Women Were Not Meant to Be This Tired
A woman’s time is not communal property
A woman’s exhaustion is not the same as a man’s. It’s a bone-deep ache, an erosion, a slow unraveling. It feels like a body ransacked — drained, stretched thin, torn apart by too many demands, too many expectations, too many menstrual cycles, too much unseen, unappreciated, and unpaid labor.
I always thought that was the face of a mother — one etched with the weight of children, household responsibilities, and, often, the added burden of a corporate career or a home-run business.
But that’s not entirely true. Yes, mothers carry a disproportionate burden — but so do all women, whether they are mothers or not, married or not, working or not. The weight may look different, but it is always there.
A woman’s time does not belong to her. It is a public good, a shared utility, a resource endlessly claimed by others.
A woman is the keeper of everything. And it’s not that men don’t contribute — they do. I’m fortunate to have a partner who shares the load, who cooks, cleans, and tends to the house as much as I do. But still, the weight is different.
It often feels like the mental load falls on me — the remembering of birthdays and doctor’s appointments, the silent tracking of parents’ and in-laws’ emotions, the unspoken responsibility of checking in on siblings and extended family. Women are bound by invisible threads, tethered to the needs of everyone.
And it’s this relentless, invisible labor that drains you — physically, mentally, and emotionally.
In this relentless churn — one I know all too well — you have to ask, “Where is the time that is truly yours?” Not borrowed, not stolen in the gaps between responsibilities, not crammed into the margins of a day already overflowing with to-do lists and client commitments. Just time that is wholly, unquestionably yours — untouched, untamed, unclaimed by duty or guilt.
A woman’s time is often a communal resource
A woman’s time does not belong to her. It is a public good, a shared utility, a resource endlessly claimed by others. It is assumed to be available.
At any given moment, a woman’s time is up for negotiation — by family, by work, by society at large. It is stretched thin by expectations, siphoned away in increments so small they are almost imperceptible, yet their cumulative weight is crushing.
Time spent on household chores is not “her time.” Time spent running errands is not “her time.” Even time spent working at a job is often seen as an extension of her household role, because doesn’t she work so she can contribute to the family?
Even leisure is rationed. A woman who takes an evening to herself is expected to “make up for it” in some way — whether by preemptively cooking dinner, finishing chores in advance, or ensuring that no one else is inconvenienced by her absence.
This communal ownership of women’s time is so deeply ingrained that it often goes unnoticed — until a woman dares to reclaim it. When she says no. When she refuses to be available. When she takes time for herself without explanation or guilt.
That’s when the discomfort sets in.
Because a woman who prioritizes her own time disrupts the unspoken agreement that her minutes, hours, and days belong to everyone but her.
Leisure for the sake of it
Women need leisure. And not the kind that comes neatly packaged as “self-care” with a productivity agenda attached. Not “read more books to enhance your knowledge.” Not “exercise to stay fit.” Not “journal for mental clarity.”
Just leisure.
The kind that has no agenda, no measurable outcome. The kind that allows for sprawling, wasteful, delicious nothingness.
Leisure without guilt. Without justification. Without the shadow of a ticking clock whispering, “You should be doing something useful.”
There’s a reason women love salons and spas. Not just for the physical relief, the kneading out of aches and knots. Not just for the act of being tended to, a rarity in itself. But because, for a brief hour or two, they are unreachable. They have stepped outside the realm of being constantly available, constantly needed, constantly called upon. It is a space where they can simply be.
A woman who prioritizes her own time disrupts the unspoken agreement that her minutes, hours, and days belong to everyone but her
Call it the curse of technology, the tyranny of optimization, or the hustle culture that has seeped into every aspect of life — but even leisure is now something to be maximized.
Our hobbies must be productive.
“If you love to bake, why not start a home business?”
“If you love to read, why not monetize it with reviews or a book blog?”
“If you love to paint, why not open an Etsy store?”
There is no room for hobbies that exist simply for pleasure. For moments that exist simply to be experienced, rather than cataloged and turned into content.
But women need unstructured leisure — time where they can stop. Stop constantly having to prove their worth. Stop ensuring that everyone else is comfortable before claiming their own space. Stop measuring their value in units of productivity.
The inheritance of exhaustion
If this cycle doesn’t break, it becomes an inheritance.
Little girls watch their mothers stretch themselves thin, absorbing the unspoken lesson that a woman’s time is elastic — infinitely available for others but never truly her own. They see their mothers pause mid-meal to fetch something for someone else. See them abandon a moment of rest at the slightest tug of need from a child, a spouse, a parent. See them hold their exhaustion not as a burden, but as proof of love.
I know this, because I watched my mother do it.
For years, I saw her inhabit that role, that space. She never once asked for time of her own. Never carved it out, never claimed it. She was a stay-at-home mother with two children — always present, always ensuring we were cared for, never letting a schedule slip, never being unkind or letting a need go unheard.
I grew up believing her life was perfect. That she was good. That she was needed. That surely, she was proud of the life she had built.
Then I got married and moved away. For the first time in my life I found myself tangled in obligations I hadn’t signed up for, carrying the weight of relationships I hadn’t agreed to manage. And when the exhaustion crept in — bone-deep and relentless — I turned to the only woman I knew who knew.
“Do you ever regret not having a career of your own?” I asked her.
She didn’t hesitate.
“Yes. Always. I never did anything to advance my own self. I regret that.”
That’s the cruelest part of this inheritance — it teaches you that a woman placing other people’s needs above her own is a love language.
And so, little girls and boys grow up learning that rest is something to be earned, not a given. That to sit down without a task at hand is to be lazy, indulgent, selfish. They internalize the same lesson in different ways — girls come to believe that their worth is tied to how much they do for others, while boys grow up never questioning why the women in their lives are always the ones sacrificing, always the ones putting themselves last.
We do this without meaning to. Without malice. We normalize that rest is a reward, which means exhaustion is the baseline.
The audacity to rest
To be a woman and to rest — truly rest, without guilt, without purpose, without apology — is an act of quiet rebellion.
- What if women stopped seeking permission — even from their own conscience?
- What if they simply claimed their time, not in the scraps left over after serving everyone else, but as a right, as a necessity?
It would disrupt the unspoken social contract that women are meant to be available. That their exhaustion is inevitable. That their value is tied to how much they do.
Make no mistake, women’s exhaustion is not a personal failing. It is not about individual time management or the need for better self-care routines. It is systemic. It is cultural. It is inherited.
It is the expectation that a woman’s exhaustion is just the way things are. And yet, when a woman dares to rest, the world notices. The discomfort sets in.
Because a woman who prioritizes herself disrupts centuries of conditioning. And that is precisely why she must do it.
Rest as a revolution
Imagine what would happen if women rested — not just in stolen moments, but fully, intentionally, without explanation.
- If they took the nap without justifying it.
- If they spent hours reading a book with no productivity goal attached to it.
- If they ignored the emails, the dishes, the hundred tiny demands pulling at them, and just existed.
It would change so much!
Because a woman who claims her own time teaches her daughter that rest is not indulgence, but a birthright. She teaches her son that women do not exist to absorb the world’s needs before their own.
She rewires the next generation to understand that exhaustion is not proof of love. That a mother is not defined by how much she sacrifices. That a wife is not defined by how smartly she builds and keeps the house. That a daughter is not defined by how much she accommodates and obeys.
She shifts the narrative.
She stops the inheritance of exhaustion in its tracks.
And perhaps most radical of all — she grants herself permission to be a whole person, outside of duty, outside of expectation, outside of what the world demands of her.
Rest without guilt
Rest without permission. Just rest.
Women need to reclaim leisure. Not as a luxury. But as a declaration of selfhood. Because a woman who rests is a woman who remembers she is not a machine built for service.
She is a human being. And that should be reason enough.
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