Amelia in her dining room, with a painting behind her showing a woman peeling potatoes. This space has been the meeting place for the more than thirty people she has cared for, where they shared the meals she prepared for years. This photograph, however, encapsulates the longing for a different future.
Amelia is in the courtyard of her home in Bogotá, her arms wrapped around the garments that accompany her every day: an apron and a jacket. These clothes, worn out by the years, are silent witnesses to the seemingly endless care work that she continues to do even in her old age.
Photograph of Amelia’s mother (left), photograph of Amelia (center), photograph of Amelia’s daughter (right). Caregiving work and gender roles are burdens that are inherited. They are passed down from one woman to another in the family. The light shining through the three photographs represents that thread that is almost impossible to break.
Amelia silhouetted against the light in one of the windows of her home in Bogotá. The work of women caregivers, especially those caring for the elderly, often remains in the shadows. Their recognition is a historical debt.
Amelia sits in front of the mirror in her room in Bogotá, looking at photographs of some of the family members she has cared for. Women caregivers suffer serious impacts on their mental and physical health as a result of their caregiving work. In many cases, their identities and life plans become blurred among the lives of those they have supported and raised.
Amelia’s hand holding one of the roses from her garden in Bogotá. The flower reflects the lives of many women caregivers: bodies worn down by exhaustion, but still full of dignity. Her gesture also raises the question that runs through this story: who cares for the caregivers? Today, Amelia is beginning to discover that taking care of herself is also an act of resistance.
Amelia sitting on the bed in one of the rooms of her house in Bogotá, being hugged by one of her children. The scene reverses the roles of a lifetime: the mother who cared for others is now being cared for. This gesture reveals both the fragility and the hope for a future where caregiving is a shared responsibility and not a burden borne exclusively by women. It also speaks to the urgent need to recognize that women caregivers also need support, companionship, and rest.
The image of her birthplace in Bogotá is projected onto Amelia Barrera’s body in her room. After decades devoted to caregiving, she longs to return to her homeland, to the place that holds her childhood memories and roots. That longing to return also becomes a way of imagining freedom.
A phrase written by Amelia in her granddaughter’s notebook, accompanied by a photograph of some of the canaries she cared for years ago. Her desire to become a bird so she could fly speaks to her longing to be the master of her own life, to break free from the cage built by social norms that led her to believe she should devote her life solely to serving others.
Amelia, in the garage of her home in Bogotá, holds her only bird. After a life devoted to caring for others, her dream of flying is not just nostalgia: it is also a metaphor for autonomy and resilience. In this bird, she places her hope for a journey that begins with being cared for and learning to care for herself.
Amelia Barrera Lara (87) has devoted more than half her life to caring for others: first as a daughter and sister, then as a wife, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. She has raised more than 30 people. “Women don’t need to study; what they need is to learn how to iron, wash, and cook to take care of their husbands and children,” her father would repeat to her as she was growing up. Today, with the scars that a lifetime of service has left on her body and mind, Amelia is beginning to discover how to take care of herself, without guilt as her companion. But the question arises: who takes care of the caregivers?
This series is about my grandmother. It delves into the private lives of women caregivers, exploring how parenting, service, and multiple caregiving jobs impact their mental and physical health and their own life projects.
It acknowledges the weight of gender roles historically imposed on their bodies and their lives, but also, as a political statement, focuses on their daily resistance. It celebrates their agency as the place from which they challenge the status quo and dare to continue dreaming and building the life they desire.
In Colombia, many women are unable to enter the workforce because they devote much of their lives to caring for others. According to DANE, they perform more than 75% of the country’s unpaid domestic and care work. When they reach old age, they face abandonment and precariousness, without pensions or support networks, despite having sustained the lives of others for decades. These dynamics are a form of structural gender violence that is inherited and normalized.
Older women who continue to care for others, like Amelia, are part of a historically invisible group. Although studies on aging rarely focus on their experiences, research in Colombia and Latin America warns of their overload, isolation, and deterioration in physical and emotional health. Recognizing them is key to thinking about care from an intergenerational and social justice perspective.
