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I love a dress-up box and while my childhood chest has long gone, I’ve still got the box I started as a 20-something. It’s overflowing with leather and latex from layers of my life, with wigs tangled up in feather boas and sequinned mini dresses stuck to fluoro catsuits.
It feels like only yesterday that I danced in the electric-green pants that glowed under laser lights, wore the tiny Union Jack shorts to a festival, and the brilliant blue skirt with pink fur pockets to a rave. When I pull them out, I can still hear the beat of the dance floor and feel the sweat of the mosh pit. But it’s been decades since I’ve been squished between people celebrating youth and freedom. Now I’m sandwiched between layers of responsibility that can feel like a prison.
I’m a loud and proud member of the sandwich generation – midlifers caring for ageing parents while working in demanding jobs and with children still living at home. My mum is 92, my mother-in-law is 94, my kids can’t afford to move out, and I’m increasingly worried that my dog (who’s 105 in human years) has dementia alongside his arthritis.
Since I started writing this article, I have had four messages from work colleagues, texted the aged-care nurse taking Mum’s blood, tried to call her doctor, and messaged my brother to suggest he doesn’t take Mum to the pub when he visits this weekend. In front of me is a pile of her mail, and she’s just called to ask what time I’m visiting today. I’ve also rung the pet store to check on the delivery of Shaggy’s prescription-only dog food, which will soon be more expensive than last night’s tacos.
There are days of great joy amid this squish. Recently, I spent the afternoon vibing along to a band of silver-haired rockers belting out golden oldies such as Sweet Caroline and Take Me Home, Country Roads. The mosh pit heaved with walkers and wheelchairs and dementia patients who don’t speak but can sing like songbirds. That same night I hotfooted it to see my 20-year-old son’s band and delight in young people dancing as if they will never get old.
I’m lucky my mum is still alive, and sometimes dancing herself, but most days there are appointments, organisation, bureaucracy and admin. And while the practical load is a juggle, it’s the emotional load – from the guilt of never being able to see Mum for long enough and not being present for my kids or partner, to the grief of watching a gorgeous woman become frail – that’s truly exhausting. It’s the sheer stress of feeling as if you’re failing everyone.
I’ve been in the sandwich for more than a decade. I walked alongside my father as his gait became stiff with Parkinson’s disease and held his hand at death. I helped Mum sell the family home, with its 40 years of memories, and recently assisted her move into aged care. My heart is swollen and battered, my body’s taken cortisol hits heavier than the endorphin highs of the ecstatic dance floors of my youth, and my brain has, at times, hit overload.
There’s a whole cohort going through this with me, and there will be a lot more of us in the years ahead. And while there’s currently a huge focus on immigration, no one’s talking about the silver tsunami.
This year, the first wave of Baby Boomers to make it this far turns 80. It’s the beginning of a population bulge which the federal government’s 2023 Intergenerational Report says will see the number of Australians aged over 85 more than triple in the next 40 years, while the number of centenarians is expected to increase six-fold.
This is also the year that older Generation Xers, including me, turn 60. Chinese astrology says we Horses bring energy, exuberance and sometimes chaos, but our galloping gregariousness is being tamed not just by our own ageing but the demands of parents who need our help (though many pretend they don’t, because they are in denial, or don’t want to be a burden, or are “just fine”).
Of course, women have always cared for other generations; my grandmother Sadie, the gorgeous lady, lived with us when I was young. What’s different now is that the parents are living longer and their daughters are more likely to be working full-time.
The ageing population is quietly reshaping women’s earnings, leadership pathways and retirement security.
Society is also more mobile, and long-distance care adds a new level of complexity because there will not be enough aged-care facilities, money or staff to look after all the Boomers in their later years. Government policy now aims to support them at home for as long as possible, but the waiting lists for assessment and funding are long and frustrating and the gaps are being filled (mostly) by women like me. The ladies (and lads) of the sandwich generation are not just doing the shopping and helping with everything from cooking to showering, they are also navigating an alphabet soup of impenetrable bureaucracy. (If you see a middle-aged woman crying in Centrelink, please give her a hug with your eyes.)
I have friends who are stepping back from their jobs, if they can afford to, and others who are losing wages and missing out on career opportunities. The ageing population is quietly reshaping women’s earnings, leadership pathways and retirement security. And while we don’t want a medal pinned on the chest that’s overdue a mammogram, some recognition would be nice.
Carers Australia argues that we should support this volunteer workforce financially. I tell ’em they’re dreamin’ even though it’s obvious we are saving the system millions. Cain Beckett, the CEO of CarersACT, says, “We need to integrate the sandwich carers into the aged-care system – they are hidden, unpaid and unsupported, yet the entire system relies on them.”
No wonder we sandwiches are feeling soggy.
GP and television presenter Dr Ginni Mansberg’s practice specialises in midlife women because, she says, we have a lot to cope with in terms of our own health. Menopause, ageing and the after-effects of all those old dance-floor moves are catching up with us, as are years of stress, burnout, insomnia and exhaustion. A global review published in the National Library of Medicine highlights the substantial physical, psychological and economic costs for carers. Life is particularly difficult for those caring for a loved one with dementia. And dementia is the new plague.
But if the sandwich generation burns out, the health system will be toast.
So, what’s a girl to do but start a podcast? On the first episode of mine, Club Sandwich, Dr Stephanie Ward, the geriatrician from ABC TV’s Old People’s Home for 4 Year Olds, talked about having two patients in her office – the elderly person and the person with them.
“The other day I looked at this woman walking in and I could see that she was juggling an enormous amount,” said Ward. “I saw someone who was just utterly brilliant and I thought, ‘Wherever you go from this moment on, I hope someone acknowledges that and tells you what a fantastic job you’re doing.’ Because what really worries me is that the caregiver isn’t being seen. You don’t get Instagram likes, right? You don’t get an income. You don’t get an Oscar or a prize. And sometimes, you don’t even get gratitude or thanks.”
I still play that quote back on my dark days and have a little cry. To be seen is huge. To listen to doctors, psychologists and other carers on the podcast has been healing. To work through the feelings of guilt (which psychologist Jo Lamble says is the biggest issue for midlife carers) and to get suggestions on how to deal with siblings who won’t or can’t step up is powerful. And to get practical advice about negotiating the system is vital. (Hot tip: take up crochet or knitting to help occupy all the time you’ll spend on hold.)
I’m lucky I have my mumma. I’m lucky I can be there for her and work around her needs. I’m hashtag blessed that I could write this article while juggling all my responsibilities. But there are days when I want to run away. Or at least rummage through that dress-up box, squeeze into an outrageous outfit and dance until dawn.
Sarah Macdonald is a broadcaster, writer and presenter of the Club Sandwich podcast.
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