What do you think about when you wake up?
How men and women see their days differently, from expectations to energy to what it takes to build something together.
I woke up feeling sick on Monday and instantly started stressing about everything I had to do or what I might miss. At one point, I even caught myself thinking, I need to call or go see my mom today, and how will I get the kids to school? But my mom passed away two years ago and two of my kids are in college and the other can drive herself. It’s an autopilot response, and my automatic reflex is: Will everybody be okay if I’m not okay? A very mom-like, sandwich generation vibe I’ve been navigating for over 20 years.
It’s a hard habit to break, even with all the therapy and tools I’ve used to ease this kind of anxiety. I can talk myself through it and come back to reality, but the feeling still lingers, the sense that I should be helping someone, that someone must need attention, and maybe I’ve forgotten. This feeling is not just a Cathy thing, it’s cultural. It lives in the body and comes from real experience and expectation. It’s a deeply ingrained societal norm, and I write and talk about these patterns because naming them helps. It makes it easier to find some kind of balance, with less defensiveness and more understanding.
Lately, Todd and I have been sharing what’s on our minds first thing in the morning, just to notice the differences. Todd is open about the fact that his mind goes straight to his schedule, his day, his to-do list. Meanwhile, I’m wondering how everyone’s feeling, what’s going on with everyone else and then, I think about my own day. This isn’t about who loves our kids more or who’s the better person, it’s about conditioning. Not just in our home, but in the homes of the vast majority of women I’ve worked with over the past two decades.
Women are seen as the last line of defense when it comes to everyone’s emotional well-being - and yes, there are absolutely men who feel this too - but for women it’s more of the default expectation. We’re taught to stay tuned in to everyone around us, to make sure they’re okay. And this belief doesn’t just live in our minds, it settles into our bodies, our nervous systems, into the way we wake up and move through each day.
I’ve talked to enough men to know that most of them want to contribute and show up in a more emotionally present way. They want deeper relationships, with their kids, their partners, and their aging parents. But sometimes they just don’t know how to begin or how to shift the dynamic. They’ve had less practice in this area, which can leave them feeling uncertain or less confident about how to show up in a way that feels meaningful.
In the best-case scenario, it’s simply a lack of experience. Historically, they weren’t expected to show up emotionally or see caregiving as part of their role, so it’s not built into their routine or way of thinking. In the worst-case scenario, they don’t believe it’s their responsibility. They see caregiving and emotional connection as “feminizing” or as something that makes them feel less than.
Culturally men are taught that their needs come first, that being a financial provider is enough, and that emotions and caregiving belong to someone else. For women, it’s usually the opposite. It’s about adapting, accommodating, and keeping the peace. Even when women try to put themselves at the top of the list, we’re usually still holding everyone else in mind, or we’re seen as the ones who should be holding everyone else in mind.
This gender difference in how we’re conditioned can make even the most basic conversations about caregiving or emotional labor feel challenging. And on a macro level, there’s often blowback from these kinds of conversations, causing the cultural pendulum to swing too far in the opposite direction. We see it in the way some corporate leaders feel empowered to reject calls for inclusivity and accountability, framing their resistance as a stand against political correctness. But really, it reflects a belief that they shouldn’t have to change. There’s one quote from a banker in a Financial Times article that’s stuck with me: "I feel liberated. We can say “r****d” and “p***y”without the fear of getting cancelled...it's a new dawn.”
His vote or his motivation comes from a desire to not be questioned, to not be told what to say or how to be. He calls it freedom, but really it’s permission. Permission to ignore the impact of his words and to avoid considering how others might experience or respond to him. Others should respond to what he needs, but he doesn’t feel he should have to respond to what they need. That’s the version of leadership some people are drawn to. Not because it’s bold or visionary, but because it allows them to stay unchanged.
That’s corporate culture, but in my experience, it shows up on a micro level in couples too. Men tell me that when they’re asked to look at their role beyond what they’re already doing, it feels like criticism, like they’re being accused of doing something wrong. And often, the response is to shut down or push back, even when the conversation is really about connection and creating something new, not blame.
This makes sense when you consider that, culturally speaking, men being questioned is seen as disrespectful, and their authority isn’t supposed to be challenged. Our society teaches us that men’s emotional awareness is optional, not expected, and when they do show it, they’re often met with over-the-top praise or deep appreciation (think about the reaction to dads taking their kids to the park, picking them up from school, grocery shopping, or packing lunches—they’re celebrated for doing what women are expected to do without acknowledgment).
Men are expected to be strong, to take charge, to keep going. So when they’re asked to reflect or shift, it can feel like they’re being asked to give up power, control, or certainty. But refusing to listen doesn’t show strength, it only creates distance. In real time this looks like:
A dad who withdraws when their kid is upset because he doesn’t know how to comfort without fixing.
A man who says, “What more do you want from me?” when asked to engage emotionally with his partner.
A man who handles the bills and the lawn but hasn’t had a meaningful conversation with his spouse in weeks.
It can look like silence, defensiveness, or a default to doing rather than feeling.
In my 20 years of working with women, I’ve found that the questioning or desire for a conversation around emotional labor isn’t meant to be a threat. I know many men have told me they felt threatened, or that their partners didn’t bring things up in the best way, but that’s not the goal. The discussion is an opportunity to better understand each other and a chance for something new. A way to recognize each other’s conditioning and to name present-day needs and desires.
In real time this looks like:
How do we both wake up thinking about others, so it doesn’t always fall on one of us.
How do we both consider our spending, so one person isn’t left worrying about money.
How about I mow the lawn and then you mow the lawn.
How about you fix dinner and then I fix dinner.
It’s not about keeping score. It’s about the ability to share without defaulting to our gender roles. This makes us valued partners where we are working together against the challenges, instead of working against each other. In real time this looks like:
Let’s make caring about others a human trait, not a gendered one.
Let’s raise boys to notice, to respond, to carry some of the invisible weight.
Let’s give girls permission to think about themselves without guilt.
Todd has been handling the groceries lately, and because he finds it quicker and more productive, he orders them online and then picks them up. But I started noticing that the bananas picked out by the store were very green and that the avocados weren’t close to ripe. Sometimes, if something wasn’t available, the store would substitute it with something we didn’t need. Todd’s intentions were good, but the outcome wasn’t always ideal.
And of course, my first thought is: Well, he’s trying. So I won’t make a big deal out of it, I’ll just go do it myself. That’s my default, but it doesn’t help either of us.
So I bring it up, knowing it’s not about criticizing him as a person. The effort is there, it’s the outcome that isn’t working. The bananas and avocados are not ready to be eaten, so on the days we need them, we don’t have them.
We’ve had these kinds of difficult conversations for years, and we’re well practiced. But they can still feel clunky because it’s not always easy to be clear about what’s needed without sounding hurtful or like a “nag” (I can’t stand this word, but I’m using it here to point out how it gets weaponized against women who are asking for something different).
What I know for sure is that Todd wants to listen because in the big picture, he genuinely wants to help. He wants to understand what’s needed and feel good about how he’s showing up.
Not every conversation is about efficiency or dividing things up equally. They’re about mutual respect and collaboration. They’re about making space for honesty, not tiptoeing around to avoid upsetting each other. Most of all, they’re about being in relationship, not just filling roles.
