I didn’t stop loving them.
I stopped sacrificing myself.
When I became a grandmother, I imagined visits filled with laughter, cookies, and bedtime stories. I pictured myself as a gentle presence—someone who’d drop by with hugs and leave with hearts full. I didn’t expect to become the default babysitter. The unpaid nanny. The silent support system for two exhausted parents who assumed my time was theirs.
It started small.
“Can you watch them for an hour?” turned into “Can you take them overnight?” turned into “We’ve enrolled them in daycare, but you’re the backup.” I said yes. Again and again. Because I love my grandkids. Because I wanted to help. Because I didn’t know how to say no.
But love without boundaries becomes burnout.
I stopped sleeping well. My knees ached from chasing toddlers. My quiet mornings disappeared. I missed book club. I missed solitude. I missed myself.
And still, I felt guilty.
Society tells us that grandmothers are supposed to be endlessly available. That we owe it to our children to keep giving, even when we’re empty. That saying no is selfish.
But I’ve learned something radical: saying no is sacred.
I sat my daughter down and told her the truth.
“I’m your mother, not your employee. I’m their grandmother, not their babysitter. I want to be present, not responsible.”
She cried. She felt hurt. But she listened.
And slowly, we rebuilt.
Now, I see my grandkids on my terms. I take them for ice cream. I read them stories. I show up when I choose to—not when I’m expected to. And in that space, our bond has grown stronger. Because it’s built on joy, not obligation.
I didn’t stop loving them.
I started loving myself, too.
And that, I’ve come to believe, is the most powerful gift I can give them: a grandmother who is whole, happy, and free.
