Let’s be honest—marriage after kids doesn’t just shift, it stretches. Sometimes beautifully, sometimes unbearably. And somewhere in that stretch—between bedtime routines, naptime negotiations, and quietly becoming the one who remembers everything—a question starts to surface…

Am I asking too much of him?
Or, am I just carrying too much on my own?

It doesn’t always arrive in a dramatic moment. More often, it sneaks in while you’re managing a dozen invisible tasks—cleaning up dinner, wiping counters, picking up toys, helping with homework, packing tomorrow’s lunches…while your partner scrolls from the couch.

It lingers in the silence as you lie awake, mentally cataloging the week ahead: pay bills, call the doctor, schedule orthodontic appointment, get the dogs to the groomer, book the kennel, think about summer plans, sign permission slips, write teacher thank-you notes, grocery shopping, what to make for dinner this week… and so much more.

And in the background of it all, that question simmers:

Is this just exhaustion talking, or is something out of balance here?

Is this what partnership is supposed to look like, or did I somehow sign up for this without realizing it?

Modern relationships are under a new kind of pressure. We’re still figuring out what the shared mental load is supposed to look like, what “showing up” really means, what’s fair, what’s sustainable, and what’s quietly building resentment when left unspoken.

We’re not just co-parenting. We’re co-running a life, trying to stay emotionally connected while managing the details.

So what’s really happening inside modern partnerships? And what does a fair, healthy, still-intimate connection actually look like when you’re deep in the thick of it?

The Mental Burden of Modern Motherhood

Motherhood has never been easy, but millennial moms are carrying a mental load that previous generations can’t even fathom. It’s not just about keeping tiny humans alive, it’s about navigating a world where every single choice feels like a moral decision.

…Breastmilk or formula? Either way, you’ll hear about it.

…Organic, glyphosate-free, non-processed meals—or will they be doomed by goldfish crackers?

…Limited screen time, but also enrichment? Pick a struggle.

…Daycare, nanny, SAHM? No matter what, you’ll be overwhelmed.

…To vaccinate or not? Will they kick us out if we decline?

Meanwhile, our parents just tossed us a Capri Sun, threw us a Folgers coffee can for lightning bugs, and let us roam the neighborhoods until dark! The sheer volume of choices, research, and invisible labor is staggering. Instead of a village, we have an algorithm bombarding us with influencer suggestions negating what we thought we knew from last night’s IG binge.

This constant mental load, mixed with the pressure to curate the perfect aesthetic in every area of your life, look beautiful and sexy to your husband after kids, be funny and engaging with your friends and at work, be successful, and raise the most consciously nurtured children ensuring every single thing in your home is organic, non-toxic, and ethically sourced—because after all, one wrong move and we're all doomed—is exhausting! Throw in postpartum anxiety, a house that gets stickier and more cluttered, a job that demands your full attention, and a partner who doesn’t quite grasp the weight of it all, and suddenly, you’re running on fumes, surviving on caffeine, and wondering if this is just life now. And to think, these are normal day-to-day feelings many millennial mothers (and women in general) carry around everyday.

The Rise of the “bare minimum husband”

You’ve probably seen the phrase. Perhaps you’ve even shared the memes with your sister or girlfriends, not because your partner is one, but because the feelings of carrying the invisible load and harboring resentment toward your husband from time to time is universal.

Like when you’re pacing the floor at 3 AM with a newborn who thinks sleep is optional, your water bottle just out of reach, your body aching in ways you didn’t know were possible (after it already broke in half during delivery and you’re still not healed from your horrific epidural), all the while your husband is downstairs watching TV, breathing like he’s not in immediate danger or distress.

Are We Expecting Too Much From Our Partners, or Not Enough?

Before kids, you pictured a team effort. Shared exhaustion. A partner who just knew what needed to be done. One who brought you water without asking and encouraged you to eat. A partner who assumed you would take turns in the night. Instead, many millennial moms find themselves bamboozled! They are overstimulated, overwhelmed, undernourished, need to pee, need a shower, and carrying an enormous invisible load that their husbands don’t even realize exists.

This isn’t about who changes more diapers—it’s about expectations vs. reality. Moms are the default parent, the household manager, the CEO of all things unseen. Meanwhile, dads think they’re helping—but they’re waiting to be told what to do. And that, my friends, is the root of the rage.

What We Wish Our Husbands Understood:

…That “just ask for help” is not the solution. The asking and explaining is the exhausting part.
…Pacing the floor at night alone feels lonely and unfair.
…The weight of motherhood is crushing when your partner is a well-rested, well-fed, well-groomed observer, not an equal.
…That a participating dad isn’t just one who plays with the kids—it’s one who anticipates, initiates, and fully shares the load with their partner.
…How our shoulders and back feel broken from holding, nursing, pacing, and rocking babies 24/7.
…We never want to overhear you using the word “we” to describe anything regarding exhaustion in any capacity…ever.
…If they understood how thirsty we are in our post-partum breastfeeding era—like, bone-dry, desert-level dehydration—they’d realize how much nicer we’d be if we were just properly hydrated.
…The pure, unmatched sex appeal of a husband who hands us a coffee exactly how we like it on Saturday morning… without being asked… or when he wears his hat backwards- whichever, it’s your fantasy! ♡

So… How Do You Bring This Up?

By the time you even think about saying something, you’re already one inconveniently placed sock away from committing a crime. The resentment has built, the exhaustion is suffocating, and every little thing he doesn’t do feels like an intentional act of sabotage. But here’s the thing, this isn’t just about venting frustration; it’s about actually making a change.

How can you bring it up without it turning into a defensive showdown where nothing actually improves?

Choose a time when you’re both calm and collected, not during the heat of a fight.
Use “we” instead of “you” – “We need to figure out how to balance things better” hits much better than, “You don’t do enough.”
Be specific, not vague – Instead of “I need more help”, say “I need you to take over after every bath so I can decompress for 20 minutes.”
Let him see the full picture. Some dads genuinely don’t realize how much invisible labor is happening behind the scenes. Be clear about what you need, while giving them the benefit of the doubt.

At the end of the day, when the load is shared, everything feels lighter. The connection deepens. The pressure softens. And the space that was once filled with quiet resentment begins to make room for something else: presence, affection—maybe even a little heat.

This isn’t about keeping score. It’s about feeling like you’re on the same team. And sometimes, starting the conversation reveals more than you expected—like the fact that your partner might be carrying things too, just in different ways.

Unspoken doesn’t mean unfelt. And most of us are just waiting for permission to be honest. So if you’ve been holding it in, consider this your nudge. Not to pick a fight, but to open the door. To feel more supported, more understood, and more like yourself in your relationship.

You deserve that. And so does he.

Send this to the group chat or forward it to your partner. Let it be the start of something softer, stronger, and more connected ♡ inside and outside the bedroom.

-M.