No. 5: Am I Selfish or Just Tired?

The Hidden Weight of Emotional Labor

There’s a question that loops quietly in the back of my mind on certain days: Am I being selfish? For wanting space. For needing rest. For not having the capacity to emotionally carry someone else. For craving a break from being the glue, the interpreter, the constant.

But what I’ve come to realize is: I’m not selfish. I’m just tired. Tired from the invisible weight I’ve been carrying for years.

What Is Emotional Labor, Really?

Emotional labor isn’t just listening. It’s anticipating needs. Softening conflict. Smoothing tension before it escalates. Regulating your own emotions and someone else’s. Holding space without being asked—and often, without being thanked.

It’s the mental load of remembering what everyone likes, needs, avoids, or can’t handle. It’s noticing moods. Filtering language. Absorbing energy. It’s managing the emotional temperature of a household—on top of everything else.

It’s invisible work, and yet it’s always on.

And for many women, especially mothers and partners, emotional labor isn’t something we choose. It’s something we inherit. Often by default. Often silently.

The Slow Erosion

Over time, this kind of labor takes a toll. Not all at once. But in the small ways:

– You start hesitating before asking for help.

– You shrink your own needs because you’re the “strong one.”

– You feel responsible for someone else’s outbursts, silence, or detachment.

– You carry the guilt for any tension in the air—even when you didn’t cause it.

– You stop expressing yourself fully, because it always feels “too much.”

And then, one day, you feel empty. You’re still giving, still smiling, still managing. But inside, you’re running on fumes.

That’s when the question creeps in again: Am I selfish? Or maybe even worse: Am I broken?Why can’t I carry it all anymore?

But here’s the truth: You're not selfish. You're not broken. You’re just not meant to carry emotional responsibility for everyone else.

Rewriting the Narrative

We have to stop equating self-awareness with selfishness. We have to stop rewarding silence and self-sacrifice in women as emotional maturity.

Emotional labor isn’t bad or wrong—it’s a form of care. But when it’s one-sided, unspoken, and expected, it becomes a burden that erodes connection instead of building it.

So I’m learning to name it. To pause. To ask:

– Is this mine to carry?

– Am I holding back my truth to keep the peace?

– Am I regulating someone else so they don’t have to?

These questions don’t always lead to immediate action. But they create a doorway. A way out of resentment. A path back to self.

What I Want to Teach My Son

I want my son to know that being loving doesn’t mean being invisible. That care should go both ways. That softness isn’t just about absorbing—it’s also about being seen.

I want him to grow up in a home where women are allowed to rest. Where “no” doesn’t equal rejection. Where everyone learns to carry their own weight, not out of guilt—but out of love.

Because emotional labor is real, even if it’s not seen. And it deserves to be named, respected, and shared.

To the ones wondering if it’s just them: it’s not. You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to need more. You’re allowed to rewrite the story.

—Steph