During my first years as a mom, I wanted to do everything. I struggled between resenting my husband for his peace of mind and micromanaging his every move. But everything was in my head, and he didn’t know why I was constantly stressed and annoyed with him.
So I took these three steps to explain what I was going through.
Step 1: I shared a pertinent blog with him.
The baby was sleeping when I had a chance to scroll through social media. I was about to blow another gasket at my husband for breathing too loudly when this blog entry popped up. I thought the simple illustrations and text from “You Should’ve Asked” perfectly explained the invisible load of motherhood I was experiencing.
I sent it over to him while he sat on the couch basking in his worry-free mind. I watched him like a hawk as he reached for his phone. Then, after a few minutes, he looked up and asked me what that was. I told him to stay seated so we could have a conversation.
Step 2: I gave specific examples so he could understand what mental load feels like.
First, I made sure he understood that the mental load is invisible. I may not be physically doing anything, but my mind is constantly planning, anticipating, tracking, thinking, and organizing. That’s why sometimes he’ll mention something to me about his work and I’ll answer, “Did she bring her library books to school today?”
Then I physically walked him through the house while I pointed out the things that I mentally tracked.
Bedroom
When I wake up, the first thing that comes to mind is this: What day is it? Is there a special occasion at school today? Is it raining? Do we need to leave earlier so the kids can put their boots and rain gear on?
Bathroom
While I brush my teeth, I’ll do a quick inventory check of the shampoo, conditioner, soap, toilet paper, toothpaste, and floss. I’ll make a mental note of anything we’re low on. I’ll glance at the kids' toothbrushes to see if they need replacing and add that to the list.
Kitchen
On the outside, it looks like I’m opening the fridge and pantry to prepare the kids’ breakfasts. But on the inside, I’m scanning to see if we need milk. Eggs? Cheese? Bread? Are the veggies getting gross? What’s expiring soon? I’ll look at the calendar to see what events we have today.
Living Room
As I pick toys off the floor, I’ll put some old ones aside. Then I’ll look up when the next round of donations is being accepted by local charities.
My train of thought will be interrupted if I sense a fight about to happen between the kids. I tell him I can see things before they happen like Yoda from Star Wars.
Mapping my mental process with specific locations in our home created a link between what he sees and what I see.
Step 3: I used language that explicitly explained the difference between a task manager and a task doer.
My husband is a real estate agent, so I used terms that he could understand. I said management is when he’s telling his buyers to find out how much they can afford, get approved for a mortgage, figure out where they want to live, how much space they need, and so forth.
All those things he’s telling his buyers to do are like when I tell him to pick up eggs and to remember to grab the kids from soccer. To keep the household running, I have to keep track of what I need to tell him to do. I’m not responsible for doing them, but I have to make sure he does them.
Then I asked him how does he feel when a client doesn’t listen or do what he says? Or worse, he forgets to tell them to do something and they miss out on their dream home?
I said it takes a lot of planning, tracking, and anticipating to make sure his clients’ needs are being taken care of. And that’s exactly what I’m doing in this household — except it doesn’t stop when I set foot inside the home.
At this point in our conversation, it clicks. He says, “The kids and I are like your clients and you’re managing us. We don’t need to plan because you tell us what we need to do.”
BINGO!
Then we divided the mental tasks room by room. Over the next few months, I started letting go and became more vocal when I was juggling too many things in my head.
It’s been years since our first conversation, and it wasn’t our last. At least once a month, we will check in with each and talk about what’s working, what’s not, and how we’re both feeling about our shared management plan.
Recently, I was feeling under the weather and woke up later than everyone else.
I rushed downstairs to see my husband sitting at the dining table eating breakfast with the kids.
I go into the kitchen, and the ground beef I was going to take out already has started defrosting in the sink.
My daughter’s backpack is ready, and before I could say another word, my husband tells me: “It’s Thursday so I already put her library books in her bag. I’ll pick up milk after meeting my client and drop off those old clothes at the Salvation Army. Am I Yoda yet?”