When Self-Care Feels Like Just Another Task On The To-Do List

I caught myself the other day. I was meeting with a patient—an exhausted, overwhelmed mother—trying to find a gentle way to offer support. And the words came out before I could stop them:

“Are you making time for any self-care?”

She looked at me with a tired kind of half-smile, like she didn’t have the energy to explain the answer to my question. And as I sat there in that silence, I realized just how unfair the question was.

Because what I was really asking—without meaning to—was whether she had managed to complete yet another task, amongst the millions of tasks she had to do that day. Whether she’d managed to squeeze in something restorative between breastfeeding, working, managing the household, surviving the mental load, and simply staying upright in a society that barely sees her. I wasn’t trying to give her homework. But that’s what it sounded like.

In that moment, I realized that asking a mother if she’s practicing self-care often sounds a lot like telling her to fix a system that’s failing her—with a face mask and 10 stolen minutes.

The Self-Care Trap

Walk into any store, scroll through Instagram, or talk to a therapist these days, and you’ll hear it: “You need to take better care of yourself.”

It’s well-meaning. And sometimes, it helps. But what we’ve come to call self-care is often just the bare minimum required to survive—not thrive.

The shower you squeeze in during a nap? That’s not indulgent. That’s hygiene.

The trip to Target with a coffee? That’s not a break. That’s errands with slightly less resentment.

The wine, the skincare, the yoga video—these aren’t luxuries. They’re coping mechanisms for people who are doing too much with too little support.

When Self-Care Becomes a Distraction from the Real Problem

The modern mother is told to do it all, and when she starts to unravel, the solution offered isn’t structural change—it’s “a little more self-care.”

But we can’t meditate, moisturize, or journal our way out of burnout caused by a lack of paid leave, affordable childcare, mental health support, or shared domestic labor.

Self-care has become the prescription for a system that refuses to change.

And because it sounds empowering, it’s hard to argue with. But in practice, it often becomes another task on an already impossible list.

What Real Care Looks Like

I still believe in care. I believe in rituals, rest, boundaries, movement, laughter. I believe in finding small ways to feel like yourself again. But I also believe that care should not be something women have to steal in the margins of their lives.

Real care isn’t just individual—it’s collective. It looks like:

• A partner who co-parents, not just “helps.”

• Workplaces that value caregiving as a strength, not a liability.

• Communities that show up without waiting to be asked.

• Systems that make room for vulnerability, rage, ambivalence, and joy.

What Can We Do Instead?

We can start rewriting the script in small, powerful ways—ways that normalize rest, dignity, and real support for mothers:

• Make your own shower, meal, or walk non-negotiable—a part of your family’s routine, not something that has to be earned. Your needs matter.

• Speak up when workplaces, family, or partners treat care work like it’s invisible. Your voice might give another mother permission to set a boundary.

• Reach out to one mom today and offer something specific. “Can I drop off dinner?” “Want me to take the baby for a walk so you can nap?” Don’t say, “Let me know if you need anything.” She won’t.

• Don’t say “lucky you” when you see a mom alone at a coffee shop or getting her hair done. Say nothing at all. Let her be.

• Never ask, “But who’s watching the kids?” when you see a mom out solo.

We may not be able to fix the system overnight, but we can stop pretending it’s our fault for struggling inside it.

A Final Word

So, yes—I’ll probably still ask patients about self-care sometimes. But I’ll do it with more humility. More awareness of the weight they’re carrying. And more commitment to not just helping them survive—but to imagining a world where they don’t have to do it all alone.