There is an unspoken burden that comes with motherhood. Yes, I used the word burden. A responsibility, heavy and relentless – it’s called the mental load.
While not exclusive to mothers, statistics do show that women disproportionately bear this weight.
Invisible. All-consuming.
A societal expectation that creates the norm where a mother must bear the emotional and mental labor, planning, and organization needed to maintain a household, family, and personal life. BUT also have career aspirations and professional goals. BUT also, please, no complaining and whatever you do never, NEVER let this lead to stress, anxiety or burnout – you are needed too much.
Researchers have identified three unique elements of this invisible mental load—managerial, cognitive and emotional.
Let me give you an everyday mundane example.
Deodorant.
One must memorize what each family member prefers their armpits to smell like (cognitive) but also must anticipate when each person will run out of deodorant (managerial). Then make sure that each child is actually using the deodorant with adequate swipes and the correct technique to ensure coverage (managerial) and verify that the deodorant you chose and purchased doesn’t cause cancer (emotional-worry).
All of that… for just deodorant. Multiply this times whatever ridiculous number you think of first.
Needless to say, as women, as mothers, we do a lot, we carry a lot, and we should know that the women and mothers around us, do too.
That is why this blog post is not about mental load.
It’s about what happened to me one day when I was crushing all the loads.
I had my lists in check. Mental load, physical load, full-time job load, graduate-program load, exercise load, home-cooked meal load, laundry load all the loads. Done.
I checked every single box that day and I felt like, well, a bad ass.
It was closing in on 6pm and as we all sat around the table with full bellies and completed homework, I beamed.
I left Isla (my daughter with disabilities) bathed and in pajamas ready to spend time with my dad while my husband took one of our children to their sports practice and I took the other kiddo in a different direction for another sports practice.
It takes a village and my village is pretty awesome.
I drove to that practice so proud of us. Proud of this kiddo in my car that had become so responsible and prepped their own sports bag with equipment and shoes and water bottle. I began to relax and look forward to the next hour and a half where I would get to just sit and watch this child of mine do what they love.
I walked into the practice space and was met with three little words. Someone looked at me and said,
“You look tired.”
Oof.
Let’s be honest, “tired” does not insinuate you are glowing with youthful beauty. They noticed the bags under my eyes, the messy hair under my cap, and my bare 41-year-old face with only a layer of sunscreen.
Regardless of the intent, my brain immediately converted those three little words into, “You look like crap” upon their verbal delivery.
I am in a season of reflection. I believe strongly in practicing the skill of reflecting before reacting, but our body tends to react first before our mind can make sense of anything. This is usually a good thing- a built-in, protective measure.
But this day upon hearing these three little words, my body wanted to hide.
I smiled a weak smile, and walked back to my car.
I sat there in the sunset for a bit and then pulled down my car visor. I slowly swiped open the mirror as the light flickered on and looked at my “tired” face.
They were right. I did not check the put-on-a-full-face-of-makeup-so-you-don’t-look-tired load that day. I chose everyone else. I chose everything else. I did not choose mascara nor did I choose concealer.
I googled “eyelash perms.”
Yes, I did.
I figured maybe my flat lashes were a dead giveaway and if I could permanently curl them without extra daily effort I wouldn’t appear so “tired”.
I would fool them all.
I ordered an at-home eyelash perm kit right then and there. Uh huh.
Upon their celebrated arrival, I found myself quickly stuck with a permanent roll of lashes on both eyes that aggressively slapped my eyelid every time I blinked and were so tightly wound I could hold a pencil within each curl.
After several rounds of smothering my eyes with coconut oil to no avail, I proceeded to reverse the permed mess with a chemical relaxer.
Yes. Yes, I did.
Brave reader, let’s do better for each other.
Anyone that you think looks tired, probably is and guess what? More than likely, they carry so many heavy things on their heart and mind, as do you.
If you are genuinely concerned for someone, have a loving conversation and offer support but do not preface that conversation with a comment about what you perceive to be their unattractive or “tired” physical appearance.
It is harmful and not kind. It is insensitive and rude. It is unproductive and not helpful.
Let me leave you with alternatives for those three tiny but mighty words.
Obviously, your selection choice will be dependent on the relationship you have established with the “tired” person in question.
Come on in.
How are you?
Tell me more.
Have a seat.
Glad you came.
Motherhood is hard.
You are amazing.
You inspire me.
I love you.
I am here.
You are enough.
Let it matter.
I understand you.
I get it.
Proud of you.
You deserve cake.
Three little words.
Need some four-word options?
Happy to see you.
How was your day?
Can I hug you?
I enjoy your company.
You can do this.
I got your back.
You are not alone.
I believe in you.
And sometimes, depending on your relationship with said “tired” person, no words are necessary.
Sitting close, holding them a few more seconds in a hello or goodbye hug, buying them a cold bottle of water or a cup of coffee without them asking- is enough.
Yes, I am tired but I am also relentless. I do not know how to give up. I will love my family the way I need to with or without mascara. I will show up. I will rest when I need to. I will give what I can when I can.
…and I will not perm my eyelashes ever again.