How to Stop Being the Only Responsible Parent

Meira didn’t recognize herself anymore.
She was the woman barking orders, enforcing rules, counting snacks, watching the clock.

She was containing chaos. And her husband had a way of swooping in at exactly the moments that made everything unravel.

Just as her kids finally sat down and took a bite of supper, the door would fly open. He burst in, they leaped up and launched themselves into his outstretched arms.
“Abbaaaa, can we have ice cream?”
He glanced at her. She raised an eyebrow and gave him The Look.
He smiled anyway. “Okay, just a little.”

Right before bedtime, her husband started tickle fights that sent them squealing.  The house would explode with noise and energy.

And then, he’d disappear.

Back to work.
Back to his phone.
Out to shul.

Leaving Meira with overtired, dysregulated kids and a situation that felt impossible to recover.  And suddenly, she was the villain again.

Meira didn’t set out to be the strict one. It just… happened.

She was the one making sure homework got done.
The one saying, “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
The one reminding everyone about showers, homework, and bedtime.

Her husband?
He was cuddles on the couch.
Extra snacks.
One more story.
The safe place the kids ran to when they wanted a yes. They climbed on him, pleaded with him, negotiated with him, and usually won.

And then… they ganged up on her.

“Abba said yes.”
“Why do you always say no?”
“You’re so mean.”

Of course she controlled everything. Someone had to.

At night, after the kids were finally asleep, she’d snap.

“Why do you always undermine me?”
“You get to be the fun one while I’m stuck cleaning up the mess.”
“They don’t listen to me because you don’t back me up.”

He’d shrug. “Relax. They’re kids.”
And somehow, that made it worse.  She wanted to scream.  Because she was the one dealing with the fallout.  Not him.

She felt alone. Outnumbered.
Like he and the kids were on the opposing team, and she was losing.

She resented that she worked so hard to create stability, only to be made into the bad guy.

But the hardest part? She didn’t like herself anymore.

Who was this angry drill sergeant? Where did that fun, easy-going girl go?

She told herself:
If I loosen my grip, I’m the one who suffers.
If I don’t set limits, they will be spoiled vilde chayas, and things will just get harder.

So she tightened up even more.

When Meira and I started working together, Meira expected we’d focus on “getting him to discipline more.” 

And then she realized something painful and freeing at the same time:

“I’m not saying no because I’m actually so rigid and organized.
I’m saying no because I’m overwhelmed and scared.”

Her fear made sense.  She was afraid of being alone with the chaos and that she would completely lose it.

She felt trapped. So we focused on her. On how exhausted she was.
She had been sacrificing herself so completely that resentment was inevitable.  A woman who is depleted cannot afford to let go.

So Meira began doing something that initially felt like one more thing on her to-do list. Taking care of herself first.
She began taking breaks without guilt.
Going out, resting, doing things that filled her up instead of draining her.

Real nourishment, emotionally and physically.  Letting herself be a woman again, not just a manager.

She began to ask herself, “How do I want to show up?”

As she took responsibility for her own happiness, something softened inside her.

She had more margin.
More patience.
More emotional bandwidth.

And with that came something she hadn’t felt in years: resilience.

Now, when things got loud or a little wild, it didn’t immediately send her into panic.
When bedtime ran late, she didn’t feel like everything was ruined.
When schedules bent, she didn’t spiral.

Not because life became calmer, but because she did.

She found herself letting things slide off her more easily.
Choosing which moments actually mattered.
Allowing a bit of mess, a bit of noise, a bit of chaos without feeling undone.

She became more go-with-the-flow, not from resignation, but from strength.

The fallout didn’t disappear.  Kids still got cranky.  Schedules still slipped.
But it became manageable.

Because Meira wasn’t depleted anymore. She was happier and fulfilled.
And able to meet her life and her family from a place of calm instead of constant exhaustion.

She was herself again.

Here’s the truth Meira learned:

When you are filled, you don’t need control to feel safe.
When you are regulated, you can tolerate imperfection.
And when you choose to care for yourself, you gain the strength to let things slide without resentment, panic, or collapse.

And when you choose how you want to show up, rather than reacting, you reclaim your power.

You are not wrong for wanting structure.
You are not cold for protecting regulation.
And you are not doomed to be “the bad guy.”
You are not trapped in the role you’ve been playing.
You are choosing it, and that means you can choose differently.

If you’re afraid to let go because you’re already stretched too thin…
If you resent being the only grown-up in the room,
If you don’t like who you’ve become, but don’t see another option…

There is another way.

You don’t have to figure this out alone.  I’d love to help you step out of survival mode and into a calmer, more connected way of showing up as the woman and mother you want to be.

Schedule a Free Call with me 

You deserve to like the woman you’re becoming.