Words by Anita Nash // Photo by Bethany Beck
There was a time I believed I could do it all. Work deadlines, school lunches, the emotional load of parenting, somehow, I’d be the one to carry it all, with a calm smile and a packed calendar. Asking for help felt like admitting defeat. Like I wasn’t trying hard enough. Something I now know to be a burden almostly always placed on women.
But behind the scenes, I was crumbling.
I’d stay up late folding laundry and answering emails, trying to feel caught up. I’d say “yes” to everything: extra work meetings, playdates, volunteer shifts at school, even when I was stretched so thin I felt translucent. And if I ever did get help, I’d apologise for it, over-explain it, or feel a gnawing guilt that kept me up at night.
That guilt? It was ever-present. The “you should be able to handle this” voice, reminding me I was falling short. I had internalised this idea that if I wasn’t self-sacrificing to the point of exhaustion, I wasn’t a good parent.
It took hitting a wall (emotionally and physically) to finally question that belief. I started seeing a therapist who asked me, very plainly, “Why do you think asking for help makes you less of a parent?” I didn’t have a clear answer. Just a lifetime of watching women do it all, without complaint, without pause.
So, I began experimenting. Not with huge changes at first, but little ones. I started keeping track of the things that were overwhelming me each day: school pickup logistics, work deadlines, the emotional whiplash of parenting a toddler. Then I divided my stress into buckets: logistical, emotional, practical. What could I outsource? What could I let go?
It felt strange at first, delegating tasks that I had quietly assigned myself years ago. But something surprising happened: I felt lighter. I had more patience. More energy. More clarity.
Letting go of the perfectionist mindset allows parents to prioritise their mental health and well-being. Outsourcing certain responsibilities, such as enrolling kids in quality daycare or finding a kindergarten near you, allows more room for emotional availability and presence for the child. Recognising personal limitations is a crucial step in developing healthier mental health boundaries.
This wasn’t about giving up. It was about showing up—for my kids, my job, and myself—in a more sustainable way.
I also began setting clearer boundaries at work. I let my manager know I couldn’t take calls past 5:30. I moved my deep-focus tasks to earlier in the day so I wasn’t scrambling at bedtime. And I stopped apologising for parenting. I didn’t over-explain when I needed to leave early for a school event or take a sick day. I simply stated it. That was enough.
A spot at The Work Project coworking also helped me separate home and work more intentionally.
Assertiveness, I learned, isn’t aggression. It’s clarity. It’s the quiet confidence to say: “This is what I need right now,” without justifying why.
I also changed how I talked about support at home. My partner and I began doing weekly “family check-ins” where we’d go over what was coming up, who was doing what, and how we were both feeling. These ten-minute chats turned out to be game-changers. The mental load didn’t disappear, but it no longer sat squarely on my shoulders.
I even involved my kids. They started packing their own lunch boxes (chaotic at first, but now they love the independence), and we talked about why rest is important—for everyone, not just grown-ups. We also looked at simple ways to make this routine safer – like taking a quick food hygiene course together to learn basic kitchen safety. Modeling these boundaries felt like giving them a gift.
Most importantly, I stopped seeing help as a transaction—something I’d owe someone for. I started receiving it with gratitude. Saying, “Thank you, that really helps,” instead of, “I’m so sorry, I should’ve done that myself.” That small shift changed how I saw my worth.
These days, I still feel guilt sometimes, it’s sneaky like that. But I don’t let it steer the ship. If I’m tired, I rest. If I need help, I ask. If someone offers support, I say yes. That’s the new version of strength I want my kids to witness.
So no, I don’t do it all. But I’m more present, more grounded, and more human than I was before. And that, I’ve come to believe, is more than enough.
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