Perimenopause, a Teenager, and a Husband Headed for Burnout

Hi friends, some of the most interesting stories we find are in the comments section. So much real life plays out there, and our readers answer straight from the heart. When reader Jara wrote about what was going on in her house, it sounded so much like the rush hour of life that we asked her to tell us more.

She says, “I tried to describe everything as honestly as I could.” But it was important to her that her husband not come across as a bad person or an uninterested dad. That wouldn't be fair to him or to their situation. He wants to get everything right for everyone, and that's exactly what creates so much tension: between the job (his), the teen years (her child's), and perimenopause (hers). In some phases, everything just hits at once.

When we ran our article about the dad with burnout on our blog, you wrote: “Just like us! I'm only waiting for my husband's burnout.” What exactly did you mean, and how are things right now?

Of course I don't mean that literally, as in I'm waiting for it or wishing it on him. Quite the opposite. It's more of a worry I've had for a long time. My husband works a lot, holds himself to an enormous standard, and I feel like he's basically running on adrenaline all the time. The family suffers, but so does he, because there's so little room for anything else (breaks, seeing friends, hobbies).

For years he's said, over and over, that it's “just a stressful phase right now.” My take by now is the exact opposite: stress is the normal state, and every once in a while there's a stretch where things are a little calmer.

The hard part is that he is there. He's not a dad who barely sees his kids or has no idea what's going on in their lives. He asks how their day was, knows their friends, takes an interest in them, and does pick up some things. And still, our family life revolves around his work to a huge degree.

A while ago someone asked me a question that really hit home: “If your husband were gone for a week, what would you have to take on that you don't already do?” And I could hardly think of anything. Maybe taking the trash cans out to the curb. That was a moment when I realized for myself how normal this division of labor has become to me.

You're in therapy now, partly because you absorb so much at home. But you and your therapist actually agree that this kind of support would probably help him much more?

I wouldn't say I'm in therapy because of my husband. That would be unfair, and too simple. But our family situation, and the question of how much responsibility I take on and how I deal with that, are definitely topics. My therapist once asked me: “What does your husband take care of completely? Something where you know you don't have to think about it at all?” And again, I came up empty.

For me, that's the real difference between “helping” and carrying the responsibility. Of course my husband does things. But so much of it I have to see, plan, kick off, or at the very least keep in my head. School, appointments, activities, playdates, birthdays, vacations, all the logistics. That constant background noise runs almost entirely through me.

My therapist really does think support could do him good, too. Not because something is “wrong” with him, but because we believe certain patterns sit behind that enormous drive to perform and the difficulty of truly switching off. But the willingness to look at those things has to come from him. I can't take that on for him, too.

You say it wouldn't surprise you if he collapsed one day …

Because I don't know how anyone keeps up this pace long term. It isn't only about hours at work. It's the constant mental presence at work, the tension, the irritability, and the trouble truly switching off. And on top of that, the pressure to be present here with the family, plus his own realization of how fast the kids have grown up and how much he's already missed, and so on.

The article about the dad with burnout describes it really well, this wearing yourself down between job AND family. I think the will is there to change something or to be more present with the family, but it just doesn't actually work.

So sometimes I think: at some point his body or his mind will simply say it can't go on like this, and force him to look at it and question things, including his own standards. And at the same time, he seems to see that danger far less than I do. That honestly scares me. Because for all my frustration, I obviously don't want my husband to get sick. What I really want is for him to realize something has to change before that, and not only when nothing works anymore.

After more than a decade together, you've given up on quite a few things. Like what?

Mostly I've stopped having certain conversations over and over. For a very long time I reminded, brought things up, explained, asked, and tried to make clear what was missing for me. But at some point you realize that if you've been having the same conversation for years and basically nothing changes, the conversation itself starts to cost you more energy than you're willing to put in.

It's probably a kind of resignation that has crept in. With some things, I just don't expect them to be different anymore. Vacation is a good example. We recently took a really big, beautiful trip that was a lifelong dream of mine. But the entire planning and organizing fell pretty much on me. When I finally said how insanely much work it was, the answer I got was, more or less: “But you wanted this trip. Be glad we're doing it.”

And that's exactly where the problem lies for me. Of course I wanted this trip. But why does that automatically mean I also have to do all of the work? And the other way around: if it had been his lifelong dream, I would of course have organized and prepared everything, too.

You two clearly talk a lot about your situation. Have you gotten help together, too?

Yes. And it's actually important to me to say that, because with relationship issues the advice tends to come quickly: “You just need to talk more.” We talk a lot. My husband knows how I'm doing and what I'm missing. These aren't thoughts I've carried around for years without ever saying them out loud to him.

We've also gotten professional help and did couples therapy. We went through a lot of these issues there in great detail. I even believe my husband genuinely gets it and can understand much of what I'm saying. So it's not as if we just need one clarifying conversation and then everything will be different.

The hard part is carrying it over into everyday life. Things do change after conversations; sometimes he tries really hard and for a while some things work better. But eventually the same patterns kick back in. Work gets urgent again, daily life takes over, and we land in a similar division of tasks once more.

I don't want to deny that he tries. On the contrary, I think he honestly feels he's changed quite a bit over the past few years. Maybe that's exactly what makes it so hard: we can both have the best intentions and still experience the reality of our family life very differently.

And maybe that's part of my resignation, too: not the feeling of never having been heard, but the experience that understanding and changing are two different things. At some point you just don't want to have the hundredth conversation about something that has long since been said, understood, and even worked through with professional help.

Hello, rush hour of life: On top of everything, you can feel menopause knocking at the door. What does that do to your moods?

I do notice that something is changing hormonally and that I'm sometimes thinner-skinned or more emotional. At the same time, now that the kids are getting older, I have more time for myself again, and more room to think and reflect. And suddenly questions come up that often had no place in all those years of family routine: Who am I outside of my role as a mom? What do I still want from life? What should my life look like over the next few years?

And maybe this stage of life also makes me question things I accepted for years without a second thought. Letting those questions in isn't just liberating, it's also pretty uncomfortable. It's not always easy for me to go inward and face them. Because when you look honestly, you may also have to live with answers you don't want to hear.

But I also think it's important to see my own part in it and work on it, and not blame every bad mood on my partner. At the same time, I want to be careful that it doesn't become the easy explanation: she's going through menopause, so of course she's suddenly unhappy. The things we talk about have been there for many years.

Maybe today I have less energy, or less willingness, to just shrug some things off. But hormones didn't invent our division of labor. Maybe they even help me see more clearly where my limits are and what I don't want anymore.

Still, in the middle of this wild phase, you sometimes think you'd actually like another baby. How do you explain that to yourself?

That probably sounds completely contradictory. Rationally, I know very well that another child wouldn't make our life easier, quite the opposite. And still, the thought is there.

I don't think it's so much a concrete wish to actually start over again right now. It's more a wistfulness that this stage of life is over. The kids are getting bigger, need us differently, and are slowly pulling away. And suddenly you realize how final some things are.

Maybe you can be completely worn out by family life and still be sad that this very family life will be over one day. For me, those two things don't contradict each other anymore.

Your oldest is in the thick of the teen years and doesn't always stick to your agreements. What does that do to you and your husband?

The teen years are really testing us right now. It's about boundaries, trust, rules, kids doing things behind your back, and how much freedom you can give and when you have to step in. And that's emotionally exhausting all by itself. For our relationship, there's the added piece that with these issues, too, a whole lot lands on me.

I read up on it, research it, have the conversations, think through consequences, and lie awake at night wondering if we're reacting the right way. My husband is involved and we talk about it, but I still often feel like the mental main responsibility stays with me.

And of course I'm not always calm or parenting-book perfect, either. Sometimes I'm furious, sometimes I'm scared, sometimes I react too emotionally. But in moments like that, I just want someone next to me who feels as responsible for it as I do.

A real wake-up call came when your child recently asked whether Dad had always been this way, or whether work had broken him …

That really was a moment that hit me hard. After a fight, one of our kids recently said some very harsh things about their father. Among them was the question of whether Dad had actually always been like this, or whether work had changed him.

Of course kids are merciless, especially at that age and when they're angry. So I wouldn't hold every sentence against them. My husband isn't a bad father, either. He loves his kids and is interested in them. But that one question stuck with me. Maybe because I sometimes ask myself what has happened over the years.

I don't even think my husband consciously decides, “My work matters more to me than my family.” If you ask him, he'll say exactly the opposite. But when I look at where all that time, energy, patience, and attention have gone over the years, work takes up a great, great deal of room. And at some point, the kids feel that, too.

It was painful to hear, and it landed. But maybe not only because it came from our child. In that moment, someone else said out loud things I often notice myself. It holds up a mirror you don't necessarily want to look into. Afterward I did wonder whether I've normalized some things over the years more than I realized.

If a fairy godmother showed up right now, what would you wish for most?

That I wouldn't have to be the one who has to bring about change. I don't even want the husband who suddenly closes his laptop at four every afternoon, folds the laundry, and cooks dinner. And I don't want to turn him into a different person.

I'd wish that he would pause on his own and ask himself: “How do I actually want to live? What do my wife and kids get from me, and what does my job get?” And that change would then come from him. Not because I asked for the hundredth time. Not because we fought again. And please, not only because he actually breaks down one day.

Maybe what I want most is to feel again that we're in this life together, responsible for it together, and that I'm not the one who has to hold it all together for everyone.