The Default Parent's Guide: What It Is, Why It Happens, and How to Actually Change It
If you're the person everyone turns to first—the one who knows where things are, what's coming next, what everyone needs—and you're exhausted by it, this is for you.
You're running on fumes. Snapping at people you love. Wondering if something is fundamentally broken about how you relate to responsibility, to control, to whether things will actually get done if you're not the one managing them. You feel the weight of it in your body—shoulders hunched, stomach tight, a low hum of dread that something will fall through the cracks if you're not paying attention.
Here's what I've noticed after coaching burned-out parents (and being one myself): nothing is broken in you. You've adapted to a pattern that became the safest way to navigate your family, your relationships, your world.
And like all adaptive patterns, it protected you once. But… maybe it has outlived its useful life and now it's eroding you from the inside.
This makes complete sense. And it's entirely recoverable.
A word about what this guide is: I could write a book about default parenting (and many people have—see the resources at the end). But sometimes you just need a mirror to help you see what you can't on your own, and a few entry points to start shifting. This is that. It's a starter guide. It's meant to validate your experience, give you language for what's happening, and offer you some concrete ways to begin—not fix everything overnight, but titrate up to real change, with self-compassion along the way.
What Default Parenting Actually Is
There's a parent I'll call Mena. She wakes at 5:30 AM, and before her feet hit the floor, her brain has already spun through a mental checklist: Did I sign the permission slip? Should I pack a lunch or buy? Is that beloved wear-every-day sweatshirt in the dryer or is it still wet? What are we eating tonight and has anyone eaten a vegetable recently? Does someone have a dentist appointment this week?
She gets the kids ready. Packs the backpack. Reminds them about the thing. Drives to school. Gets to work and for maybe four hours can actually focus.
Then her phone buzzes. School calls—no emergency, just checking on an allergy. She knows the answer because she knows all the answers.
That night: dinner, cleanup, bath time, homework, signing the permission slip, reading stories, getting kids to bed.
At 9 PM she sits down. Her partner asks, "What are we doing this weekend?" And she realizes: they both work full-time. They both help with tasks. But she's the one holding the map. Everything moves because she's quietly keeping track of it all.
This is default parenting.
One parent is always scanning. Always. Looking ahead, tracking details, noticing what's missing. The other parent is helpful and present, but they're not the one scanning. And your scanning parent's nervous system never rests. Even when they're not actively doing something, part of their brain stays on alert.
Research from Ohio State University backs this up. Even in homes where both parents work full-time and intend to split equally, one parent—statistically, usually the mother—ends up holding the majority of:
The mental load. Appointments, allergies, what's coming next week, what people need. Studies show mothers track significantly more of this than fathers, even when household tasks are split more equally.
The emotional labor. Being who everyone turns to first. Noticing what kids need before they ask. Sensing when someone's upset. Carrying responsibility for how everyone else is feeling.
The keep-it-running work. Meals, laundry, coordinating schedules, remembering deodorant and clean socks—and also the mental work of tracking all of it. Who notices the clothes are getting small? Who weeds through outsized, dirty, and ripped items to sort into donate, hand-me-downs, storage, and trash?
How to Tell If You're the Default Parent: A Checklist
This isn't about judgment. It's about recognition. Do any of these resonate?
People and Communication:
Your phone is the one they call when something unexpected happens (even if the other parent has a phone)
Kids seek you out first, even when the other parent is right there
When someone can't find something, they ask you instead of looking or asking the other parent
You're the one who people (kids, spouse, family) come to with problems to solve
When one of you isn't home, people ask "When will Mom/Dad be back?" to you, as if you're responsible for their schedule
You get texts during the day asking where things are, what to do, how to handle something
Knowledge and Information:
You know things—allergies, sizes, preferences, when appointments are—that nobody else does
You can recite what everyone ate yesterday; others can't
You know which kid needs what for school this week; your partner might not
You're the one who remembers medical history, food sensitivities, the names of teachers
When something has to be remembered, people rely on you to remember it
Problem-Solving and Decision-Making:
On paper you split things equally, but when something breaks from routine (sick kid, unexpected situation), you're the one who figures it out
When you're not home and something unexpected happens, people text you for direction
You step in when you see the other parent struggling, not sure what to do, or doing it "wrong"
You give instructions, reminders, and sometimes nag or hover because you're not confident things will happen the way they need to
You're the one who's thinking ahead—packing bags the night before, checking weather, planning what to wear
You can't quite rest because you're tracking whether the other parent remembered to pack snacks, check homework, etc.
Emotional and Mental Responsibility:
You're the backup for everything, even when someone else is "in charge"
You worry about whether your spouse and kids are okay—emotionally, physically, socially — often, even when they’re fine, or in developmentally appropriate moments of struggle
You notice when someone seems off, sad, or overwhelmed, and you tend to them, always, without them asking
You feel responsible if someone (kid, partner, family member) is upset or frustrated, even if it's not your fault
You feel relief when you're managing everything yourself, because at least you know it's done right
You feel anxious when you're not "on top of things," even on vacation or days off
One More Thing:
Yes, some of these items look a lot like co-dependence (“I’m okay if you’re okay, and it’s my responsibility to fix your feelings and make you okay.”).
Default parenting isn’t necessarily co-dependence, but they can overlap because at their root is the belief that “over-responsibility taking” is the only way to stay safe, earn your spot on the “Good Person List”, or otherwise finally achieve “peace”. But that peace never really comes and stays, am I right?
If three or more of these resonate, you're likely carrying the default parent load. And that's not a character flaw—it's a pattern. A pattern that made sense. A pattern that can change.
Why This Pattern Develops (And It's Not Your Fault)
This is where compassion gets really important. Because the roots of default parenting run deep—and they're not actually about whether you're organized or a perfectionist or "just how you are."
The cultural and personal factors that create default parenting are complex. Society, your family of origin, your own nervous system, relationship dynamics, gender norms, and some pretty sneaky beliefs about safety and worth all play a role. Understanding this isn't about blame. It's about freedom.
It Started Way Before You Were a Parent
Many of us learned early that our value came from taking care of others. Maybe you were parentified—made to grow up faster because someone needed you. You became the responsible one, the capable one, the one who held things together. That role felt important. Maybe it also felt safer than being dependent or needing something from someone else.
Maybe you saw a parent (usually a mother) do everything and learned that's what responsible, loving people do. Maybe you learned that asking for help was dangerous—it meant being a burden, being needy, being ignored. Your nervous system recognized those patterns as home, even when home was hard.
Or maybe you learned that your safety—and everyone else's—depended on you being in control. On you seeing what needed to happen and making sure it happened. On you never relaxing, never trusting, never letting anyone else carry the weight. Because if you did, something would go wrong.
Gender and Culture Set the Foundation
Women especially are socialized to have capacity, to give, to make sure everyone's okay. There's a persistent cultural message that your value is tied to how much you do and how much you can handle. That's the water we swim in. It's not character. It's culture.
And it's not just about doing tasks. It's about emotional responsibility. Women are taught to manage how other people feel. To smooth things over. To anticipate needs so conflict doesn't happen. To notice when someone's unhappy and fix it. To make sure everyone's okay before you even consider your own needs.
That's not a personal failing. That's a system that's been building since you were a kid. And it gets reinforced every single day—by partners, by family, by how we talk about motherhood, by what we celebrate in women.
There's a Sneaky Belief Underneath It All
Here's the part that most people don't talk about: many of us have a belief that goes something like this:
If I stop doing everything, if I let other people figure things out, if I'm not the one managing everything, something will go wrong. And more than that—if I'm not essential, if I'm not the one holding it all together, then I'm not that valuable. I'm not a good partner. I'm not a good parent. I'm selfish.
Or there's another version: If I hand off responsibility and someone I care about gets upset—maybe they do it wrong, maybe they feel frustrated or inadequate—that's my fault. I should have just done it. I made them feel bad by not protecting them from the discomfort of figuring things out.
These beliefs often live in your body, not your head. You feel them as a tightness in your chest when your partner says "I don't know how to do that," or a spike of anxiety when you're not the one managing something. You feel them as an almost compulsive need to jump in, take over, prevent any possibility of failure or discomfort.
And here's the thing: these beliefs make sense. They made sense in the context where you learned them. They protected you. They kept you connected to people who mattered. They helped you survive situations where you had to be the capable, reliable one.
The problem is: they don't work anymore. And they're running your life in ways that are costing you tremendously.
The Cycle Gets Reinforced
Once the pattern starts, it perpetuates itself. The more one parent takes the lead, the more the other one steps back. The more they step back, the less they know what's happening, so they wait for direction—which means you're still directing. You're locked in a cycle where your competence creates your isolation.
And there's another layer: when you nag, nitpick, or hover because the other person isn't doing it your way or at your pace, it actually reinforces their belief that they can't do it right. So they step back more. You jump in more. It becomes proof to both of you that you're the capable one and they're not. But that's not true. What's true is that you're preventing them from developing competence by not giving them space to figure it out, even imperfectly.
There's an Internal Reward You Might Not Notice
When everything hums, when people are satisfied, when you know what's coming—there's real satisfaction and dopamine in that. You're in control. Things work. You feel needed. There's an internal reinforcement that's hard to step away from.
It's not wrong to notice that. It's just worth understanding. Because that comfort with control can become a trap. It can keep you stuck even when you desperately want things to change.
In Practice, This Looks Like...
Parents who've never outsourced anything, not because they couldn't afford it, but because it felt selfish, like an admission of failure, like being a bad parent. And then when they actually get reliable support—even just a few hours—the shift is enormous.
They sleep. They're present with their kids in a different way. Their relationships improve. Their anxiety goes down.
The parents who benefit most aren't the ones who didn't care. They're the ones who cared so much they were drowning.
And the piece that matters: asking for help isn't giving up. It's actually how you show up better for the people you love. It's how you model that everyone deserves rest, care, and support. It's how you teach your kids that asking for help is normal and smart, not weak.
The Emotional Complexity: What Happens Before the Behavior
To actually change this pattern, you need to understand what happens in your body and mind just before you take over, jump in, do it yourself, or prevent someone else from doing it.
The Discomfort When You're Not in Control
Notice the moments when someone else is handling something (or attempting to):
Your kid is getting dressed slowly and you're worried you'll be late
Your partner is looking for something and can't find it
Someone's doing a task and doing it differently than you would
You know something could go wrong and you're not the one preventing it
What happens in your body? Does your chest get tight? Do your shoulders hunch? Does your stomach get knotty? Does time feel urgent?
That's your nervous system going into protection mode. You've learned that things go wrong when you're not in control. And that feeling is uncomfortable. So you do what humans do when we're uncomfortable: you take action to relieve it.
You jump in. You take over. You give instructions. You prevent the possibility of discomfort by managing it yourself.
And here's the thing: it works. Immediately. You feel better. The discomfort is gone.
But what you're reinforcing is the belief that you can't trust other people. That the world isn't safe unless you're managing it. That you're the only one who can keep things from falling apart.
The Belief That They Can't Do It
Sometimes this shows up as: They're just not wired that way. They don't see what needs to be done. They're not capable of managing this.
But listen: they are also an adult. They are also a parent (if it's your co-parent). Yes, they can do things. They might do them differently. They might be slower. They might do some things "wrong" by your standards. They might forget sometimes.
They can still do it.
And every time you jump in and take over "because they can't," you're actually preventing them from developing the capability and confidence to do it. You're not helping them. You're preventing them. (And honestly? That might be partly intentional, because if you prevent them from being capable, you stay necessary.)
The Fear of Conflict
There's often a fear underneath: If I hand this off and they mess up or get frustrated with the responsibility, they'll be upset with me. Or they'll feel like I'm not helping. I'd rather just do it myself than deal with that discomfort.
Or: If I ask them to do something and they do it wrong, they'll feel bad. And if they feel bad, that's on me. I should protect them from that.
This is the belief that other people's discomfort is your responsibility to prevent. And it's exhausting. Because you can't prevent it. Not really. And the harder you try, the more you reinforce your own belief that you have to manage everything.
The Sneaky Belief About Worth
And underneath a lot of this: If I'm not the one doing everything, if I'm not essential, if people can figure things out without me—then what's my value? What makes me a good partner, a good parent, a good person?
This is where the default parenting connects to some pretty deep stuff. Many of us have built our sense of self-worth on being capable, on being needed, on being the one who holds it together. And stepping back from that feels like stepping away from our own identity.
It's not. But it feels like it. And that fear is real.
Five Ways to Start Shifting—With Real Obstacles and How to Work With Them
These aren't things to stop doing. These are ways to practice choosing differently. Some will feel easy. Some will feel deeply uncomfortable—like your nervous system is telling you it's not safe. That discomfort is your system learning something new.
Important: You don't have to do all five. Pick one. Master it. Feel the shift. Then add another. This is a practice, not a fix. And it takes time, self-compassion, and repetition.
1. Transfer Full Responsibility (Not Just Tasks)
The problem: You ask for help, then you manage the help. You give instructions, check in, make sure it's happening the way you want it to. That's not help—that's just outsourcing your monitoring.
What works: Transfer complete ownership. From Eve Rodsky's Fair Play, this means handing over the Conception (noticing what needs to happen), Planning (deciding when and how), and Execution (doing it). All three. Not just the execution while you handle the rest.
How to start:
Pick one domain where you can transfer full ownership. Maybe it's kitchen cleanup after dinner, or kids' laundry, or coordinating schedules.
Have a conversation together. Agree on what "done" looks like—the minimum standard. Not perfection. Minimum. "Clean enough to cook in by the end of the day." "Clothes sorted and put away by Friday."
Hand it over completely. No reminders. No checking. No nagging. No "Are you going to do that?" No reorganizing after they finish.
Trust that they'll figure it out.
What this actually sounds like:
Instead of: "Can you do the dishes tonight?" (which leaves you as the monitor of whether it happens)
Try: "I'd like to hand off kitchen cleanup after dinner. We've agreed it means cleared counters and a clean sink by the time we go to bed. That's your domain now. You figure out when and how. I trust you to make it work."
And then you actually let it go.
What to expect:
This feels terrible at first. You'll notice the urge to nag, remind, hover, check. That's normal. That's your nervous system learning that the kitchen might not get clean the way you would do it, and you have to be okay with that.
And here's what happens when you actually don't jump in: the other person develops competence and confidence. They remember. They get faster. They do it their way (which might be different than your way, and that's okay). And you get to step back.
The emotional piece:
Notice what comes up when you hand something over. Anxiety? Resentment? Doubt? Curiosity? Your job isn't to make those feelings go away. It's to feel them and do it anyway. To practice trusting. To teach your nervous system: other people can handle things. The world doesn't fall apart if I'm not managing it.
2. Stop Being the Search Engine
The problem: You're the human search engine. Every time someone asks where something is and you answer, you reinforce: I'm the one who knows. You depend on me.
What works: Get curious instead of solving.
How to start:
When someone asks where something is, resist the urge to tell them. Ask instead: "Where do you think it might be?"
With your partner: "I'm not sure. Where would you look?"
You're not being difficult. You're being an equal.
Why it matters: This practice shifts something deeper than chores. It says: I trust you. You're capable. You can figure things out. It redistributes not just tasks but competence and authority.
What to expect: This feels inefficient. Your brain will offer stories: This is taking longer. Just tell them. This is annoying. That's normal. Your system is used to efficiency through control. But watch what happens: people start solving things on their own. They remember next time. They get confident. And you get to stop being the reference library.
The vulnerable part:
If you don't know where something is, you might feel exposed. Like you've lost your value. ("If I don't know everything, what's my role?") That's the belief system talking. Sit with it. It's okay to not know. It's okay for other people to be responsible for remembering where their own things are.
3. Actually Trust (Don't Manage From a Distance)
The problem: You leave instructions. You text check-ins. You prep everything so they can't mess it up. You're finally getting away—but you're still managing from a distance.
What works: Actually leave. Actually trust.
Important distinction: This looks different depending on who you're handing off to.
For a babysitter or childcare provider: You need to share information. When they last ate. If they're dealing with a specific behavior. Medical information. Contact info. This is like clinical handoff—essential information so someone can care for your child safely. Do this clearly.
For your co-parent: They are also a parent. They've been managing kids before. They can figure it out. You don't need to leave instructions for what a parent would handle. You don't need to text check-ins. You don't need to "be available" in case something unexpected happens.
Something unexpected will happen sometimes. They'll handle it. Maybe not the way you would. Maybe not perfectly. But they'll handle it. And when you're not there anxiously monitoring or a text away from taking over, your nervous system learns: other people can manage. I can actually rest.
How to start:
Next time you step away for a few hours, don't leave a detailed list or instructions
Don't text to check in
Come back and let your partner manage any mess that was made—physical or emotional
Your job is to not fix it, not correct it, not say "next time," not explain what they should have done
Why it's hard: You'll worry. Your brain will catastrophize. That's normal. Your nervous system learned a long time ago that if you're not in control, things fall apart. You're teaching it something new: other people can manage. Things are okay even when I don't know what's happening. I can rest.
Why it matters: This is how your nervous system actually learns. Not through thinking about it. Through experiencing it. When you finally have someone you trust completely—someone you're not monitoring or managing—the relief is physical. People describe it as: my nervous system finally knows someone else is paying attention.
The emotional piece:
Watch for the belief that you're being irresponsible by not staying available. You're not. You're being healthy. You're modeling that both parents matter. You're teaching your kids that their other parent is capable and trustworthy. And you're teaching yourself that you're allowed to rest.
4. Question What You're Actually Carrying
The problem: Sometimes we hold things because we think we have to, not because we actually do.
What works: Get honest about what's really yours to manage.
How to start:
Pick one thing you're holding. A worry, a responsibility, a detail.
Ask yourself: Is this actually mine to manage? Is this my responsibility? Am I the only person who can handle this?
Notice the thoughts that come up: If I don't, it won't get done. No one does it the way I need it done. I'm the only one who cares.
Is that true? Or is that a story your nervous system is telling you to keep you safe?
Watch this reel on accepting reality and controlling only what you can:
The honest part:
Some of the things you're carrying, you're carrying because you feel like if you don't always do more, overfunctioning, taking more responsibility than expected—you won't have the upper hand. You won't be a worthy person. Something will go wrong because you can't trust other people.
And avoiding a handoff reinforces that belief every single time.
What actually happens when you start handing things off:
You discover people are more capable than you thought
You discover you were preventing competence, not helping
You discover that things don't fall apart
Your belief system starts to shift: I can trust other people. Other people are capable. I don't have to control everything to be valuable.
That shift doesn't happen in your head. It happens through repetition and experience. You practice trusting. Your nervous system learns it's safe. You get to relax.
Why this matters: Some things we carry because we believe we have to. Examining that belief is how you get choice back.
5. Time When You're Truly Off Duty
The problem: "Self-care" often means one more thing on the to-do list. Yoga. A bath. Something you have to optimize. Or it means you're still the point of contact—on call, available, the final word.
What works: Time where you're not needed, not productive, not earning your rest. Where you're truly off duty.
How to start:
Put it on the calendar like an appointment (this makes it real)
Tell your family: "From 3–4 PM on Saturday, I'm not available. I'm not going anywhere. I just need time where I'm not needed."
Make it clear: you're not the backup. If something happens, they go to the other parent. They call you only for true emergencies.
Don't plan what you'll do with it. You can nap. Stare out the window. Sit on your phone. Whatever.
Watch this reel on truly checking out:
As the reel explains: the key is making it clear that you're truly off duty. Not the point of contact. Not answering texts. Not able to be interrupted. When people expect you to be just a text or phone call away, they will text and call—no matter who is "in charge."
Why Eve Rodsky calls this "Unicorn Space": It's not a reward for being good. It's not self-care as obligation. It's time that's just for you, unscheduled, just because you're a human who deserves to exist.
The vulnerable part:
Checking out completely might feel impossible. Like you're abandoning your responsibilities. Like something will go wrong. Like you're selfish.
You're not. You're actually being responsible by maintaining your own health. You're modeling that everyone deserves rest. And you're teaching your system: I matter. My needs matter. I'm allowed to exist for my own sake, not just because I'm useful to other people.
The Real Work: Self-Compassion and Understanding
Here's what the research actually shows: self-compassion is the most science-backed mental state for actually producing change that lasts.
Not willpower. Not pushing harder. Not shame. Self-compassion.
Research from Kristin Neff, a pioneer in this field, shows that self-compassion increases resilience, decreases anxiety and depression, and actually improves motivation. Shame and self-criticism do the opposite—they activate your stress response and keep you stuck.
So before you try to change anything, understand this: it makes complete sense that you're the default parent. It makes sense given everything you've been through, everything you were taught, the messages you received about your worth and value, the patterns that kept you safe.
Understanding doesn't mean accepting. It means you can actually change without turning the blame inward.
How Self-Compassion Actually Works
Self-compassion has three components, according to Neff:
Self-kindness: Treating yourself like you treat people you love when they're struggling. Not harsh criticism. Not shame. Gentle understanding.
Common humanity: Recognizing that this pattern, these struggles—they're not unique to you. So many parents are in this. You're not broken. You're human, navigating something hard.
Mindfulness: Feeling your experience without exaggerating it or denying it. Noticing: This is hard right now. This is uncomfortable. And I can feel this discomfort and still move forward.
The Rest Component
You probably think you need to earn rest. That's worth examining.
Rest is a biological need, like food. You don't need to earn it. You don't need permission. You don't need to be "productive enough" or "deserving enough."
Real rest includes:
Moving your body (exercise, walking, dancing—whatever moves stress hormones through you)
Affection and connection (hugs, talking with someone who gets it)
Laughter and crying (letting emotions actually move)
Creative expression (whatever feeds your soul)
Conversation with people who know you
Time where you're not needed
Real rest does NOT include:
Productivity (you don't have to earn it)
Optimization (a bath you have to do perfectly)
Another thing on your to-do list
Permission from other people
From Emily and Amelia Nagoski's research on the stress cycle, we know that stress hormones need to actually move through your body. They don't just disappear because you stop thinking about the stressor. Your body needs completion—movement, connection, creative expression, laughter, tears. That's not luxury. That's how your nervous system works.
The Discomfort You'll Feel—And Why It's Actually Okay
When you start to shift this pattern, you're going to feel uncomfortable. Maybe deeply uncomfortable.
You'll feel anxiety when you're not managing something. You'll feel guilty when someone else is handling a task slowly or imperfectly. You'll feel vulnerable when you don't know what's happening. You'll feel scared that something will go wrong and it will somehow be your fault.
This discomfort is not a sign that you're doing it wrong. It's a sign that you're learning something new.
Your nervous system is literally rewiring. It's learning that it's safe to not be in control. That other people are capable. That you're valuable even when you're not managing everything. That rest is possible.
That learning happens through discomfort. Through repetition. Through practicing despite the fear.
What Might Get in Your Way (And How to Work With It)
"But They're Not Doing It Right"
Okay. So they're not doing it your way. They're slower. They miss something. They do it differently.
That's not wrong. It's different.
And here's the thing: your way isn't the only right way. It's just your way. And the cost of maintaining your way is your own wellbeing and freedom.
Are you willing to keep paying that cost? Or are you willing to practice tolerating "different" so that you can actually rest?
"I'm the Only One Who Cares"
Sometimes this comes up as: I'm the only one who sees what needs to happen. I'm the only one who cares if things get done right.
That might be true. It might also be that other people care differently. They notice different things. They have different standards. They prioritize differently.
And you know what? That's okay. Families don't all have the same standards. And the cost of maintaining yours is your exhaustion.
What if you relaxed your standards just a little and let other people's way of doing things have a place in your family?
"But I'm Easier to Help If I Just Do It Myself"
Ah. This one is subtle. Because it sounds generous. I'm just easier to help if I manage it myself. People shouldn't have to worry about my needs.
But what you're actually saying is: I'm not allowed to have needs. I'm not allowed to ask for help in a way that requires other people to change or adjust. I'm only okay if I'm managing everything myself.
And that's not sustainable. And it's not modeling healthy relationships to your kids.
What if you practiced being "difficult to help"? What if you asked for specific help, even if it meant other people had to adjust? What if you said, My need matters too?
"I Don't Want to Nag, So I Just Do It"
This one is common. You don't want to feel like the nag, so you just take it on yourself.
But here's the thing: if you're always managing it, you're also always responsible for it. And that's its own form of exhaustion.
What if you practiced asking clearly, handing off completely, and being willing to live with the discomfort of not knowing whether it got done? That's not nagging. That's trusting.
A Real Conversation About Handoff
Let's make this concrete. Let's say you're going to hand off something you've been managing.
Before the conversation, get clear:
What specifically are you handing off?
What does "done" actually look like? Not perfection. Minimum standard.
Are you truly willing to let it go, or are you setting this up to fail so you can say "see, they can't do it"?
The conversation:
"I want to talk about [specific thing]. I've been managing it, and I need that to change. I'd like you to take ownership of this. That means you handle the whole thing—noticing what needs to happen, planning how and when, and doing it. I'll be hands-off.
We can agree on what 'done' looks like. For me, that's [specific minimum standard]. Beyond that, it's your call.
I might feel anxious about this at first. But I'm going to practice letting it go. I'm trusting you to make it work.
Can we try this?"
Then:
Let it go
Don't check
Don't nag
Don't comment on how they do it
Feel the discomfort
Notice that the world doesn't fall apart
Repeat
You're Not Doing This Alone
Resilience isn't built by being strong enough to handle it alone. It's built through receiving help, through actual contact with actual people, through admitting that you need support.
The people around you might initially resist this change. They've gotten comfortable with the current arrangement. They might feel guilty if you hand things off. They might worry they'll mess up. That's okay. That's their work to do, not yours.
This week:
Text one person who gets it. Something real: Hey, I was thinking about what you said about this. How's it going?
Try one practice. Not all five. One.
Notice where you feel resentment or anxiety. That's data. Your body telling you something needs to change.
What happens when you do:
Your nervous system learns that other people can handle things
You get to choose something different instead of just enduring
Your relationships improve because you're not drowning
Your kids see you taking care of yourself and learn that's normal
You sleep better
You feel like yourself again
You have energy for things that actually matter to you
The resentment and snapping decrease
If You Want Support
This might be the moment where you realize you need help understanding your own patterns and building a real plan forward. That's what coaching does—we slow down, look at what's happening, and build something that actually works.
Or you might realize: I need childcare infrastructure so I actually have time and space to try any of this. That's valid. You need time and space to implement change. That's not indulgence—that's infrastructure.
For coaching support:
Next Right Step single session—one focused conversation to identify what you're dealing with and leave with a framework
Regenerate & Relaunch program—13 sessions over three months for deeper burnout recovery and pattern shift
For more on these topics:
My Quitters Club blog for more on burnout recovery
The Bottom Line
You're not weak for needing help. You're not failing. You're not selfish.
You're human. And humans thrive when they're not carrying everything alone.
Asking for help isn't the end of something. It's the beginning of actually getting to choose how your life works. It's the beginning of trusting other people. It's the beginning of believing that you're valuable even when you're not managing everything.
And that belief—that shift from I have to do everything to I can trust other people, and I matter regardless—that's what changes everything.
You don't have to do this perfectly. You don't have to change everything overnight. You just have to start. And you get to do it with compassion for yourself, knowing that this pattern made sense, and knowing that you're capable of something different.
One practice. One conversation. One moment of choosing trust instead of control.
That's enough to start.
Sources and Further Reading
Ohio State University—Survive as the Default Parent
Research on Mental Load—Journal of Family Issues
Self-Compassion Academy—Kristin Neff's Research
Center for Mindful Self-Compassion
The Burnout Book—Emily and Amelia Nagoski
The Peaceful Nest—What Is a Default Parent
The Peaceful Nest—Survival Guide for Default Parents
Books referenced:
Rodsky, Eve. Fair Play: A Game-Changing Solution for When You Have Too Much to Do (and More Life to Live). G.P. Putnam's Sons, 2019.
Neff, Kristin. Self-Compassion: The Proven Power of Being Kind to Yourself. William Morrow, 2011.
Neff, Kristin, and Chris Germer. The Mindful Self-Compassion Workbook: A Proven Way to Accept Yourself, Build Inner Strength, and Thrive. Guilford Press, 2018.
Nagoski, Emily and Amelia Nagoski. Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle. Ballantine Books, 2019.
Davis, KC. How to Keep House While Drowning. Dutton, 2022.
