The mental/emotional loads we carry.

Identifying problem areas and learning to let go.

We all carry mental and emotional loads (invisible burdens), whether we realize it or not. I didn’t know there was a name for this until I picked up a graphic novel called Mental Load, by Emma, a French cartoonist who described the concept from a feminist perspective. The book was eye-opening and helpful because, like all things that give language to my experience, I felt relieved that others had named, understood, and provided much-needed insight about the topic.

I immediately asked my husband to read the book so that he could understand the mental load I carried, especially as it related to our home life. And since he was “guilty” of doing what the book identified—always willing to help, all I had to do was ask—I was hopeful he would have an aha moment that would change a particularly heavy (for me) relationship dynamic, which was that I didn’t want to have to ask. I wanted him to know what I knew. To see what I saw. To feel what I felt. And then, do the things. I had the same expectations (though I would never admit it at the time) about his understanding of me as a person. I wanted him to understand what I needed and wanted without me having to say or explain anything. 🙄

Thank goodness I eventually came to my senses and realized how unreasonable and unrealistic my expectations were, even if I did still want more awareness (emotional, in particular) from my husband. But it did make me wonder where my ideas about what I expected from my partner—in this case, my desire for him to read my mind (okay, I said it) and anticipate my needs—came from. I was also curious about why I had such difficulty asking for help.

Mental Load Example

There are three parts to my mental load: initial, active, and external.

Part 1: Initial Load

Initial load is what’s pre-loaded into my consciousness from the time I wake up in the morning. Last week, as we prepared to leave for a week-long road trip, I wrote down everything I had to do before we left (making a list helps me to feel less anxious because I’m less likely to forget things).

Here’s what I wrote on my list:

• Do laundry and pack. (Packing, for me, means to think through and gather everything needed by me, my husband, and our two dogs. My husband takes care of his own packing, but I do special things he doesn’t think to do, yet appreciates. He’s also good at packing for the dogs, but we problem-solve in different ways, so it’s easier if we take turns.)

• Vacuum the car. (It’s filthy, and since I’m the one bothered by it, I take it upon myself to add this to my list.)

• Mow the lawn (We have a manual push lawn mower and a small lawn that I enjoy mowing. I could leave this until we return, but it has been bugging me, so it stays on the list.)

• Remove the cobwebs around the front of the house, which seem to have multiplied overnight!

• Finish designing a children’s book I’m co-creating with my grandmother. All I have left to do is design the cover, prep, and upload the files to Amazon. (I should be able to get this done today.)

• Stop by the office to check mail, deposit checks, and scan papers requested by our accountant. (I work part-time for a non-profit organization.)

• Contact the Bed and Breakfast where we’re staying to let them know we’ll be arriving late. Ask the owner if she ended up getting a puppy (when I booked, she mentioned that she might); If so, we need a plan for the dogs to meet outside when we arrive. Find out if she provides coffee (the good stuff) or if I should bring my own.

• Talk to my friend about joining me after an upcoming work trip to Amsterdam so we can explore and have fun together. Also, text our dog walker to see if he’s available to help my husband walk the dogs some while I’m gone.

• See the Mary Oliver documentary today at 1:10 p.m. (I could push this out until we get back, but I feel like it would be good for my soul to see it now, so I’m gonna make it happen.)

• Wash the dogs (smell them first to make sure they really need it).

• Continue working on (and possibly finish?) this essay.

Part II: Active Load

Active load is what’s added to my mental load as I go about my day. For example,

• • I open the fridge to get some coconut water and am reminded that I’ve been meaning to clean all the areas with sticky food drippings, and wipe out the debris at the bottom of the fruit and veggie drawers. I also need to toss the almond milk that’s passed its expiry and leftovers from the dinner party we had two weeks ago. I make a mental note to do this before we head out.

  • I go downstairs to the basement and see that the dehumidifier is full. I make a mental note to empty it, but first, I have to go potty. While I’m on the toilet, I remember that I wanted to swap the new loofah that’s in the basement bathroom with the one in our master bathroom that’s ready to be tossed. I notice that we’re low on toilet paper and make a mental note to add that to the grocery list I keep on my phone. I need to add Q-tips—I keep forgetting! My husband ran out of deodorant this morning, so I’ll bring the one from this bathroom upstairs for him to use until I order more.

  • As I start to head upstairs, I notice a basket full of dirty laundry, so I place a load in the washer. I then empty the water in the dehumidifier and notice that the blankets on the guest bed are unmade. I fold the blankets, then start to go upstairs, but halfway up, I realize I forgot the loofah and deodorant, so I go back down to grab them. Meanwhile, my dogs have appeared at my feet, both staring at me with a toy in their mouths, inviting me to play. Unable to resist such cuteness, I play tug for a few minutes, before dramatically saying—oookay, Mama’s tired—which is their cue that playtime has ended.

  • I notice that their water bowl is almost empty. I scrub it clean with a soapy sponge (because I read that bacteria can multiply rapidly, and I want to provide our dogs with the best life) and fill it with fresh, filtered water.

• • It’s almost lunchtime. I ask my husband what he wants to eat, giving him a few options based on what we have left in the fridge. I begin to prep our food and remember that again, I forgot to grab the loofah and deodorant. I make a mental note to grab them the next time I go downstairs.

The scene above—noticing, forgetting, remembering—occurred within 10 minutes. I am not always this active, but this is typical of a peak mental load.

Part III: External Loads

External loads are feelings, impressions, and worries I take on from

• • intimate relationships (my husband, close friends, family);

  • conversations with neighbors and people I meet while walking my dogs;

  • random observations of people (and interactions) while driving or running errands;

  • the Internet: reading the news, social media, websites, ads.

I have the most control over my external load because I can limit my exposure. When reading the news becomes too much for me, I can stop for a while. When I need a break from people, I can spend more time at home resting and doing things on my own.

When Mental Load Becomes a Problem

Mental load is not necessarily negative. It helps us to keep track of tasks that we need and/or want to do—things that are important to us. Mine became problematic when I started to feel burdened, overwhelmed, and resentful that my partner wasn’t doing the things I wanted (without me having to ask). From his perspective, the things he did to help were never right or good enough (for me), so he thought it was better to wait and hear what I had in mind.

After years of living with this relationship dynamic, I realized that the problem wasn’t so much that I needed help around the house, but that I was overly burdened by the following tendencies:

• Placing the needs of others before myself (and masking).

• Emotional merging.

• Perfectionism.

Placing the Needs of Others Before Myself (and Masking)

Some time during childhood, I learned to behave well (around adults) and become a “niña bonita”—a pretty girl who wore dresses, when required, and did as she was told. But I wasn’t the dress-wearing type. I was happiest in plaid shirts (or tees), jeans with holes in them (before that was even a thing), and tennis shoes. I had long, unruly hair that my mom had cut off once because I refused to comb it. I learned to behave appropriately for those who required it, but on my own, I was curious, adventurous, and a little wild. My grandma Iris tells me that I used to be the boss of the kids in my neighborhood. I’d give them instructions, and they’d follow me around like I was their mama duck. I can see that part of my personality in some of my earlier childhood photos.

My parents were young when I was born—Mom was 19, Dad was 18. I was the first grandchild and niece on both sides of my family, so many family members were involved in my upbringing—all with different ideas about what I could and couldn’t do. Plus, there were cultural differences. My mom’s family was Nicaraguan. My dad’s paternal side was Greek, and his mother’s family was Scottish, Irish, and Dutch.

Masking

I started masking (doing what was required to fit in with my environment, and concealing all the ways I was different) as a child because it was the easiest way for me to get what I wanted. I was (and am) strong-willed and strong-minded, but so were all the other characters in my family. Since they were the adults and I was the child, I learned to do things their way (on the surface). Thank goodness, my stubborn nature persisted, and I always found a way to (secretly) be myself. My dad once criticized me, saying that I was sneaky, but who could blame me?

I also masked around my schoolmates, who were white (not mixed-race, like me). I did things like ask my mom not to speak Spanish in front of my friends and told the kids in my new neighborhood that my name was Amy. This worked until she overheard someone calling out to me, yelling Amy, and then, after a kid knocked on our door asking if Amy could come out to play, she put two and two together.

Now that I’m an adult, there’s no reason for me to hide or to feel like I can’t be myself, but since I developed this pattern in early childhood (and it was helpful to me at the time), it’s been a tough habit to break.

Emotional Merging

Empaths and highly sensitive persons (HSPs) tend to struggle with emotional merging. Before I met my husband, I was in an intimate relationship with a woman for 7 years. It was my first same-sex relationship, and one of the things I was drawn to was how emotionally in sync the two of us were—like all the time, with everything. I could look at her and intuit what she was thinking and feeling, and vice versa. Our conversations flowed beautifully, and I enjoyed not having to explain myself. I thought I had discovered the gold standard for relating. But like all things that have shadow aspects, the flip side of our closeness was inappropriate merging—a lack of boundaries. I became overly suspicious, controlling, and manipulative. Some of my reactions were justified; most were not. Our relationship did not end well, and afterwards, I decided that I preferred dating men—in particular, ones with healthy boundaries.

I was fortunate that the man I fell in love with and married wasn’t controlling or manipulative. His patience and kindness helped me to feel safe and at ease. That’s the great part. The not-so-great part was that my tendency to merge inappropriately reemerged in different and more subtle ways. Maybe I didn’t intentionally try to control my husband’s behavior, but I always tried to figure out (intuit) his emotional state before I felt comfortable doing things for myself. This led to awkward behaviors, such as me asking what he wanted for dinner (or any other question), and when he’d give a response, I’d tell him why I didn’t want what he said. At the time, I had trouble saying, “Honey, I’m craving pizza. How does that sound to you?”

I’ve learned the most about healthy boundaries by watching my husband navigate his relationships and life in general. Sometimes the best way to learn a new skill is to have it modelled for us (or with us). I don’t mean to imply that my husband is perfect—he’s not—but he’s much better at some things than I am, and this is one area where he’s been a tremendous help to me. I’m also fortunate to have a mother with healthy boundaries. We have a great relationship, and my respect for her is boundless.

I’m much better now at staying energetically present with myself while engaging with another person. But it does require a high level of awareness, and it helps to be well-rested and not overstimulated.

Perfectionism

I have high standards. I like the fact that I’m this way. I enjoy taking time to do all the little things that make things look and feel good—it’s a reflection of my care. I don’t have the energy to do this with everything, but when I do, it makes me feel joyful—happy even. It’s when my exacting standards cause me to be hard on myself (or someone else), or when I am dissatisfied with the way things are, that perfectionism becomes a problem.

One of the ways that my creative mind works is that I envision perfect outcomes. I do this with just about everything.

If our car needs to be washed, I remember what the car looked and felt like after we last had it professionally detailed. But, I don’t want to pay $250 to have it detailed, so instead, I spend 20 minutes “washing” the car using a mini-vacuum and wet wipes. Then, when I’m done, I’m frustrated that I didn’t get what I really wanted, which was to have the car detailed—without spending $250. 🙄

I love to eat out and have special memories of enjoying meals with loved ones at good restaurants. I wish I had the budget to eat out all the time, but I don’t. Plus, I don’t feel great when I eat out too much, so I have been trying to create special meals at home. I do okay, but oftentimes, I am disappointed with the outcome. What I’d like is to feel happy to have tried.

I’m good at not expecting others to be perfect—it’s mostly something that I do to myself. 🙁 I move in and out of my ability to let things go and to accept things as they are. When I do this well, I definitely feel better.

Why Asking for Help is Difficult

I struggle asking for help for several reasons—some positive, others not so much.

• • I value keeping people in a state of freedom. If my husband is reading a book, I assume he’s enjoying himself, and I don’t want to interrupt his peace. He does a lot for me, and I enjoy seeing him happy.

  • I want people to feel safe being who they truly are. If my husband is comfortable with the cleanliness level of the car, I want him to be able to live accordingly. The last thing I want is for him to feel like he has to mask with me.

  • I once asked for help when I really needed it and was told “no” by someone close to me. I felt humiliated, and what I did as a result felt unsafe. I don’t wish to go into the details, but the experience stung and left me feeling like I never wanted to put myself in that kind of predicament again. I felt shame for having asked.

  • I believe that how I like things done is too much for people. Why would they spend time perfecting something they may not even notice or care about? It’s not their priority, it’s mine—therefore, I take it upon myself to do things my way.

  • I believe that who I am can be too much for people. When I’m truly myself and share my innermost thoughts, it can trigger them. Plus, sometimes they don’t really understand what I’m trying to say. This isn’t necessarily their fault—there is so much depth to what I feel, it takes a lot of unpacking for me to get everything out. What I say is nuanced and, at times, paradoxical, and I can’t always find the words to express myself. It has taken my husband and me many years to understand how to communicate and to (semi)understand one another. I don’t expect my friends or colleagues to hang in there while I try to explain my rationale for everything I’m thinking and feeling—even understanding my feelings takes a lot of time and self-excavation (another HSP fun fact!).

I believe that underneath my difficulty asking for help is probably a deep-rooted (unconscious) fear of survival. Something to the effect that if I have too many desires and expectations, or if I’m too hard to deal with, I may not be liked or loved. And if I’m not liked or loved, I won’t have what I need to survive, so I try to avoid being a burden to others.

This is problematic because I’m not giving myself the same privilege that I readily give to others. This hits at the heart of my self-worth and self-esteem. So, the question I pose to myself is: Am I worth it!?

Deep down, I know that I am (I believe that we all are!), which leads to another question: How can I hold others in a state of freedom and create an environment where they are comfortable being themselves, while also doing the same for myself?

I know that change doesn’t happen overnight and that I need to be patient with myself. I also know that the only way out of a difficult situation is to go through it. The bottom line is that I have to be willing to share the deeper parts of myself with others, to ask for what I want and need, and to trust in their ability to establish their own boundaries. This is not an easy thing for me to do, but it’s the only way that I can evolve in the ways my soul craves.