I returned home from work around 6 PM, utterly drained. All I wanted was a long soak in the tub to unwind and clear my mind. As soon as I stepped inside, my wife, Sarah, unleashed a torrent of frustrations. She filled me in on how our 7-year-old, Max, hadn’t cleared the dinner table or begun his homework. Meanwhile, our 4-month-old, Bella, had soiled her diaper twice and refused to nap, while our 5-year-old, Lily, seemed to be in a constant state of tantrum.
This was a couple of years ago when Sarah was juggling being a stay-at-home mom with part-time studies. Sporting blue jeans and a striped tee, her brown hair was pulled back hastily. She was stirring something on the stove, cradling Bella, who was crying and clad only in a diaper. The house was a chaotic mix of toys strewn about and laundry waiting to be folded. The fatigue etched on Sarah’s face, highlighted by dark circles under her eyes and a lack of makeup, spoke volumes—she was worn out.
She had endured a long day.
So had I.
At that time, I was working at a university as an academic advisor for underprivileged students. A friend once described my role as the “social work of higher education,” and I thought that was accurate. Just the night before, one of my students had been arrested, facing felony charges. I had spent hours with university legal services trying to navigate the situation and ensure he received fair treatment.
While I didn’t experience the physical exhaustion my father likely felt after a long day installing HVAC systems, and I didn’t share the frayed nerves that Sarah had from managing the kids, I was mentally and emotionally fatigued. I could feel it weighing on me.
Moments after I walked in, Sarah thrust a wailing Bella into my arms as if she were handing me a ticking bomb. “Take her,” she exclaimed. “She’s driving me insane! And get Max and Lily to clean the table and start their homework; dinner is nearly ready. I’m about to lose it. After dinner, I need a break.”
The last thing I wanted was to nag the kids into doing their chores, but all Sarah wanted was a moment of peace. “Hold on a sec,” I replied, “Let me drop my bag. I’ve had a long day too.”
Before I could elaborate, Sarah interrupted me. “You’ve had a long day?” she scoffed. “You got to leave the house! You didn’t have to deal with kids acting like lunatics or cleaning up baby poop.”
“No, I didn’t,” I admitted, and then shared my day’s stress about my student facing prison time.
“I’m sure you had a lunch break,” she shot back. “I didn’t even get that.”
“To be honest, I didn’t have a break at all,” I countered. “I’m surprised I made it home for dinner.”
Neither of us was at our best.
We went back and forth, each trying to prove our day had been tougher, each believing we deserved a moment to unwind. In retrospect, it was clear that both our days had been challenging, and we both needed a break—but there was only so much to go around.
Neither of us had done anything wrong; in fact, we both had fulfilled our responsibilities and worked hard. The issue was that young children don’t take breaks. They constantly demand attention, and it often feels like everything is out of balance. You long for a moment of peace, a chance to breathe, but there’s no time for that. You can’t blame the kids; they’re innocent. Instead, you find yourself redirecting frustration at your partner, expecting them to understand your exhaustion and the challenges of your day.
We both longed for a moment of calm, both felt we had earned it, but neither of us was willing to yield.
So, I did what can be incredibly difficult—I took a breath and embraced my role as a father, even when I didn’t want to. I set my bag down, took Bella, and gently soothed her. I got Max and Lily to clean up and start their homework while Sarah finished preparing dinner. When we finally sat down together as a family, tension eased. Sarah told me I could soak in the tub after dinner, and I would put the kids to bed while she tackled some homework.
If I hadn’t paused to breathe, we might never have reached that compromise.
Sometimes Sarah takes that pause. Other times, neither of us does, leading to arguments that linger into the night.
Honestly, taking that breath can be the hardest part of parenting. It requires you to gather your strength, allow the moment to settle, and then discuss the need for breaks. Parenting can strain your relationship; it shifts your focus and priorities away from the person you love most, causing conflict over a fleeting moment of sanity that suddenly becomes more valuable than you ever imagined before kids.
It’s not that you dislike each other or that either of you has done something wrong; it’s simply the complex aftermath of working together to raise children.
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Summary
Parenting can put immense pressure on a marriage, often leading to disputes over who deserves a break. Both partners may feel overwhelmed by their respective challenges, yet pinpointing the need for cooperation and communication is essential. By taking a moment to breathe and understand one another’s struggles, couples can find a way to share responsibilities and maintain harmony in their relationship amidst the chaos of raising children.