Burnout in the Kitchen: 30+ Years of Cooking, Cleaning, and Still Nobody Helping
Let me tell you something nobody likes to say out loud: homemaker burnout is real, and it is ugly. I’ve been running this household for over three decades—cooking meals, scrubbing dishes, wiping counters, washing clothes, and picking up after everybody. And you know what? I am flat-out burned to the ground.
I don’t mean the kind of “oh, I need a little spa day” tired. I mean bone-deep, soul-heavy, if I see one more dirty dish pile up I might lose it tired. The kind of tired where you start wondering what it would feel like if you just stopped, let it all go, and let everyone else sit in the filth for once. But of course, I don’t, because I can’t.
The Never-Ending Cycle
It goes like this: I clean the kitchen, make a meal, serve everyone, and before I even sit down, the mess is already starting again. Dishes left on the counter, food scraps on the stove, crumbs on the floor. It’s like a revolving door of chaos that only I seem to see. Everyone else just breezes through, eats, and goes about their day like magic fairies are supposed to clean up after them. Spoiler: the fairy is me.
The Loneliness of It
What nobody tells you about homemaker burnout is the loneliness. You can be surrounded by people all day long—kids, spouse, whoever—and still feel completely invisible. Nobody thanks you. Nobody notices. They just assume the house runs on autopilot because you keep it going.
And when you dare speak up? You’re “nagging.” You’re “overreacting.” Or my favorite: “Well, just don’t do it then.” As if we could all just stop doing dishes and laundry and somehow not drown in filth by next week.
The Guilt That Eats You Alive
Here’s the kicker: even when you fantasize about walking away, about leaving the mess for someone else, the guilt eats you alive. Because you know if you don’t do it, it won’t get done. The house will fall apart, the animals will suffer, and you’ll still be the one blamed for “letting things go.”
So we keep on. Day after day. Year after year. Until one day you wake up and realize you’ve been running this unpaid, thankless job for over forty years and nobody even notices you’re drowning.
What I’ve Learned (The Hard Way)
I don’t have some Pinterest-worthy list of solutions here. What I’ve got is honesty:
- You have to say no sometimes. Even if it means things get messy.
- Take shortcuts. Paper plates, slow cooker meals, whatever keeps you sane.
- Find small joys. A good cup of coffee, music blasting while you clean, or sneaking outside to breathe for five damn minutes.
- Stop waiting for applause. It ain’t coming. The validation has to come from you.
Why I’m Writing This
I’m not here to sugarcoat. I’m writing this because I know I’m not the only one. There are women (and men too) out there killing themselves in silence, running homes like unpaid managers, and thinking they’re just “bad at it” because they’re exhausted. You’re not bad at it—you’re burned out.
And if nobody else says it, let me: I see you. I feel you. And I know what it’s like to be stuck in the kitchen, 30 years deep, wondering if anyone will ever step up and help.
That’s the raw truth. No bow on it, no fake fix. Just the real deal from someone who’s been at this way too long.
