I’m Not A Superhero: The Exhaustion of Having to Do It All

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There is a particular kind of exhaustion that comes from being the person who is responsible for everything. It isn’t just the physical work of running a household. It’s the mental load, the emotional responsibility, the constant decision-making, and the never-ending feeling that if something goes wrong, you are the person who has to figure it out. When you’re single and divorced, there isn’t necessarily a built-in partner to help pick up the slack. There isn’t someone standing beside you who can say, “I’ve got this. Go rest.” There isn’t someone who automatically steps in when you’re sick, overwhelmed, exhausted, or simply at the end of your rope. The responsibilities don’t disappear just because you’re doing them alone. If anything, they can feel even heavier because there is no one else in the household who can automatically share them.

Everything still has to get done. The bills have to be paid, groceries have to be bought, the house has to be cleaned, appointments have to be scheduled, errands have to be run, and decisions have to be made. When something breaks, you have to figure out whether you can fix it yourself, find someone who can fix it, or figure out how you’re going to pay for it. There are always things that need attention, and somehow, somewhere in the middle of all of that, you’re also supposed to take care of yourself. You’re supposed to prioritize your health, your finances, your career, your emotional well-being, your relationships, and your need for rest. It can feel like there simply aren’t enough hours in the day or enough energy left at the end of it to take care of yourself after you’ve spent so much time taking care of everything else.

One of the most frustrating parts of being the person in charge, though, is the assumptions people make. Once people see that you’ve managed to handle things on your own, they begin to assume that you can handle anything. You’ve fixed things before, so they assume you’ll fix the next thing. You’ve managed a difficult situation, so they assume the next difficult situation won’t bother you. You’re independent, so they assume you don’t need help. You’ve always figured things out, so they assume you’ll just figure this out too. What they don’t always see is that there is a huge difference between being capable of doing something and actually having the time, energy, physical ability, or desire to do it yourself.

Take my 7.5-foot Christmas tree, for example. It spends the majority of the year on a high shelf in my garage, and I cannot get it down or put it back by myself. I know, shocking, right? Apparently being a single woman who manages an entire household does not automatically come with the ability to magically retrieve a giant Christmas tree from a shelf 9 feet above my head. I am perfectly capable of handling a lot of things, but I’m also realistic enough to know when something requires another person. I need someone who is taller, stronger, or simply has an extra set of hands. And no, I am not going to risk climbing on my 6-foot ladder, wrestling a giant Christmas tree box down from a high shelf, and potentially ending up in the emergency room just to prove that I can do everything myself. I’m not Wonder Woman.

That may sound funny, but there is actually something bigger behind that Christmas tree. There is an expectation placed on women, especially women who have demonstrated that they are independent and capable, that we should somehow be able to handle everything. We become the people who organize, plan, remember, manage, repair, pay, schedule, coordinate, and care for everyone else. We become the person who knows when the bills are due, what needs to be repaired, what needs to be purchased, who needs a phone call, which appointment is coming up, and what problem needs to be dealt with next. It’s not just the work itself; it’s carrying the mental list of everything that needs to be done. Even when you’re sitting down, your mind is still going. Even when you’re supposed to be relaxing, you’re thinking about what you forgot, what needs to happen tomorrow, or what unexpected expense might be waiting around the corner.

I think people sometimes confuse necessity with ability. Just because I’ve had to learn how to do something doesn’t mean I should be expected to do everything. Just because I’ve managed a household on my own doesn’t mean every responsibility automatically belongs to me. And just because I’ve become good at solving problems doesn’t mean I don’t get tired of having to solve them. There are plenty of things I can do, and there are plenty of things I will continue to do because that’s life. But there are also things I shouldn’t have to do alone, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with admitting that.

Being independent can be empowering, but it can also be incredibly frustrating. The hardest part of being single isn’t necessarily being alone in the traditional sense. It’s not having another adult in the household who can step in when you can’t. It’s not having someone who sees that you’re exhausted and says, “I’ll take care of dinner tonight.” It’s not having someone who notices the problem before you have to explain it, handles an errand when you’re overwhelmed, takes care of the thing that’s been sitting on your to-do list for three weeks, or simply looks at you and says, “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got this.”

That’s what I think people sometimes misunderstand about being single after divorce. It’s not necessarily that you want someone to rescue you. I don’t. I’ve already learned how to rescue myself. I’ve learned how to make decisions, solve problems, pay bills, manage a home, deal with emergencies, and keep moving forward even when things are difficult. But there is a big difference between knowing that you can take care of yourself and wanting to have to take care of everything yourself. Sometimes you don’t want a rescuer. You just want a teammate.

And there is another layer to all of this that can be difficult to explain: caring for yourself while you’re busy caring for everyone and everything else. We’re constantly told that we need to practice self-care, set boundaries, get enough sleep, exercise, eat well, take time for ourselves, and protect our mental health. All of those things are important, but sometimes self-care feels like one more responsibility on an already overflowing list. When you’re responsible for so many other things, even resting can make you feel guilty because there is always something else that could be getting done. You can finally sit down, but instead of relaxing, you’re thinking about the laundry, the bills, the repairs, the grocery list, the upcoming appointment, or the thing you need to remember tomorrow.

The truth is that being capable doesn’t mean you aren’t exhausted. Being independent doesn’t mean you don’t need help. Being strong doesn’t mean you should have to be strong every minute of every day. And being the woman who keeps everything together doesn’t mean you should have to carry the entire weight of the household without ever asking anyone else to help.

I can be proud of the fact that I’ve built a life I can manage on my own and still admit that sometimes it’s really hard. I can appreciate my independence and still wish I had someone beside me to share the responsibilities. I can love and care for the people in my life and still need someone to care for me sometimes. Those things aren’t contradictory. They’re human.

So, if you’re a single woman who has suddenly found herself responsible for everything, I want you to know that you’re not failing because you’re tired. You’re not weak because you need help. And you certainly don’t have to prove your strength by doing things that were never meant to be done alone. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is acknowledge that something is too much, ask for help, and let someone else carry part of the load.

And if someone looks at you and says, “Oh, you’ll figure it out,” remember that you are allowed to say, “Actually, I need help with this one.”

Because maybe you can figure it out. Maybe you have figured out a thousand things before. But that doesn’t mean you should have to figure out the next thousand things alone.

And as for that 7.5-foot Christmas tree sitting on the high shelf in my garage? Well, I will have to find someone who can safely get it down for me.

I’m independent. I’m capable. I’m responsible.

But I’m not a superhero.

My Oldest Patient

Shortly after I completed my residency training in family medicine in 2004, I worked briefly for a company which offered mobile physician home visits. Though I soon realized that driving to patients wasn’t my thing, I definitely met some very interesting people during that time.

My favorite and most memorable patient from my mobile medicine days was an elderly woman, aged 105. During my hospital days, I had seen and treated a number of centenarians, but this woman was the oldest. I was called upon to visit this woman’s home (I’ll call her Mary) to perform a blood pressure check and manage her hypertension. She lived in a charming duplex which was erected circa 1905. I knocked on the door and when the door opened, a friendly middle-aged man greeted me and introduced me as Mary’s caregiver (let’s name him Tim).

The interior of the duplex was a time capsule. I honestly felt like I had stepped into the 1920’s, because everything in the place was from that era: lamps, paintings, coffee cups, pens, furniture, curtains, pillows, etc. As my eyes scanned the room, I saw Mary sitting in a large chair with a walker in front of her. Mary’s face certainly was old and her body was frail, but she possessed fire in her eyes and a sassy attitude to match. I thought of how this woman, born in 1899, was witness to three different centuries, as a result of the year she was born as well as the longevity which extended her time on planet Earth far beyond that of the average person.

Mary smiled at me and motioned for me to come over.
MARY: “Well you’re a pretty young lady…what’s your name?”
ME: “Hello Mary, I’m Dr. Naito.”
MARY: “DOCTOR??? DOCTOR??? Tim, what have you tricked me into? Why do we have a doctor here?” Mary’s brow was furrowed.
TIM: “Well Mary, since you refused to take your blood pressure medicine, and since your blood pressure reading was very high today, I had to call the mobile doctor service to come see you. Now be nice to the doctor, will you please?”

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At this point I asked Mary if I could take her blood pressure again, and she consented. I took her blood pressure reading: 175/95. I began to ask Mary questions: was she in pain anywhere, did she have a headache, was she dizzy, was she nauseous, was her heart racing, was her vision blurry? I took her pulse: 78 and steady. Mary had no complaints. I then conducted a physical exam on her, which was completely normal. I then asked Mary if she would please take her blood pressure medication immediately, to which she also consented. Once Mary took the medication, I informed her that we would wait about 30 minutes to assess her response to it. She responded by saying, “Well I like you, young doctor! We’re going to have a nice chat!”

The next 30 minutes were incredibly fascinating and funny as Mary settled into a stream of vignettes about her life, focusing mostly on her days as a true flapper, wild and carefree, wearing short dresses, “necking” with handsome young men, hanging out in jazz clubs, and being a general troublemaker. One of those young men managed to steal her heart, and they married in 1922. She spoke about how she became an actress quite by accident when her husband, who was a Hollywood film producer, began to cast her in his films. Mary and her husband were more interested in traveling the world and investing their money than buying an expensive home, so they lived in their modest duplex from 1922 until his death almost 60 years later, and Mary refused to move into an assisted living facility when she became an invalid. It was the same duplex I was visiting that day.

After thirty minutes of hearing the most engaging stories about Mary’s life, I didn’t want to interrupt her. But I was working, after all, so I told her I needed to re-take her blood pressure. This time it was 138/72 and Mary was still completely asymptomatic. I told Mary that it was time for me to go and began gathering my supplies.
MARY: “Oh no you don’t! You’re going to drink a martini with me. It’s my nightly ritual. Been doing it since I was 20 years old.”
ME: “Every night since 20?”
MARY: “Yes indeed. It’s kept me sane all these years, and I enjoy it.”
ME: “But I need to drive over the hill, and it’s rush hour.”
MARY: “Oh please! Now stop complaining and just sit. Tim, make my usual times two.”

After several minutes Tim emerged from the kitchen with two double gin martinis. I don’t like gin, but I wasn’t about to complain or refuse to drink the martini. Mary and I (actually, she talked and I listened) continued to talk for another 30 minutes while sipping on our cocktails. The martini was STRONG but well made, so I continued sipping. Mary polished off her entire martini like the martini drinking expert she was, and motioned to me when she took her last sip. “Well, dear? You’ve got some left in there.” I had to finish the last couple of sips of my martini while Mary watched me, making sure I did so. Once I did, she smiled warmly. “That’s my girl!”, she beamed.

I gathered my belongings and said goodbye to her, and when she motioned for a hug, I walked over to her and wrapped my arms around her. She hugged me and patted my back with her hand.

I never saw her after that.