Life as a woman comes with its own challenges, so it’s perfectly fine to prioritize yourself a little.
The Iron
I hate ironing. This chore used to feel like a burden. One day, I just sat there staring at the huge pile of clothes to iron and felt like crying. I couldn’t do it. That evening, I told my husband and kids, "That’s it from me—I’m done ironing, sorry." And you know what? Life went on. My husband started buying wrinkle-free shirts, my eldest daughter stopped treating slightly wrinkled clothes like a disaster and even irons things herself when needed. As for me, I just hang clothes more neatly. Since my “ironing strike,” my quality of life has improved a lot because every Sunday afternoon is now free.
Setting Boundaries
For two years, I bought coffee, sugar, and milk for my workplace without any thanks or compensation. When I stopped, my colleagues were almost outraged and confronted me. I simply told them, "My term is over—someone else will do it for the next two years." It’s incredibly freeing when you finally stand your ground.
Breakfast
I got tired of waking up an hour earlier every morning to make a big breakfast for my family, only for my daughter to nibble, my son to eat two bites because he was always late, and my husband to stick to his usual buttered toast. One morning, I turned off the alarm and slept in. My husband was surprised to find me still in bed when he woke up, and the kids were wandering confused in the kitchen. I told them we were starting a new chapter—everyone makes their own breakfast now. (Besides, I don’t usually eat breakfast anyway.) They accepted it, and none of them have gone hungry since. Meanwhile, I get to sleep an hour longer every day.
The Overachiever
I realized no one expected me to be a supermom except myself. Now, we order pizza once a week for dinner, and once my husband picks up Chinese food on his way home. Thanks to this, I can go to two workouts a week, which makes me so much happier.
The Legacy
During my first marriage, I realized that despite my promises not to be like my mother, I had become just as much of a “household martyr.” I quickly divorced and entered my second marriage with more sense, making sure not to overwhelm my husband early on. Our rule is to take turns cooking—he cooks one day, I cook the next. Everyone washes their own laundry. (Really!) The cleaning is done by our lovely neighbor, whom we pay half each, and it works perfectly: we go out together every Saturday, and when we come home, the house is spotless. This way, there’s never any arguing over who cooks, cleans, or does laundry.
The Traffic Jam
I used to drive my kid to practice twice a week. We’d crawl through traffic on the way there, I’d wait sleepily for the class to end, then rush home. One day, I asked myself, is this normal? My kid’s not that little anymore… I took public transit with him twice, and since then he goes alone. He loves the independence and hanging out with friends after practice. Meanwhile, I get to catch up with friends or do yoga. Win-win for everyone.
Training
I was waiting in the living room, scrolling on my phone, while my boyfriend was running late. When he came out of the shower, he commented that I really could have taken down the drying rack… At his place, not mine. We’d been together two months. I swallowed the comment and while he got dressed, I quietly took down the rack and folded his clothes—all inside out. He never asked me to do any housework again.
The Dishes
For some reason, my family expected me to do the dishes at every gathering. They’d be chatting in the living room long after the meal, while I was still scrubbing away. No one ever thanked me, so one time I purposely left every plate and glass dirty. I did this twice more, and the next time my aunt said, “Barbika, leave the dishes—come chat with us instead.” It was that simple.
Oops, Sorry
Once my boyfriend asked me to iron a shirt because he was in a hurry, and from then on, he expected me to iron for him. I weighed the situation and decided I didn’t owe him that, but I didn’t want conflict either. Next time, I intentionally ironed the shirt badly. He noticed, and I just said, “Oops, sorry.” Then I burned a deep crease into his favorite T-shirt, and that was the last time I ironed for him.
