Telha
A mother of four was exhausted from handling all the household chores, despite working more hours than her husband. Despite her repeated requests for help, her children and husband often ignored her.
I’m Sarah, and my days are consumed by real estate work and family responsibilities. My husband, Mark, works at a shipyard, and together, we raise our four children: 13-year-old twins Emma and Ethan, 12-year-old Lily, and our 8-month-old baby, Mia. We both work around 50-60 hours a week, but while Mark enjoys weekends off, I don’t have that luxury.
For years, I kept a chore schedule, trying to involve the kids in household tasks. However, since Mia was born, their help has dwindled, and even Mark’s participation has lessened. I often come home to find him lounging on the couch, engrossed in his phone, while the kids are either playing video games or watching makeup tutorials.
The house stays somewhat clean, but the clutter, especially in the kitchen, drives me crazy. I’ve voiced my frustrations, resorting to drastic measures like cutting the internet, canceling outings, grounding the kids, and even getting into heated arguments with Mark.
One weekend, the kitchen was a disaster again—dinner remnants scattered across the counters, and the sink piled with dirty dishes. I stood there, barely able to contain my frustration.
“Mark, I can’t keep handling this,” I began, my voice trembling with pent-up anger. “Every day I come home to the same mess. What do you even do all day?”
Mark glanced up from his phone, a mixture of irritation and guilt crossing his face. “I work too, Sarah. I’m tired when I get home, and I just want to relax on the weekends.”
I threw my hands up. “And I don’t? I work as much as you, if not more, yet I’m the only one who cares about keeping this place livable.”
Mark’s face hardened. “I do my part. But I need time off too.”
“A break? You think I don’t?” I said, my voice rising. “I can’t even make dinner without cleaning a sink full of dishes first. The kids have chores, you have chores, but nothing gets done unless I constantly remind you. I’m tired of being the bad guy.”
Mark stood, frustration building in his voice. “I’m sorry I’m not perfect, okay? Maybe if you didn’t blow every little thing out of proportion, we wouldn’t feel so much pressure.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Oh, so now it’s my fault? If you just took responsibility and helped, I wouldn’t have to hold everything together. I’m exhausted, Mark. This isn’t just about the dishes; it’s about respect and responsibility.”
The argument escalated, filling the house with tension. Afterward, Mark cleaned up and did the dishes, but as usual, these efforts were only temporary.
Yesterday was no different. Before leaving for work, I reminded everyone, “Make sure your chores are done by the time I get back.” They all responded with the usual, “Yes, ma’am.”
After work, I texted Mark around 4:30 p.m. to ask about dinner and picked up groceries on the way home.
When I arrived, the house was in the same state: dishes piled in the sink, wet laundry in the washer, Mark on the couch, and the kids in their rooms.
I set the groceries down, packed a bag for Mia, and told Mark, “Take care of this. I’m going to Applebee’s.” He looked surprised, but I left without further explanation. Twenty minutes later, he called.
“I washed the dishes. I’m sorry. I was just really tired today.”
“You say that all the time. There are three older kids with chores, and you couldn’t even tell them to help?” I replied, my patience wearing thin.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m trying to be better. Can you just come home? I don’t know how to make this dish,” he pleaded.
I was done with his excuses. “It’s a complicated dish, but you can look it up or watch a tutorial. So no, I’m at Applebee’s, enjoying my steak and shrimp with Mia. You and the kids can handle things yourselves. Apology or not, I’m not letting you off the hook this time.”
He had me on speakerphone, and I heard the kids in the background asking, “Can you get us something from Applebee’s?”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly, then hung up.
When I returned home, the groceries had been put away, and the family had made grilled cheese and cereal for dinner. The atmosphere was thick with frustration and resentment as they sat around the table.
“Everyone needs to understand that this is what happens when you neglect your chores,” I stated firmly, standing my ground despite the uncomfortable silence.
Mark looked up, tired but defiant. “Sarah, we get it. But was it really necessary to leave like that? You could’ve just told us to get it done.”
I took a deep breath. “I have told you. Over and over. And nothing changes. I’m tired of being the only one who cares enough to act.”
Emma, one of the twins, looked down at her plate, playing with her food. “Mom, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to upset you.”
Lily, our 12-year-old, added softly, “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal. We thought you’d remind us again.”
I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside. “It is a big deal. It’s not just about the dishes. It’s about all of us taking responsibility for our home. I need to know that when I come home, I won’t be faced with more work while you all relax.”
Mark leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I get that, Sarah. But maybe we can figure out a better way to handle this. Leaving like that isn’t the answer.”
My frustration flared again. “I’ve tried talking, Mark. I’ve tried asking nicely, reminding, and even nagging. Nothing works. I needed to make a point.”
He sighed, looking from the kids to me. “Alright. We’ll do better. But can we also agree to talk things out before they get to this point?”
I nodded, feeling a mix of relief and lingering anger. “Fine, but only if everyone steps up. I can’t do this alone.”
The kids nodded, and Mark reached across the table to hold my hand. “We’ll make it work, Sarah. We’ll all try harder.”
As I stood there, watching my family, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Had I gone too far? Maybe. But something had to change. Time would tell if they truly understood.
