Let’s talk about it. The Atlantic recently dropped an article about the “default parent” being Mom, and honestly, the thought of paying for that insight just made me roll my eyes. Look, I get it, everyone needs to get paid for their work. But there’s a part of me that remembers when news, even common sense observations, felt more readily available. This topic, though? It’s not breaking news to any mom out there. We live it, breathe it, and often, drown in it. And no, I ain’t paying for what I already know in my bones.

Clocking In, Again and Again

My friends, when I “clock out” from my paying job, I immediately clock into my other, equally demanding job: Mom. It’s a continuous juggling act – trying to be an employee, a daughter, a sister, a niece, a blogger, an entrepreneur, a Black woman, a Christian, and just a human being, all while striving to do it all pretty darn well. The resources for being a human in this current society? Limited, to say the least. It’s a lot, and frankly, it’s exhausting.

And let’s be real, my own neurospiciness combined with raising my kids adds a whole other layer of complexity. What might be standard for some feels significantly harder, more draining, for me. The mental load is truly taxing. I’m either remembering every little detail or falling behind on it all. Planning, executing, and budgeting for everything – without a consistent safety net – feels like walking a tightrope without a net.

The Elusive “Me” Time

You know what “me time” looks like in my head? It’s simple: reading a book, or even just a chapter, at night. But even that small dream often turns into a wrestling match with my middle son, who somehow manages to monopolize the bathroom for 30 minutes to an hour, leaving me, and everyone else, in limbo. It’s wanting to sleep consistently and stress-free, actually remembering those pre-sleep rituals that make a difference.

I crave the freedom to go to the gym and work out without having to first secure childcare or feeling utterly rushed. Or simply walking out the door for a stroll without a single concern for the kids. Scheduling regular self-care – a mani or pedi, a massage, anything that feels like maintenance – gets pushed aside due to guilt or the sheer logistical nightmare of inconsistent scheduling. My creative outlets, like AI generation, content creation, music, or even just coloring, often fall by the wayside. By the end of the day, my energy is zapped, and at the start, I’m wrangling kids or sacrificing sleep. Neither is sustainable, and neither can “slip.”

“Help” That Still Leaves You Holding All the Info

I am blessed, truly, to have my mom and the kids’ father who are willing to help. But here’s the kicker about being the default parent: it’s still a lot. If I’m the only one with all the information, all the answers locked in my brain, is it truly “extra” help? It’s like having extra hands, but still being the only brain running the show.

Add to that a complex dynamic with my own family, and it’s frankly frustrating to often feel like the only fully functioning adult, the mature one, while also being the default parent. It’s an isolating space to inhabit.

The constant flow of information and logistics falls squarely on my shoulders. I’m the one managing doctor and dental appointments, navigating school renewals (shout out to DC parents dealing with that right now! 😜), and now, figuring out the labyrinthine logistics of summer break. I had to enroll one kid in a summer program and keep track of those dates, knowing I’m on pick-up and drop-off duty, directly impacting my own work schedule. My other son is navigating his first summer job in DC, but he hasn’t completed everything or even checked his email, so that’s another looming uncertainty I’m monitoring. My 19-year-old is doing his own thing, working, but still a young adult in training, which comes with its own set of “mom, where’s this?” moments.

And then there are those moments that just scream “default parent.” Like that time I was out enjoying a rare, relaxing outing with my mother, only to receive a panicked phone call from my eldest. He had a boo-boo. No big deal, right? Except his dad was sitting right there with them at his mother’s house. My son still called me. The sheer disbelief, the immediate wave of frustration and panic – it was beyond understanding. My deepest wish in that moment? That my child felt his other parent was equally capable of handling the situation, that he could resolve the issue right then and there. But he didn’t. It was years ago and we are past that since it is a funny story but still, I feel a lil peed off.

This Sunday, for instance, I have an event I’m really looking forward to. But even with dad available, I’m left coordinating the care of the kids. I’m dealing with the complaints from my mother, trying to get myself ready like I want to, knowing that my enjoyment of the event simply won’t be as great as it could be if factors were different, or if others stepped up differently.

It’s More Than Just Helping Out

This isn’t just about sharing tasks; it’s about sharing the mental load, the anticipatory stress, the burden of being the keeper of all information and the primary problem-solver. It’s about being seen as equally capable and being trusted to resolve issues.

So, to all the default parents out there, especially the moms, I see you. I feel you. This invisible job is real, demanding, and often thankless.

What’s your “default parent” moment that still makes you shake your head? Share your experiences in the comments below – let’s lift each other up!

Sources:

Khazan, Olga. “The Atlantic.” The Atlantic, theatlantic, 14 May 2025, http://www.theatlantic.com/family/archive/2025/05/default-parent-mother-father/682727/. Accessed 28 May 2025.