“How can I help?” was the question that used to spark the very deepest rage in me.

He doesn’t ask me that anymore.

He doesn’t help, either.

Moms have been talking about “the motherload” for years now. It’s the emotional, mental, and physical weight of mothering - all the things mothers just do, mothers just know, mothers just handle and that everyone else takes for granted.

The isolation of the pandemic has heightened the pain of carrying the motherload and has also drawn attention to it. Moms who were already breaking had the uncertainty of the pandemic, the days of no school, and then the full weight of online schooling added onto their plates.

It’s made national news and spawned viral posts on every platform.

Moms are pushing back, demanding that dads become more equal partners, that they start helping shoulder this load.

So why don’t I want that?

“You seem really upset. How can I help?”

It was a genuine question that came from a place of love and concern. And I totally lost my shit.

“I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP. I DON’T NEED A DAMN ASSISTANT!”, I screamed at Adam a few years ago and stomped away, sobbing. I’d hit the wall, hard.

We had recently moved from South Carolina to Colorado. We were both working from home, our son was adjusting to kindergarten, our daughter to a new daycare, and all of us to our new lives. I was trying to get us on some type of laundry/cleaning schedule, to get the kids new doctors and dentists, to keep building my business, and to deal with a five year old who suddenly refused to eat anything other than peach yogurt or quesadillas. EVER.

I don’t remember what was happening on that particular day, but I do remember the sock on the stairs. It was one sock. And it had been sitting halfway up our staircase for a few days. I didn’t move it because it was a test - one we both failed.

I was waiting for Adam to see the sock and do something about it. Put it in the laundry basket or find its mate in a drawer.

He’d noticed the sock, but it hadn’t really registered.

I, like most moms, was the CEO of our family. I managed things. I managed people. I steered us. I was responsible for the “company culture” of our household.

But a family is not a business.

I didn’t want an assistant, I wanted a fundamental shift in who is responsible for our household. That sock on the stairs hadn’t registered for him because he didn’t see it as his responsibility to keep our house clean, to keep the drawers of clothes organized, to ensure there were always clean socks available.

He didn’t judge himself in that way.

I was CEO.

Until I quit.

It didn’t happen overnight, but that sock led to a blowup, which led to that fundamental shift in our relationship.

The mental health of our family is his responsibility.

The emotional health of our family is his responsibility.

The physical health of our family is his responsibility.

The education of our children is his responsibility.

The upkeep of our home is his responsibility.

He now judges himself for all of these things. He has taken responsibility for all of these things. It’s not a 50/50 relationship. We’re both 100% in it.

Our five-year-old who had been shrinking his diet until there were only two options? I didn’t solve that. We both talked to his pediatrician about it, who referred us to a therapist at Children’s Hospital. I made the calls for the initial appointment and got us on the waiting list.

In the meantime, Adam was searching the internet for ideas. He decided to try meal planning with our son in an effort to give him some control and hopefully get him to re-expand his palate. They sat down together on Sundays and would talk through what we’d have for dinner each night and what he’d take to school for lunch. Then they ordered groceries together or made the shopping list.

Adam doesn’t cook. Well, he didn’t before this. But he searched for recipes and he tweaked things so the kids would eat them and he stumbled through and figured it out the way moms do every single day.

I didn’t suggest it. I didn’t ask for help with it. I didn’t even point out the problem.

He saw the problem.

He saw it as his responsibility to solve the problem.

And…he didn’t solve it. Our son has ADHD and Anxiety and some sensory sensitivities that aren’t severe enough to be diagnosed but can trigger both of the diagnoses. But the planning together helped give him a sense of control and comfort long before we had more tools to support him.

It was so simple. But it wasn’t at all easy.

Adam had to shift a massive amount of responsibility onto his shoulders and I had to learn how to let go of control. Both of those are simple concepts - acceptance and release. Yet, we’re still practicing them today three years later.

Because it takes practice.

And when the pandemic hit and we went into lockdown he came to me to have a conversation about what our workdays would look like with the kids and how we would handle everything. Nothing was assumed. We talked about what we’d ask for from his boss and how we’d cope if the answer was no. He’s the dad on the Zoom call with the kids playing on the floor in the background. He’s the one telling his boss that he can’t schedule a meeting at a certain time because I already have a meeting booked.

He’s the first contact number on the school forms.

He’s the one who schedules and takes our son to his therapy appointments.

He’s the one who does bath time every night.

He’s still doing the meal planning and grocery shopping each week.

I never wanted help.

I never needed help.

And he no longer offers to help.