Caregiver journey examined through Jordan Peele’s Us, showing how caregiving can feel like falling into another world.
Falling Through the Trapdoor
You're just walking around. Living life. Doing all the things regular people do. And then suddenly — something happens. A diagnosis. A hospital visit. A fall. And just like that, you’re not in the same world anymore. You fall through a trapdoor you didn’t even know was there.
And when you land, you’re in a place you’ve never seen before — a dim version of your old life. And when your eyes adjust, you realize… you’re not alone. There are others down here too. Some have been here for years. Some just arrived. Some were born here, it seems. And you all look at each other like, “Yo… you too?”
The thing is, up above, life keeps moving. People are laughing, brunching, dating, vacationing, making weekend plans. And you can see them — you can still see the surface. But you’re not part of it anymore.
The Tethered Metaphor
Like in the movie Us, the tethered were living parallel lives — mimicking what was happening on the surface — always watching, but never quite understood. You don’t quite understand it anymore. That’s what caregiving can feel like. You're living in a mirrored world, just beneath the surface of everyone else's lives.
There’s a version of you still walking around up there — smiling, functioning, keeping up with life — while the real you is down here, struggling to make sense of this new existence. You can pretend for a while, but it’s not the same. That surface version of you isn’t really you anymore.
It struck me that the caregiving world is one people don’t really see unless they fall into it. And once you’re in, you know. You know. You see others who’ve made the fall. And you recognize each other, even in the dark. But it’s a community all its own — one you never truly understand until you become a part of it.
Escaping to the Surface for Air
Sometimes, you try to come up for air. You try to watch TV, keep up with shows, laugh at a movie, join in on something you used to do in your old life — the life before the fall. But it doesn’t hit the same anymore. It feels forced. You’re not the same viewer you used to be. It’s like watching someone else’s life. Or like you’re playing a character, pretending you’re still that person who had time, energy, and freedom.
And maybe for a few minutes, you trick yourself into feeling normal again. But then you get pulled back down. You get summoned. Something happens. Someone needs to be changed. Someone needs water. Someone needs to be taken to the bathroom. Or you suddenly realize they’re not even tracking the show you’re watching — and you’re not either. You’ve both drifted.
So you scroll instead. Or you listen to other people talk about their lives — what they’re watching, what they’re planning. You nod and smile, because you remember what that used to feel like. But now it’s like you’re breathing through a straw. Not enough to fully live. Just enough to keep going.
The Tethered Life Continues
So you go on living in the underworld. You adjust. You get comfortable with this new life. You learn the language. You find new rhythms. You converse with other tethered individuals — people who also fell through the trapdoor and never fully made it back.
You share glances of understanding. You swap tips, strategies, survival humor. You nod when they say they haven’t watched a full episode of anything in months. You relate when they say their old friends don’t really check in anymore.
Every now and then, an old friend or somebody will drop in. Or you’ll get a text message from someone. And for a second, you’ll feel like you’re a part of the surface world again. But those moments are fleeting and far between. 
And then you reconcile that you're not a part of that life anymore. You’re part of this new underworld. And there’s a whole community of people just like you down here — people you tap into and learn from. People who see you.
But no matter how used to it you get, you never really break free. You never really escape to the surface again — not for longer than a brief moment. Maybe an hour here or there. A breath. A laugh. A memory. But then something pulls you back.
And still, you carry on. Because this life — this version — is real too.
A bed sore is healing.
He transfers from bed to chair.
He sits up without falling back.
He sleeps through the night.
He remembers your name.
He eats a full meal.
He laughs at something you said.
These are the goals now.
These are the victories.
This is what we wait for.
Adjusting to the Underworld
You eventually adjust to the underworld. You understand you’re not a part of the surface world anymore. You watch as people carry on with their lives — making plans, running errands, taking trips — and you know you’ll never really be part of that again.
But you also understand something deeper: that one day, some of them will fall too. One day, they’ll trip the same trapdoor. They’ll land in the underworld — maybe next to you. And you’ll look at them the way someone once looked at you: “Yo… you too?”
You’re ready to support them,
ready to show them the ropes,
ready to teach them how to make it through each day.
Because like you, they’re new to this world.
They’re unfamiliar here.
And only another caregiver can show them
how to endure,
how to carry on,
how to make it through.
Final Reflection
One night, I was thinking about how much things had changed — how different my life has become — and I realized how far I felt from the version of me that used to just… live.
It struck me that the caregiving world is one people don’t really see unless they fall into it. Once you're in, you know. You see others who’ve made it before, and you recognize each other, even in the dark. But it’s a community all its own — one you never know exists or truly understand until you become a part of it.
Inspired by the film Us by Jordan Peele