The Cost of Caring

There’s a strange kind of irony in being called “strong” because you keep showing up. The world loves to praise the ones who care - the advocates, the caregivers, the fixers - right up until the moment we ask for help ourselves. Then suddenly, there’s silence.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard, “You’re amazing for what you do.” What people don’t realize is that most of us didn’t set out to be amazing — we just refused to let things fall apart. The cost of caring isn’t measured in applause; it’s measured in exhaustion, overdraft fees, and nights staring at the ceiling, wondering how the people who say they “support the troops” forgot to support the families who keep them standing.

Caring as Currency

Somehow, compassion has become its own kind of currency — one that never quite pays the bills. The world runs on the unpaid labor of people who care too much to stop. It’s the spouses who run nonprofits out of their living rooms, the advocates who learn policy on their own time, and the friends who drop everything when someone else breaks down.

And when we burn out? Society doesn’t say, “You’ve given enough.” It says, “You used to care more.”

Funny how caring is only celebrated when it’s convenient.

The Unpaid Workforce of Humanity

Here’s a secret no one likes to admit: systems rely on our empathy to patch their failures. If every unpaid caregiver, volunteer, and advocate stopped tomorrow, half the country would grind to a halt.

The VA would drown in unreturned calls. Schools would lose their glue. Communities would crumble.

And yet, the same people holding the line are the ones barely getting by - selling plasma, juggling part-time jobs, or scraping together rent while filling in the gaps left by institutions that have the nerve to call us “heroes.”

It’s like being told you’re essential, but not enough to be compensated.

The Emotional Tax

There’s also a hidden tax on empathy - the toll it takes on your mental and emotional health. Caring deeply means watching people fall through cracks you’ve spent years trying to fill. It means fighting for legislation that takes decades to pass while bills pile up at home.

And yet, every time I think about quitting, I can hear the echoes of every spouse, veteran, or survivor who doesn’t have the strength to keep going. That’s what keeps most of us in the fight - not ego, not glory, but the unbearable thought of someone else being crushed by the same indifference we already survived.

Humor as Armor

Of course, humor is our last line of defense. We joke about “advocacy hours” (24/7, unpaid, and fueled by caffeine and spite). We roll our eyes at the bureaucratic circus of forms, certifications, and “leadership trainings” that teach us how to be more efficient while offering nothing in return.

I once had someone tell me, “You should monetize your compassion.” I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my diet Mountain Dew. If I could, I’d have retired by now. Compassion is valuable, but it’s not a commodity — it’s the thing that keeps humanity running while the systems around it profit from burnout.

What the World Owes the Caregivers

We don’t need parades or plaques. We need fair pay, rest, and respect. We need policymakers to understand that “volunteer-driven” is not a sustainable business model for a nation’s conscience.

We need to stop treating empathy like a renewable resource and start recognizing it as a finite one - because once it’s gone, the world gets meaner.

Caring should never be a punishment. It should be honored as the lifeline it truly is.

Until then, we’ll keep doing what we’ve always done: patching holes in the ship with duct tape and determination, cracking jokes so we don’t cry, and caring even when it costs us.

Because someone has to.

— said by Tori Seals, because someone had to say it