My Maui Reset
Not every caretaking vacation needs to be a mini one. This past week I took a caretaking vacation to Maui with my daughter and her family. One magical afternoon, I found renewal in the waves with my grandchildren.
There’s a sacred kind of healing that happens when your feet meet the shoreline, when saltwater kisses your skin, and the laughter of your grandchildren becomes the music that calms your weary spirit. As a caretaker, I’ve learned that breaks are not luxuries—they are lifelines. And in one unforgettable afternoon on the sunlit shores of Maui, I experienced the kind of renewal I didn’t even realize my soul was craving.
The ocean stretched wide before us, endless and alive, much like the days I often feel swallowed by when caretaking becomes consuming. But on this day, it wasn’t about doctor appointments or medication schedules. It wasn’t about holding everything together. It was about letting go—just for a while—and letting the waves carry some of the weight I had been holding far too long.
My grandchildren were delighted when I waded in. We were splashing in the surf and chasing each other like dolphins playing in the surf. Our joy was pure and contagious. My heart swelled when my granddaughter grabbed my hand to pull me farther out into the waves, so we could catch one to surf towards shore. Onlookers around us grinned and cheered us on. My grandchildren didn’t see “MauMau the caretaker.” They saw “MauMau the playmate.” And for that afternoon, I saw her too.
As we laughed and played, I realized that these small, joy-filled breaks are not a betrayal of the responsibility I carry back home—they are fuel for the journey. In the rhythm of the waves, I heard an invitation: breathe, release, trust. Each wave that crashed over our heads whispered a reminder that it’s okay to rest, it’s okay to feel joy, and it’s okay to be fully present in this one beautiful moment.
Caretaking requires so much of us—our time, energy, hearts, and sometimes even our identity. But the ocean reminded me I am more than what I give. I am someone who deserves to receive too. Rest. Laughter. Reconnection. God did not design us to run on empty. Even Jesus withdrew to quiet places to pray, to rest, to reconnect with the Father. If the Savior of the world needed time away, surely we do too.
That time on the beach wasn’t just a break—it was a turning point. It gave me permission to savor the now, to find strength in joy, and to carry those memories like a tide-washed stone in my pocket when the days grow heavy again. My grandchildren won’t remember the stress I carried, but they will remember that MauMau played in the waves and laughed like the wind. And so will I.
If you’re a caretaker reading this, I urge you—don’t wait for permission to pause. Make space to delight in something, anything, that reminds you of who you are beyond the responsibilities. Whether it’s Maui’s waves or a local park, step into joy with both feet. Play. Laugh. Breathe. And let the love of your family and the presence of God refill you.
You are not alone. You are not selfish for needing rest. You are brave for choosing to keep going—and even braver for choosing to pause. Let joy be your strength. Even if just for today.
