When I started writing Between My Heart and Obligation, I didn’t just think about the words, I thought about how the book would feel. What it would look like. What it would quietly say before anyone even opened it.

I knew I didn’t want it to look clinical. I didn’t want it to feel like another caregiving manual filled with bullet points and resources. There are plenty of books like that, and they serve a purpose. But this wasn’t that kind of book. This was personal. This was raw. This was me, telling the truth about what it’s really like to care for your aging parents, down to the depths of your soul.

So I started with the cover.

Why the Ocean

I’ve always loved the ocean, so did my parents. Some of my earliest memories are of us walking along the beach, collecting shells, watching the waves roll in like they had something to say. It was our place, my favorite place. And when I think of them now, I often picture them there, whole, smiling, untouched by illness or time.

That’s why the cover shows a sunset over the ocean. I’m sitting on the beach with my legs pulled up to my chest, looking out at the sky. It’s quiet, reflective, and in the clouds, there’s an ethereal image of my parents, just as I remember them. Not how they looked at the end, but how they felt to me. How they lived in my heart.

I wanted the cover to hold that feeling, that ache, that beauty, that longing.

Why I Didn’t Write a Guidebook

When I sat down to write, I didn’t want to explain caregiving, I wanted to feel it. I wanted to tell the truth about what it’s like to lose pieces of yourself while trying to hold someone else together. I didn’t want to offer tips or timelines, I wanted to offer companionship, honesty, a voice that says, “I’ve been there too.”

So I wrote it raw. I didn’t polish the pain. I didn’t round the edges. I let the stories speak for themselves, even when they made me cry, even when they made me question everything.

Why I Started with Childhood

The first few chapters are about my childhood, what it was like to be raised by my parents, the emotional dynamics, the quiet hardships. I felt like readers needed to know that part first. Because caregiving doesn’t start with a diagnosis, it starts with a relationship, with history, with all the invisible threads that tie you to the people you’re now responsible for.

I wanted readers to understand why it mattered so much, why it hurt so deeply, why it was never just about logistics, it was about love, resentment, duty, and everything in between.

What I Hope You’ll Feel

If you’re on the fence about caregiving, I hope this book opens your eyes. Not to scare you, but to prepare you, to help you see the emotional terrain before you’re in the thick of it.

And if you’re already in it, or have been, I hope you feel seen. I hope you feel less alone. I hope you recognize pieces of yourself in these pages and know that your experience matters.