Finding Our Footing: When Parenting Feels Like Solo Duty
It’s Friday night. The familiar sounds of bath time fill our small apartment – splashing water, giggles, the occasional protest from our energetic two-year-old, Mia. But tonight, there’s another sound missing: the jingle of keys, the hum of the car pulling away. My partner, Sarah (26), is meeting friends downtown. And me? I’m here, feeling a familiar knot tighten in my stomach. I love her, deeply. But honestly? I don’t like that she goes out while I’m home with Mia. It feels… unbalanced. And I know I’m not alone in wrestling with this feeling.
It’s not about controlling her freedom. Sarah is an incredible mother and her own person. She deserves time with friends, space to breathe, moments that aren’t defined solely by ‘Mom’. That’s non-negotiable for her sanity, and frankly, for the health of our relationship. I get it. Intellectually, I champion it.
But emotionally? That’s where the disconnect happens. When she walks out the door, especially on a weekend evening after we’ve both slogged through demanding workweeks, a wave of resentment often washes over me. It’s tangled up with exhaustion, sure. Chasing a toddler is physically demanding. But it’s more than fatigue.
Why the Unease Settles In:
1. The Weight of Solo Responsibility: Suddenly, it’s all on me. Every spill, every sudden meltdown, every request for “just one more story” lands squarely on my shoulders. There’s no tag-teaming, no quick “Can you grab that?” or sharing the mental load of keeping Mia safe, entertained, and settled. It feels like being on high alert, alone.
2. Perceived Inequality: This is the big one. We both work full-time. We both adore Mia. We both need downtime. So why does her downtime often look like drinks with friends, while mine frequently looks like solo bedtime duty followed by collapsing on the couch? It breeds a feeling that my need for personal time isn’t valued equally, or that the parenting burden isn’t truly shared fifty-fifty.
3. Missing Out (FOMO Isn’t Just for Teens): When she’s out socializing, laughing, connecting with adults, I’m knee-deep in blocks and board books. While I cherish my time with Mia, there’s a pang of missing out on that adult connection and relaxation myself. It can feel isolating, especially if my own social life has naturally shrunk since parenthood.
4. Undercurrents of Anxiety: Sometimes, less rationally, there’s a low hum of worry. What if something happens while she’s out? What if Mia gets sick? It feels harder to handle solo. While irrational, that anxiety adds to the overall unease.
5. Unspoken Expectations: We never explicitly agreed that weekend evenings were automatically “me time” for her. It just… happened. And because we haven’t tackled it head-on, resentment quietly built up on my side, likely while she felt guilt or defensiveness on hers.
Beyond the Resentment: Finding Fairness
Acknowledging these feelings is step one. But stewing in resentment helps no one – not Sarah, not me, and certainly not Mia, who picks up on our tension. The goal isn’t to stop Sarah from going out; it’s to create a dynamic where both of us feel our needs are acknowledged and met more fairly. Here’s what we’re learning:
1. Talk Before the Resentment Boils Over: Waiting until she’s heading out the door to express frustration is a recipe for disaster. We needed a calm moment, away from Mia, to talk honestly. My approach shifted from “I hate when you go out” to “I feel overwhelmed and lonely when I’m solely responsible for Mia on weekend evenings. I also miss having dedicated time for myself or us as a couple. Can we figure out a better balance?”
2. Define “Fair,” Not Identical: Fairness doesn’t mean we get the exact same type or amount of downtime on the same nights. It means our needs for personal time and rest are given equal weight in the planning. Maybe Sarah thrives on Friday nights out, while I prefer a Saturday afternoon hike or uninterrupted gaming time.
3. Schedule It (Seriously!): This felt awkward at first, almost too formal. But scheduling our “off-duty” times has been revolutionary. We look at the week ahead – work schedules, appointments, potential babysitters – and literally block out time for each of us. Knowing “Thursday evening is Sarah’s night” and “Sunday afternoon is my time” eliminates the guesswork and the resentment. It makes her time out feel planned and agreed upon, not like an imposition.
4. Embrace the “Swap”: If Sarah wants a spontaneous Tuesday dinner after work? Great! But we’ve agreed it means I get an equivalent block of time later that week or weekend, no questions asked. It’s a simple trade-off that acknowledges the exchange of responsibility.
5. Prioritize Couple Time Too: Often, resentment builds because the only time we get is either parenting time or solo time. We were neglecting us. Scheduling regular date nights (even simple ones at home after Mia’s asleep) or just dedicated time to connect without distractions reminds us we’re partners, not just co-managers of a tiny human.
6. Acknowledge the Season: We constantly remind ourselves: this is intense. The toddler phase, especially with demanding careers, is a pressure cooker. It won’t always be this hard. Giving each other grace – understanding that sometimes plans change, someone gets sick, or one of us is just more exhausted – is crucial. Flexibility within the framework is key.
7. Challenge the Guilt (Both Ways): Sarah used to feel guilty going out. I sometimes felt guilty wanting time away. We’re working on letting that go. Recharging individually makes us better partners and better parents. It’s an investment in the family, not a withdrawal.
The Ongoing Conversation
Do I always feel perfectly fine when Sarah heads out? Honestly? No. Some nights, fatigue still wins, and that old knot tries to reform. But it’s different now. Because we’ve talked about it. Because we have a plan. Because I know that my own dedicated time is coming, and it’s respected.
The resentment wasn’t about Sarah going out; it was about feeling unseen and unsupported in my own needs. By moving the conversation from blame (“You always go out!”) to shared problem-solving (“How can we both feel recharged and supported?”), we’re finding our footing.
It’s messy, it’s imperfect, and it requires constant communication. But the alternative – silent resentment building walls between us – was far worse. Parenting a toddler is tough enough. Doing it while feeling like you’re carrying an unequal load is unsustainable. Finding a fairer balance isn’t just about nights out; it’s about nurturing the partnership that makes this wild, beautiful, exhausting journey possible. And that’s something worth fighting for, together.
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