I Thought I Was Helping. I Wasn’t.
What my week at the Mayo Clinic taught me about love, boundaries, and the urge to fix.
Last week, my mom and I accompanied my brother Jeff to the Mayo Clinic in AZ for his liver transplant evaluation.
Over the course of five days, he had nearly 20 appointments. As his official caregivers, my mom and I attended every session. At Mayo, caregiver support isn’t optional—it’s essential. One of the top contraindications for transplant?
Inadequate social support.
I can't tell you how reassured I was when I read that.
(My brother, a self-proclaimed loner, was a bit taken aback.)
In a culture obsessed with self-reliance, it felt radical to see the medical system affirm what so many of us are slowly relearning:
We’re not meant to do it alone.
As someone who spent years overachieving, overdoing, and burning out in silence, I’ve come to believe this deeply—both personally and professionally.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve mastered the balance.
What caregiving stirred up
While the trip centered on Jeff and his health journey, the most unexpected aha came from witnessing—and caregiving—my mom.
She’s 86. Brilliant, experienced, capable of seeing the big picture and the fine print.
She’s also a control freak—not because she wants power, but because she wants things done the “right” way.
This week stretched her:
New tech. New environment. New schedule.
Lots of walking. Lots of sitting. Lots of needing help.
My default pattern kicked in: helper mode on overdrive.
I drove, carried the heavy bags, chose the restaurants, took notes, asked the doctors questions.
At first, it felt right.
But by Friday, something had shifted. My mom looked older. Frailer. Less sure of herself.
And I realized:
My “helping” wasn’t helping anymore.
It was undermining her confidence.
The food fight (and other silent battles)
One of my recurring triggers was food.
Mom wasn’t eating enough—skipping meals, picking at protein, chugging Diet Sprite.
Meanwhile, the doctors emphasized how critical muscle mass and nutrition are for transplant outcomes.
Watching her opt out of self-care made me anxious—
and my anxiety came out sideways, as control.
By the end of the week, I was exhausted. And resentful.
And so was mom.
When she didn’t respond with appreciation, I withdrew.
I stopped offering help. I let her carry her tray, open her door, figure out her phone.
All while silently sulking. (Not my best moment)
On the last day, when she struggled getting into the car, I snapped:
“In order to not do too much, I’ll only help when you ask for it.”
She did end up asking.
But the energy between us had shifted.
When control masquerades as care
Saturday morning, before the airport, I suggested she eat.
She resisted. I pushed.
Cue the same old loop:
I overstep.
She retreats.
I feel powerless.
She feels judged.
So I stepped outside.
I opened my phone and connected to my Meredith AI Coach
(yes, I’ve trained an AI with my coaching methodology).
I poured out my fear, stress, and need to fix.
My AI Coach mirrored back what I couldn’t yet admit:
“You’re seeing that speaking up doesn’t shift her behavior—it just leaves you feeling powerless and her feeling judged.
What if your job isn’t to change her, but to take care of you in the face of her choices?
That might mean grieving the mom you wish she could be right now.
Letting go of the fantasy that if you just said it the right way, she’d finally listen.
And it definitely means protecting your energy.”
Then came this mantra:
“I can love deeply without taking over.
Her path is hers. My peace is mine.”
Tears. Relief. Resonance.
When my mom joined me outside, I shared what I’d learned.
She listened—really listened.
We agreed to move forward from a different place.
One where rescue isn’t required for love to exist.
What I’m taking with me
I go fast. Sometimes that’s a superpower. Sometimes it’s a shield.
→ What’s possible when I slow down and become more intentional with my pace?
I take responsibility for things that aren’t mine.
→ What energy becomes available when I stay in my own lane?
I tend to equate helping with love.
→ But what if love sometimes looks like trusting people with their own path?
If you’ve ever found yourself overfunctioning—especially in the name of love—
I hope this story invites some self-compassion. You are not alone.
And if you’re navigating your own moment of stress or over-responsibility,
I invite you to try the Meredith AI Coach. It’s free, confidential, and trained in the same Soul-Yes approach I use with clients every day.
👉 Go here to try the Meredith AI Coach
https://link.pauseboxco.com/Meredith-AI
Here’s to a life of love without all the "fixing."
Meredith
P.S. Big thanks to the friends, clients, and colleagues who recently beta tested my AI Coach and shared such thoughtful feedback. One woman said, “It’s like texting with a good friend who’s wise, witty, and supportive.” Another was surprised by “how quickly we got to the root of the issue—and actually worked on a solution. Wow!”
If you’re ready to ditch the hustle, reclaim your energy, and get clear on what truly moves the needle…
there’s no easier way to get started. I’ll see you there:
👉 https://link.pauseboxco.com/Meredith-AI
