship phase. Parents (or caregivers, because not everyone had the standard-issue parental unit) make the rules, enforce them with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant, and expect total compliance. Here, love and fear often get tangled up like last season’s Christmas lights. Many caregivers believe that to be feared is to be respected, and let’s just say some of them majored in Fear Studies with a minor in Yelling.
For some, this stage is a loving, warm experience. It’s a time when rules are law, bedtime is non-negotiable, and broccoli is somehow considered a “treat.” For others, it’s a boot camp where questioning authority is punishable by The Look™—you know, the one that makes you reconsider all your life choices.
Here’s The Kicker: caregivers hold all the power. They’re the CEOs of the household, the rule-makers, the snack-distributors, and—if they’re feeling spicy—the occasional enforcers of “tough love.” But here’s where it gets tricky. Some caregivers confuse “tough love” with “let’s traumatize the kid for funsies.” Fear becomes their currency. “Respect me, or else!” they bark, not realizing that respect and fear are about as similar as a hug and a headlock
Stage Two: The Rebellion (or “I’m an Adult, I Swear!”)
Adulthood arrives, and suddenly, the child-turned-adult is in the driver’s seat. They pay their own bills, make their own choices, and take their parents’ advice like it’s a coupon—nice to have, but optional. The power dynamic shifts. Some parents struggle with this, suddenly realizing they’re guests in their child’s life instead of landlords.
But Here’s The Twist: this stage is where the seeds of karma are planted. How the caregiver treated the child in Stage One will determine how the child treats the caregiver in Stage Three. It’s like a cosmic game of Sims, except you can’t just delete the pool ladder if things go south.
And then comes the pièce de résistance
Stage Three: The Full Circle Revenge Tour.
This is where things get interesting. The child is now responsible not only for their own life but also for the parent’s. And guess what? They’re about to return the favor. You raised them with distance? Expect the same. You raised them with warmth? They’ll probably keep calling just to ask if you ate. It’s like a karmic boomerang—you throw it, and years later, it comes back, except now it’s wearing orthopedic shoes.
But Here’s The Kicker: not everyone gets a happy ending. Some caregivers are shocked—shocked! —when their adult children don’t want to spend time with them. “Why don’t you call me more often?” they whine, conveniently forgetting the years they spent yelling, “Because I said so!” Meanwhile, others enjoy a beautiful, loving relationship with their adult children, built on a foundation of mutual respect and the occasional guilt trip. (“You haven’t called me in three days. I could’ve been dead for all you know!”)
We’re All Just Making This Up as We Go
Take me, for example. I didn’t really grasp how real this was until I examined my own relationship with my parents. I’m pushing 40 (yes, I’m ancient, thank you for asking), and I still get questioned about how often I call my folks and to answer is we call each other multiple times a day. Why you might ask? Because they taught me that love is spelled T-I-M-E. when I was growing up ( I am still growing though), my dad never missed my calls. Ever. No matter what he was doing, if I called, he’d answer with, “Is it an emergency, or can it wait?”
If it was an emergency, he handled it. If not, he’d politely tell me he was busy. Simple. Efficient.
Meanwhile, my mother called me multiple times a day, just to check if I’d eaten. Didn’t matter that I was a full-grown adult—I could be mid-bite, and she’d still ask. They live together, yet I call them on separate lines because, for most of my life, they lived in different countries. My mother, in particular, takes offense if you call my dad’s phone and ask for her. “I have my own phone, I will call you myself.” And she will. Repeatedly.
And that is exactly why I refuse to accept anything less. Nobody—and I mean nobody—is that busy. The first people who taught me what love looks like always made time for me, so why would I settle for less from anyone else? Love isn’t just words; it’s time, patience, and effort.
So, side note: If someone claims they’re too busy to return a call, reply to a text, or show up once in a while… do yourself a favor and pack it up like leftovers at a bad dinner. Time to hang it up and let them be busy somewhere far, far away.
The Social Shock
I grew up thinking this was the norm until I met people whose parents would rather send a smoke signal than pick up the phone. Turns out, relationships with caregivers vary wildly. Some kids had caregivers who left them to fend for themselves, so as adults, they don’t have much reason to call. Others only stay in touch out of cultural obligation. Some were raised in homes where love was served daily, while others had to scavenge for scraps of affection.
And then there’s food. And let’s not forget the food wars. Oh yes, the food. In some households, dinner is a battleground. “You’ll eat what I cook, or you’ll starve!” declares the caregiver. No negotiations as if hunger is a character-building exercise. Meanwhile, in other homes (shoutout to my fellow picky eaters), My parents accommodated me. They were out her whipping up separate meals. Spoiled? Maybe. Loved? Absolutely. I call it strategy, just to make sure little Abena doesn’t faint from malnutrition.
If I wouldn’t eat it, they didn’t force it. This baffled some people who believed suffering builds endurance & character; nonsense, complete rubbish. Does forcing a child to eat boiled yam really make them a better person? Or just someone with trust issues?
Another social shock? The “if you’re late, we’re leaving you” philosophy. Now, I get it—resources are limited. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to communicate that without making a child feel like they’re one tardy away from exile.
The Real Kicker Is This: We Don’t Even Have The Same Caregivers.
Siblings (which I don’t have, so I just observe like a scientist) experience different versions of the same parent. Your older sibling might’ve had a strict, no-nonsense parent, while the youngest gets a caregiver who suddenly discovered patience. Same parent, different versions. So, when your sibling vents about how unfair their experience was, maybe give them a little grace.
Most of us are creeping toward Stage Three, where our caregivers will eventually need us. Some are already there, navigating the tricky waters of balancing their lives while looking out for aging parents. Others are just stepping into Stage One, starting the whole cycle anew.
I don’t have kids (yet), so I won’t pretend to be an expert on parenting. But after studying Sociology and Behavioral Science, I know this much: We can take the good from our upbringing, leave the bad, and remix it into something better. No childhood is perfect. But being intentional about the relationships we build—especially the ones we’ll depend on later—is the real game-changer.
So when my turn comes, I hope my future kids will have an upgraded version of the relationship I had with my parents. And if they call me just to ask if I’ve eaten, I’ll know I did something right.
Remember: Karma Is a Caregiver
So, what’s the takeaway from this three-act play? Simple: treat your kids (or your future kids) the way you want to be treated when you’re old and gray. Because one day, the tables will turn, and you’ll be the one eating oatmeal while your adult child lectures you about fiber intake.
And to all the caregivers out there: love your kids. Feed them (even if it’s separate meals). Answer their calls. Show up for them. Because one day, they’ll be the ones showing up for you. And if you’re lucky, they’ll bring dessert.
