Like many women my age, I grew up watching women work themselves to the bone. The area where I was raised in the Midwest was full of settlers from Europe – hardworking people raising their families. My family was no different.
Both my parents worked very hard, but my mother worked non-stop. She raised five children and was also caretaker for her father and her mother-in-law who both lived in our house for years. She volunteered in the local community and was always the first person to bring over a meal for someone in need. She did all of this silently and with a smile. She gave so much of herself to everyone else.
I learned, without being told, that love is something you prove through effort. That your worth is measured by what you give, how much you carry, how many needs you meet before your own. And, the women of my generation, late Gen-Xers, often had the societal messaging of “having it all” meaning in addition to the domestic responsibilities and care for the community we also got to be career moms. This working around the clock was the model, the inheritance passed down, and at the time, it was love.
I’ve come to understand that this equation—love = labor—was never the truth of love.
It was a survival strategy, passed down by women who didn’t have another option. Women who lived in times and systems where rest wasn’t safe, receiving wasn’t modeled, and asking for help felt like weakness.
Now I know: that belief is not mine to carry anymore.
I have now learned the need to over-function – or do “my part”. I am practicing the art of receiving without guilt. It still feels unfamiliar at times, but I no longer confuse exhaustion with devotion. I can offer a sincere “thank you” without needing to give something back immediately. I can rest without apology.
And here’s the miracle: when I do, I feel my ancestors cheering. I’m serious about this part. They cheer me on not because I’m doing what they did—but because I’m doing what they couldn’t.
I cannot tell you how often, I hear women say things like,
“I couldn’t possibly hire cleaning help—I don’t work outside the home.”
“My grandmother would roll over in her grave if she saw me resting while there were dishes in the sink.”
“I feel guilty if I’m not doing something productive.”
But guilt is not a virtue. And struggle is not a legacy we’re meant to preserve. If we are blessed enough not to be in survival mode, don’t re-create it from a subconscious sense of lack.
We honor the women before us not by repeating their exhaustion, but by embodying the freedom they dreamed of.
That is ancestral repair. That is progress. That is love in a new form. If you are a woman learning to do things differently, like me, know this –- You are not betraying anyone. You are healing us all.
Love and Light,
Ellen
Leave a Reply