I scroll through the vacation photos, the anxiety in my chest rising. I scan the faces, swiping through them with increasing urgency. Smiling photo after smiling photo of my closest family members can be found, but there are no pictures of me. I find myself asking the simple yet profound question, do I even exist?
Despite being the person who planned the weekend, booked the hotel and excursions, packed everyone’s personal items, and navigated almost every decision of the process, I am not documented here with my family. I have successfully completed all of the behind-the-scenes work for the trip and then remained almost completely behind the scenes.
If I’m honest with myself, this photo evidence brings to the surface feelings I didn’t realize were mounting. Life has been busy, and the mental load has seemed extra heavy this year. The constant decision-making and running task list in my head is suffocating. I feel as though I’m drowning in a never-ending stream of thoughts that I can’t get onto a to-do list fast enough. Every time I bob my head to the surface, the same daily, weekly, and monthly tasks roll around again because they are cyclical in nature. Leaving barely any time for anything additional that fills my cup.
I am the appointment keeper, the chauffeur, chef, and household manager. I plan and cook meals, order groceries, and take stock of household goods, personal care items, diapers, snacks, and other necessary items as needed. I manage the complex schedules of four people while working full-time, ensuring everyone has what they need when they need it. I am in charge of the most important parts of our day, yet this role makes me feel like I’m fading into obscurity.
The mental load of motherhood is invisible, after all. It goes unnoticed in the moment because it is so essential. It happens constantly in a stream of events, lists, and around-the-clock thinking, executed nearly perfectly to the point that it has become second nature for me. And taken for granted by my family at times. This makes me question, do I even exist anymore? I am here, of course. I know I physically exist. But do I exist outside of being my family’s caretaker?
This is not a new concept. I have struggled with carrying the mental load of my family for most of motherhood. The feelings ebb and flow, through different seasons of life. I’m thankful that my husband listens when I try to convey the feelings I have surrounding this topic. In light of this most recent revelation, we reviewed our family systems and shuffled responsibilities in his direction. I’m thankful that he has the insight to see how uneven these obligations tend to stack up over time. Instead of denying it happens or making me question my sanity, he takes responsibility for letting it slowly happen and then helps to reinstate balance.
I’m glad that this is a topic that is discussed more and more as we realize, as a society, the burden that we allow to fall heavily on mothers. There is so much work to be done, though. Generations before us were expected to take on this role, but it’s no longer realistic for most of us to balance work and caretaking.
