Just last week, my younger child had a school concert that had been looming over us for weeks. Each night, as I tucked him in, he expressed his overwhelming fear about performing. His reasons shifted constantly. Although he adores singing and dancing, he confided that he only wanted to sing for me. Then he worried about the heat in the auditorium, recalling how unbearably hot it had been the previous year. He even voiced concerns that his classmates didn’t know their parts well enough and would ruin the performance for everyone.
You get the idea; he was grappling with intense stage fright, which is quite common at his age. However, it reached a point where I questioned if he’d be able to step onto the stage at all. On the day of the concert, his emotions were a whirlwind—one moment he was excited, and the next, he declared he wouldn’t leave the house to perform.
When my partner, Alex, came home from work and cheerfully exclaimed, “I can’t wait for the show tonight, buddy!” I shot him an incredulous look and quickly pulled him aside. “Do you not realize he’s been panicking about this performance for weeks?” I asked. It turned out Alex had no idea; our son hadn’t shared any of his worries with him. It wasn’t due to a lack of closeness; in theory, he should feel comfortable discussing his deepest fears with his dad. Alex is as nurturing and open as they come. But for some reason, my child only turns to me for the heavy conversations—the vulnerable and difficult ones.
And honestly, I don’t mind this dynamic most of the time. My kids trust me, and from a young age, they’ve felt comfortable sharing their thoughts and feelings with me. I understand that not every child has that connection with their parents, especially as they navigate the complexities of growing up. I cherish being that safe space for them.
However, this “gift” comes with its own burdens. I can’t count how many sleepless nights I’ve spent worrying about my children’s emotional well-being. While Alex certainly has his own concerns about life and our children, they don’t weigh on him in the same way. He isn’t replaying the latest heartfelt confession his child shared with him during a late-night talk.
I know I’m not alone in this experience. The emotional labor—often referred to as “invisible labor”—in families frequently falls on mothers. As if we don’t have enough on our plates, we also have to navigate the emotional landscapes of our children.
It’s not just about listening; we’re expected to help guide them through significant life choices, which become increasingly complex as they grow older. Even though our children are their own individuals, we often bear the consequences of their decisions too. I recognize that this is part of parenting, and I genuinely wouldn’t want it any other way. I just wish the burden was shared more evenly.
Alex is eager to contribute to the emotional labor within our family, especially after I highlighted our uneven dynamic, but somehow, the emotional “therapist” role has landed firmly in my lap. Given that this has always been the case, and my kids are accustomed to opening up to me, I don’t foresee any changes in the near future. Perhaps instead of lessening my role as the “family therapist,” I should seek relief from other invisible responsibilities I carry. Yet, those tasks are deeply ingrained and well-established too.
I don’t have all the answers; I love my children and appreciate their willingness to share their insecurities and dreams with me. Still, it’s undeniably challenging. It adds to my already full plate, and at times I feel like I might burst from the weight of all the emotions, fears, and worries I manage on behalf of my kids (and my partner, but that’s a different discussion).
If you find yourself in a similar position—acting as the family therapist—I want you to know you’re not alone. It’s perfectly acceptable to acknowledge, “This is tough, and I need a break.”
Perhaps what we really need is a family therapist for ourselves—someone to listen as we share our concerns about everyone in our lives, someone to reassure us that everything will be alright, and to help us unwind. Now that would be wonderful.
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Summary:
Navigating the emotional labor of parenting can feel overwhelming, especially when one parent takes on the role of the family’s emotional therapist. While this dynamic often falls on mothers, it’s essential to acknowledge the weight of these responsibilities and seek balance. Understanding and sharing these experiences can help ease the burden.