Purple Vanilla World

We hear it all the time: one person in the household is carrying the invisible labor—the mental load, the remembering, the planning, the delegating. One partner thinks chores are a 50/50 split, while the other is quietly drowning.

And when this is brought up, when the one carrying the bulk finally asks for help, it’s often met with, “Well, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
But the telling? That’s part of the labor.
And most of the time, it’s easier to just do it yourself.

Invisible labor is being talked about more lately, especially in heterosexual relationships. It’s often gendered—the woman doing the work, the man relaxing on the couch, assuming the bills and appointments manifest from thin air.

But for my own comfort and clarity[1], I’m choosing to use the terms femme and masc, not to refer to gender (and maybe that’s my own trauma not letting me speak freely in my feminist rage), but because I think gender and sex aren’t the point. The more important point here is the energies themselves. The essence.

Femme as intuitive, connected, nurturing.
Masc as assertive, logical, action-driven.[2]

Every human carries both energies. The problem isn’t the presence of either, but the imbalance between them.

Some people lean more one way than the other. Some have balance. Some have chaos.

Look, we all know the yin and the yang. I’m not trying to preach anything revolutionary. I promise, I’ll get back to invisible labor in a moment.

In my professional life, I balance masc and femme well. But at home? I fall into my femme, but my masc rushes in to protect her. That makes sense to me. Masc protects. Femme thrives in safety. So my masc shows up to take care of things. It grabs the reins. It handles it.

So it’s no surprise when I say: at home, I tend to take on the invisible labor of the household.
But it is my masc that is still protecting my femme. My masc sees control as safety, so it takes on all the invisible labor to shield my femme. But in doing so, I burn myself out. I end up too tired and drained and decision-fatigued to even access the part of me that I’m trying to protect—the creative, intuitive, soft part of me.
It’s counterproductive.

Because now I’m too burnt out and wrought with decision fatigue to actually flourish in my creative, beautifully intuitive, femme self.

This clash and imbalance creates internal friction and mistrust within the walls of my own body.
I am no longer protecting myself, but instead self-sabotaging the very thing I am trying to achieve: power.

Now, power is a loaded word, right? Power tends to have negative connotations—at least the way it’s been imprinted in my brain, it has. It tends to be associated as an antonym to humility and humbleness, which are viewed as virtues in many cultures and religions.

But then there’s empowerment. Just slap “em” in front of it and suddenly it’s a good thing. A buzzword. Something we’re told to want.

So here’s the thing: power is synonymous with these virtues.

So fuck it. I think power is pretty fucking cool to have.
Not to have power over others, because we can only control our own words and actions[3], but the kind of power that says “I know what I need, and I will respond to my needs with care.”
The kind of power that builds boundaries instead of walls.
The kind that makes you feel steady.

That’s some (yep, you guessed it) powerful shit right there, my guy.

And I think invisible labor steals it. It steals our power.

If you’ve ever been the one carrying invisible labor, you know it’s not just about remembering to buy toilet paper.
It’s the emotional labor, too.

We’re not just managing calendars and errands. We’re tracking moods. We’re absorbing shame.
We’re holding the household’s center of gravity.

Sometimes, we are literally carrying someone else’s survival.[4]

I heard someone at an Al-Anon meeting say,

“Codependents cry that they do everything for everyone and then get resentful when no one does it back.”

Wowza. That one hit.

Invisible labor isn’t always asked for.
We take it on because it gives us the illusion of control in a chaotic world.
It soothes our anxiety. But it also fuels our martyrdom, our resentment, our exhaustion.

It’s a trap. A trap we built, decorated, and locked ourselves inside.

And yeah, okay. That’s real. Boundaries matter[5]. It’s actually kinder to let people be responsible for themselves.

But here’s the other thing: setting boundaries? Terrifying.

My nervous system interprets it as danger. Rejection. Death.
Not metaphorically. Biologically.

The same way a wolf that has been shunned from her pack would literally fucking die without her homies.

Shame is still embedded in our DNA.[6]

And when we start setting boundaries—not as ultimatums, but as quiet actions that say, “this doesn’t work for me anymore”—we often get punished.
Not physically, maybe. But emotionally. Energetically.
We get shunned. Mocked. Dismissed.

And to a nervous system wired for survival, being rejected is death. Literally.

My body responds to silence like a wolf banished from her pack.
Like I’m going to die.
Like I am already dying.

I know it sounds dramatic. But for those of us with trauma, with CPTSD, with nervous systems wired for survival, this shit is real.

So yes, while boundaries are critical for healthy relationships, it’s still putting the emotional labor back on the femme. It’s still something we need to change and carry.

What pop psychology misses about toxic codependency is what the codependent needs.

I could cry on the spot if someone anticipated my needs. I’m not even exaggerating.
Like if someone said,
“I got you dinner because I know you’re tired and burnt out and probably don’t want to make another goddamn decision tonight.”

That level of thoughtfulness? That shit would destroy me in the best way.

Instead, I pour that care into other people every single day, and still end up feeling like it’s too much to expect reciprocity.
Still met with resistance when I bid for connection.
Still left wondering if love is just something I don’t deserve.

And they pathologize it and call it codependent.

But many of us do it because we care. Because we give a shit. Because we anticipate needs.
Because we want to be loved as we love others.

And look, I get it. From the outside looking in, people might say,
“If you’re doing all this for others and they’re not giving anything back, just leave. Set a boundary. Walk away.”

And I want to be that person—the one who says,
“Nope. I’m done. Bye.”

I’m not there yet.
I want to be her, but she’s still scared.
She’s still me.[7]

But biiiiiiiitch… I’m tired.

Not “I need a nap” tired.
I’m “I’ve been emotionally parenting adults for three decades” tired.

My soul. Our souls. All of us.
All of us collectively holding up the invisible weight of the world on our fucking shoulders.

We joke that if femmes ruled the world, everything would be better.
And honestly? I believe that.

Not because masc is bad, but because society is wildly, dangerously out of balance.
The emotional, spiritual, and invisible labor has been shoved entirely onto one half of the energy equation.

The givers are drained.
The takers are stunted.

We don’t need to throw away codependency.
We need to heal it.

Codependency is only toxic when it’s unhealthy.
But healthy codependency? Mutual care? Interdependence?
That’s what we’re made for.

We are capable of finding the balance of healthy levels of codependency.
Because anticipating someone’s needs with care and grace and kindness?
That’s not a moral failing.
That’s humanity. That’s survival.

It’s beautiful. It’s necessary.
It’s what keeps the world soft enough to live in.

We need to reclaim the femme. Let her lead. Let her care.
Interweave more of it into our collective consciousness.

The problem isn’t codependency. It’s a society that dumps all the invisible labor onto one energy and lets the other coast through life like everything just magically happens.

We’re sick. We’re burnt. We’re disconnected.
The givers are fried and bitter and condescending.
The takers are helpless and entitled and robbed of the self-worth that comes from service.
Everyone’s starving.

And yeah, I’m ranting.
But if you strip it down to a single thought?

The givers need to loosen their grip and ask for help.
The takers need to lower their defensive weapons and help.

Could you imagine a society where all emotional, mental, and invisible labor was shared equitably among everyone based on their own personal competencies?
Where people gave based on their capacity, and received without guilt or entitlement.
Where kindness wasn’t currency, but culture?

I think that world is possible.
I think that balance could change everything.

To be 100% real with you all:
I started this piece as a resentful soft rage.
It ended up turning into an existential jimmy jam.[8]

I don’t make the rules. I just show up.

Thanks for riding it out with me. You just got to see the inside of my brain, which is chaotic and repetitive and sensitive as hell.

But if you take one thing with you?

Just share the fucking load.
Givers, let go of control and ask for help.
Takers, put down your defenses and fucking help.

That’s it.
See it. Acknowledge it. Help carry it.

Because we can’t keep pretending this shit is invisible.

by Thalia Graves

Purple Vanilla World, 2025

Footnotes

The footnotes are meant to honor that part of me that needs to over-explain whilst giving you the power of choice to whether or not you actually give a fuck enough to read these funny little side notes. If you’re still reading, thank you. My inner monologue has a lot of tabs open.

[1] Part of my neurodivergent experience is that I’m chronically misunderstood, so I over-explain to make sure I’m perceived clearly. Consider it a survival tactic. I could censor this part of myself, but why? Over-explaining comforts me, and maybe someone else out there needs that too.

[2] These are the definitions as they exist in my brain.

[3] Some would say thoughts fall into that category, too, but my brain be wildin’ sometimes, and I am not about to pretend I can wield power over everything it conjures up. What I do have control over (when I’m grounded) is how I respond to those thoughts.

[4] Just in case you missed that above, let me say it louder for the dissociating girlies in the back—yes, sometimes we are literally carrying someone else’s survival.

[5] Boundaries are cool AF and way kinder than doing everything for someone and robbing them of their own agency. It’s not about controlling them. It’s about deciding what you are willing or unwilling to do.

[6] Shame is an outdated survival strategy that once helped keep us in the tribe. Now it mostly just ruins group chats. (Shout out to Brené Brown, check her out if you haven’t already)

[7] Y’all don’t fret. We in therapy trying to heal this shit. I’ve been learning how to connect the mind and the body and the body and the mind. They’re both just trying to help. They just don’t always communicate with each other.

[8] Existential jimmy jam = when my diary turns into a TED Talk with spice and unresolved childhood trauma.