There’s a thin line between devotion and depletion. Between being the backbone of a family and becoming invisible within it. Between being the victim or the victor. Many of us were never taught how to distinguish the sacred role of a matriarch from the silent suffering of a martyr—we just inherited the weight and called it love. And let’s admit it—sometimes, we feel a hint of validation as we’re dying on the hill.

But at what cost?

Are we leading as matriarchs, rooted in wisdom and strength? Or are we shrinking into martyrdom, quietly disappearing under the guise of service?

There’s something quietly radical about a woman deciding to take care of herself. It might not sound revolutionary—taking a bath alone, going on a walk, saying no—but for so many of us, especially mothers and wives, these tiny moments of self-preservation are acts of rebellion. Because the truth is: we are carrying it all. And at times, we are like shadows, cosplaying as human beings.

OK, that's only half true—some of us have help. But societal expectations still place the majority of domestic labor on women. According to the OECD, women in developed countries spend an average of 4.33 hours per day on unpaid work versus 2.33 hours for men (theguardian.com, worldatlas.com). In the United States, women average 112 minutes of housework daily, while men do about 58 minutes (guestsonearth.com). In South Korea, the imbalance is stark: women spend 147 minutes, men just 21 each day on chores (guestsonearth.com). These staggering statistics prove it isn’t just in my head—it’s a societal norm.

We’re expected to work, parent, keep the house, plan meals, manage appointments, research schools, soothe tears, balance budgets—and still look good doing it. We’re taught to make it look easy, and if we stumble, we’re told we didn’t try hard enough.

Postpartum? Menopause? Aging? Depression? Burnout? Often met with silence or dismissal. My own postpartum breakdown—while raising kids, attending school and Army duties and navigating divorce—left me unrecognizable even to myself. I forgot I had a self at all. I forgot I even existed.

And the kicker? Many men still don’t get it. Even the well-meaning ones. Mine tries—and does a pretty good job making sense of the voices in my head. But far too often, the mental load, emotional labor, and physical exhaustion land squarely on our shoulders.

That’s not to say men don’t have their own identity battles. They do. And I have deep compassion for that—especially as a woman who’s been loved, supported, and made a mother by men. But while men wrestle with their own struggles, what’s often expected of women can feel wildly disproportionate in both volume and weight.

There was a time when I was the sole provider for our household while my husband worked through his immigration paperwork. And still—every meal, every appointment, every mess—defaulted to me. Until one day, I had to put my foot down and say: No more.

My wake-up was brutal: I'd been living in self-imposed victimhood because I wouldn't ask for help. And worse, I used it as leverage—“Look what I do.” But when help came, I refused it, clinging to the illusion of independence. I had to first acknowledge that I was hiding behind my exhaustion to feel seen. Then I had to see my own worth.

Part of my resistance came from childhood—asking for help felt shameful. But I had to learn I was worthy of receiving.

Did it happen overnight? Absolutely not. I still catch myself complaining, even choosing victimhood some days because it gets me attention. But is that true recognition? Or manipulation? Probably the latter.

I share this to remind us: we are worth it, and we are works in progress. We all hurt people when we’re in our emotions. But it’s on us to change that immediately. Never let it become habit.

Sacrifice is choice. Living in sacrifice is lifestyle. We forget because society tells us to. We sacrifice until we disappear.

But we are not invisible. We are powerful. We give life, hold history, and guard the sacred—which is why we've been silenced and oppressed; we threaten systems built on domination and disconnection.

This isn’t about modern feminism, diluted and misunderstood—it’s about womanhood: the raw truth of who we are. It’s about knowing our limits, honoring our spirit, and choosing to exist fully. It’s about taking up space and refusing to boil down to nothing.

So to every woman reading this: take the nap. Ask for help. Say no. Eat first. Speak up. Skip the laundry. Choose you.

Because when you do, you aren’t just healing yourself. You’re breaking a cycle. You’re changing history. You’re teaching the next generation that worth isn’t measured by how much we endure—but by how fiercely we learn to love ourselves.

You are not alone. You have a friend in me. I love you.