“You just hate to see me sit comfortably” my husband snapped at me one day.

The words landed harder than I expected — not because they were cruel, but because they were close enough to the truth to sting. I wanted to argue. To defend myself. To unload the weight of everything I carry in my body. But instead, I sat with the discomfort. Because if motherhood has taught me anything, it’s that the feelings we resist naming are usually the ones running the show.

So why do I hate seeing him sit comfortably? Maybe you do too.

From my understand of my own feelings: jealousy.

I, too, wanted to sit comfortably.

One might assume from this admission that my husband is arrogant, selfish — a couch potato. That couldn’t be further from the truth. As much as it pains my ego to acknowledge it (and I truly hope he never comes across this blog), my husband helps. A lot.

Our typical daily routine — with few exceptions — begins around 7:00 a.m. when our son wakes up. After a few nudges and some resistance, my husband gets up, picks our son up, and gives me extra time to sleep. He prepares breakfast for the whole family, then wakes me before heading to work around 9:00 a.m.

He comes home during his lunch break to cook for me and watches our son while I tend to “personal matters” — also known as my morning shower. He’s home again by around 5:15 p.m., at which point he either prepares dinner or takes over childcare. On weekends, he almost always cooks. He helps with house chores, exclusively does the ironing, and washes all the pumps and bottles.

And yet, I was still tired — in a way I couldn’t explain.
And yet, I hated seeing him sit comfortably.

For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me. I called myself toxic. Unhealthy. I wondered if this was the dark side of me — the part I should be ashamed of.

There are many things I have learned through coaching that I apply daily. One of the most impactful has been understanding the underlying reason behind the reason. AKA “the why behind the why”. It might sound like jargon, so let me walk you through it.

Let’s say I identify the broad feeling first: I hate seeing my husband sit comfortably because I am jealous.

The next question becomes: Why does seeing my husband sit comfortably make me jealous?
Because I want to sit comfortably too.

Why?
Because I am exhausted.

Why am I exhausted? Why are you? A good practice is to list things down. To bring them to life. You could very much be surprised at some of the things that drain you.

And so I listed all the things that were making me tired. From a business standpoint, what is vital to corporate success is knowing what to outsource and what to keep in-house. And so I apply that logic into mothering.

What could I outsource?
What could I spread over a few days?
What could I skip altogether?

Many things came up (within our budget) that I could potentially outsource and lighten the load off my shoulder. But here’s the truth I didn’t expect: I felt very uncomfortable with the idea of not doing it all myself, and not doing it all now.

Why do we do this as mothers?
Why do we choose not to rest — even when we can?

Because it simply doesn’t feel natural. We were conditioned to believe rest = failure. Whether it was the media, movies, stories from our grandmothers – mothers were always exhausted, stretched. And those who weren’t? Those who brought in a nanny to help, or a maid, they were looked down upon, they were judged.

I realized soon enough that my jealousy stemmed from the need for permission from society, and from the inherited patterns forced upon myself. Permission to rest. How wild is that?

My husband sitting comfortably felt like a mirror held up to everything I wasn’t allowing myself to be. Still. Unproductive. Unneeded for five uninterrupted minutes.

And like I always do, because I am against portraying a perfect image of motherhood (like many do on socials). I was truly angry at myself. I hated that my nervous system believes rest is a luxury instead of a right. I hated the fact that I have been conditioned to believe that the only way I could be a good mother is if I go above and beyond.

I’m learning that naming the feeling—jealousy—was only the beginning. The harder work is learning to sit comfortably myself… without explaining, justifying, or earning it first.

We as mothers must collectively unlearn the belief that our worth is measured by our exhaustion. It’s too harsh of a reality that was set for us, and we can and must break free from it.