Last week, my younger son had a school concert that he had been dreading for weeks. As I tucked him into bed each night, he revealed his fears: he was terrified of performing. His reasons were all over the place. Although he enjoys singing and dancing, he expressed that he preferred to showcase his talents just for me. Then, he worried about the heat in the auditorium, recalling how unbearably hot it had been the previous year. Next, he fretted that his classmates didn’t know their parts well enough, which would ruin the show for everyone.
You get the idea—he was experiencing a classic case of stage fright, which is completely normal at his age. However, it escalated to the point where I questioned whether he would even step on stage. On the day of the concert, his emotions swung wildly; one moment he was excited, and the next he flatly refused to leave the house.
When my partner, Mark, came home, he enthusiastically exclaimed, “I can’t wait for the show tonight, buddy!” I shot him a disapproving glance and had to pull him aside to explain that mentioning the concert might not be the best approach. “Didn’t you know he’s been stressing about this for weeks?” I pointed out.
Mark had no idea. My son hadn’t confided in him at all. It wasn’t that they didn’t share a close bond. My partner is incredibly loving and open, but when it comes to discussing deep and vulnerable feelings, my sons turn to me. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember.
Honestly, I have no complaints about being the go-to person for my kids. They trust me and share their thoughts, fears, and dreams without hesitation. I know many kids don’t open up to their parents the way mine do, especially as they grow older and face more complex challenges. I feel fortunate to provide that safe space for them.
However, while it’s a blessing, it can also be quite burdensome. Countless sleepless nights have been spent worrying about my children’s emotional well-being. I know Mark has his own concerns, but they don’t usually revolve around the latest emotional confessions shared with me in the dead of night.
I’m not alone in facing this challenge. This phenomenon—often referred to as “emotional labor” or “invisible labor”—frequently falls on mothers. As if juggling family schedules, managing chores, cooking, and planning for the future isn’t overwhelming enough, we also take on the role of family therapist. And trust me, it’s no small feat.
Listening to our children’s emotions is only part of the job. We also have to guide them through various life decisions, which grow increasingly complicated as they age. While our kids are ultimately responsible for their choices, the emotional weight often falls on us, too.
I understand this is a fundamental aspect of parenting, and honestly, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Yet, I often wish the responsibilities were more evenly distributed. Mark is more than willing to assist with emotional labor, especially after I pointed out the imbalance. But somehow, the role of family therapist has predominantly landed in my lap, and it seems unlikely to shift anytime soon.
Perhaps instead of lightening my “family therapist” duties, I should seek relief from some of the other invisible responsibilities I carry. But those tasks are firmly established as well.
I don’t have all the answers. I love my kids and treasure the bond we share, but I must acknowledge that it can be overwhelming. Sometimes, I feel like I might burst from the weight of their emotions, fears, and concerns. If you find yourself in a similar position, know that you’re not alone. We can love our children and recognize that this role can be tough, allowing ourselves to admit that we need a break.
Maybe what we really need is a family therapist of our own—someone who can sit with us as we share our worries, brush our hair aside and reassure us that everything will be okay, helping us unwind and regain our sense of peace. Now that would be wonderful.
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In summary, being the family’s emotional anchor can be both a privilege and a burden. While I cherish the trust my children have in me, it’s essential to acknowledge the impact this role has on my emotional well-being.