I Don’t Want to Pick Up One More Thing
This morning, it was the silverware.
Not the big stuff. Not a major disagreement. Not anything worthy of a relationship crisis.
Just silverware.
I asked my husband, probably with more exasperation than curiosity, “Why aren’t you putting your silverware in the dishwasher? You always used to.”
And then there was the pizza pan.
It was still sitting out.
My husband looked at me and said something that stopped me in my tracks.
“You always jump on me when I leave stuff out. But you leave stuff around all the time, and I never give you a hard time.”
And just like that, we were having one of those ridiculous little marital spats that somehow isn’t about the thing you’re arguing about at all.
Because in my head I was thinking:
I don’t want to pick up one more thing.
I don’t want to pick up after Mom.
I don’t want to pick up after the dog.
I don’t want to keep track of what everyone needs, what everyone forgot, what needs to be scheduled, cleaned, moved, washed, fed, remembered or handled.
And I don’t want to pick up after you, too.
But I couldn’t get those words out.
Instead, they came out as:
“Why aren’t you putting your silverware in the dishwasher?”
There’s a difference.
Maybe it’s not the silverware.
I’ve been thinking about how many women are doing exactly what I’m doing right now.
Caring for an aging parent.
Managing a household.
Working.
Being a wife.
Being a mother, perhaps.
Taking care of pets.
Trying to stay healthy.
Trying to remember everyone’s appointments.
Trying to remember our own appointments.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, our bodies are changing, too.
Perimenopause and menopause don’t exactly send a formal invitation.
They just start rearranging the furniture.
Sleep changes. Energy changes. Mood can change. Stress can feel different. Your body may suddenly have opinions about things it previously tolerated quite well.
And then there’s caregiving.
So I started wondering:
How many women are caring for their parents while simultaneously navigating perimenopause or menopause?
As it turns out, researchers are beginning to ask that question, too.
A 2025 Mayo Clinic study looked at more than 4,200 women between the ages of 45 and 60. Nearly 20% identified as caregivers. And here’s the part that really caught my attention: menopause symptom burden increased as caregiving hours increased.
Among women providing 15 or more hours of care a week, about half reported moderate or worse menopause symptoms in at least one symptom area.
We don’t yet have a reliable number telling us exactly what percentage of female caregivers are simultaneously navigating perimenopause or menopause.
But we do know that the overlap is substantial enough to deserve our attention.
The average family caregiver in the United States is 51 years old.
Sixty-one percent of family caregivers are women.
And nearly a quarter of caregivers report providing 40 or more hours of care each week.
So maybe we need to start talking about this intersection.
Because there is another thing I’ve noticed about myself.
I’m reaching a no-bullshit phase of life.
Not an unkind phase.
Not an “I don’t care about anyone else” phase.
Just a phase where I am much more aware of what costs me.
My time.
My energy.
My peace.
My body.
And maybe that awareness isn’t a problem.
Maybe it’s information.
I used to do it. Why don’t I anymore?
This is where things get tricky.
My husband remembers the woman who used to just do things.
She’d pick it up.
She’d take care of it.
She’d remember.
She’d handle it.
And now, sometimes, I don’t want to.
That can feel confusing to the people around us.
“Well, you always used to.”
Yes.
I did.
But “I used to” isn’t necessarily a lifetime contract.
Sometimes our capacity changes.
Sometimes our responsibilities change.
Sometimes our bodies change.
And sometimes we finally realize that something we have been doing automatically for years is actually something we don’t want to be responsible for anymore.
That doesn’t mean we love people less.
It means we’re beginning to understand the difference between helping and carrying.
And that distinction matters.
Because I can love my husband deeply and still want him to put his own silverware in the dishwasher.
I can love my mom deeply and still recognize that caregiving takes something from me.
I can love my dog and laugh at the ridiculous amount of care a puppy requires while simultaneously thinking, “Seriously? You need me to do that too?”
And I can love all of them without wanting to be needed every minute of the day.
Sometimes what we really want is nobody to need anything from us.
That’s the part I’ve struggled to explain.
There are moments when quiet feels almost medicinal.
No one asking a question.
No one needing a decision.
No one needing a ride.
No one needing to be fed.
No one needing something cleaned up.
No one asking, “Can you just…?”
Just me.
For a little while.
Not because I don’t love my people.
Because I need to hear myself think.
And perhaps that’s one of the lessons of this season of life:
Rest isn’t always about sleep.
Sometimes rest is being temporarily released from responsibility.
Maybe that’s why that silly silverware argument hit such a nerve.
It wasn’t about the dishwasher.
It was about capacity.
It was about the accumulation of a thousand tiny responsibilities.
It was about feeling like I am always the person who notices.
And perhaps most importantly, it was about realizing that I need to communicate that before resentment does the talking for me.
Because my husband can’t respond to what I don’t say.
He can’t know that I’m overwhelmed if all he hears is criticism about a pizza pan.
And I can’t expect him to understand that what I’m really saying is:
“I need you to carry some of this with me.”
Helpful reminders for the woman in the middle
1. Irritation can be information.
Before judging yourself for being “too cranky,” ask what the irritation might be telling you. Are you tired? Overextended? Feeling responsible for too much?
2. “I used to” doesn’t mean “I always will.”
Roles evolve. Families change. Bodies change. Capacity changes. It’s okay to renegotiate what you’ve always done.
3. Say the thing underneath the thing.
Instead of “Why can’t you put your dishes away?” sometimes the deeper truth is, “I’m exhausted from feeling responsible for everyone.”
4. Ask for partnership, not permission.
You don’t need permission to have needs. You do need to communicate them clearly.
5. Build moments where nobody needs anything from you.
Even a small pocket of uninterrupted time can matter. Protect it.
6. Pay attention to your body.
Midlife changes deserve attention, not dismissal. If you’re experiencing significant menopause symptoms, talk with a qualified healthcare professional. You don’t have to simply white-knuckle your way through this season.
7. And finally… put your own damn silverware in the dishwasher.
Because sometimes the smallest acts of shared responsibility create the biggest sense of relief.
Maybe the goal isn’t to stop caring.
Maybe it’s to stop believing that caring means carrying everything.
And maybe that’s where compassion for ourselves begins.
