The Enculturation of Caregiving

I was a nanny once for a mom who was a true boss babe. She’d come home from work, crack a beer, scoop up her baby, whip out a boob to nurse, laugh about her day, then tell me: “Go home and have a great night.”

Never once asked me to stay late. Never treated me like emotional infrastructure. Never made me feel small for being the caregiver - even though she could see me shrinking myself.

Twenty six years later, she’s following my Instagram page, watching my work and has reached out and told me how proud of my work she is. She was the president of a large hospital in Chicago.

I also worked for a mom who held a high-level position working with the Olympics in Chicago. She tossed me the keys to her Land Rover so I wouldn’t have to take the train home at night, slipped me fat wads of cash for “all the extras,” never insisted I eat dinner with the family, and bragged about me to her friends by my actual name.

She recognized me as a person, not just as architecture of a woman who cared for her children. She saw my role as vital to the functioning and wellbeing of the family. Twenty years later, she’s we’re still in contact.

I mattered to her.

And then I worked for moms who asked me to come through the back door so guests wouldn’t see me.

Moms who introduced me as “the nanny” instead of a person.

Who had me sleep in a mudroom on a plastic bunkbed beside the newborn for 8 days straight, no breaks.

Who monitored every bite of food I ate.

Who treated care workers and house keepers like invisible women-shaped appliances built to absorb exhaustion without needing dignity in return.

Those women were also enculturated to treat care work as something extractable.

And me?

I was a really hurt twenty-something who fell for all of it.

Thought overgiving made me lovable.

Thought being endlessly accommodating made me “good.”

Thought exhaustion was proof of devotion.

I was socialized to believe these things. I inherited those beliefs from my parents, church, school, society.

Then I began my death work - carrying that same conditioning. That same overgiving. That same exhaustion as proof of care. That same inability to tell the difference between care and self-erasure.

And underneath the constant asks for attention, tenderness, availability, reassurance, and holding... there was sometimes a quiet thread of resentment running through me.

Not because people needed care.

But because I had never been taught that I was allowed to exist outside of giving it.

And this is part of why I create things like LAYERS: Inheritance of Care Work, in Blue - spaces where we can slow down long enough to look at the conditioning underneath caregiving - and do so through art making.

LAYERS is a three-part, art-centered cyanotype workshop exploring the enculturation of caregiving through image making, reflection, conversation, and creative process.

I’m really excited for this one. 💙 June 2026