I live in a three-generation household with my husband, our three children, and my in-laws.
Like many women in multigenerational homes, I carry a lot — an endless array of responsibilities, or at least that’s how it often feels. Household chores, children’s schedules, routines, emotional needs, school concerns, and all the invisible things that somehow land on the woman of the house.
But over the years, I learned something important: If I tried to carry everything, I would burn out. So, gradually, I drew certain boundaries. Not dramatic ones. Mostly quiet, mental ones. One very significant shift was reminding myself — and, in subtle ways, others too — that when it came to my in-laws, the primary responsibility rested with my husband. They are his parents first.
It doesn’t mean I don’t care. I do. But somewhere over the years, it became clear that for my own sanity — and to make sure I could do what I was responsible for properly — I needed to take a few steps back.
Stepping back felt necessary
As a demographic researcher, I’ve often approached life through data and patterns. Research on sandwich generation and multigenerational households, especially in Asian settings, repeatedly shows that women’s well-being often suffers the most. Their mental load grows. Their health suffers. They become emotional managers of everyone else’s needs while quietly neglecting their own.
I believe that research because, at times, I have lived it. There were moments when I would even bring it up with my husband — sometimes seriously, sometimes out of frustration — explaining that just because things looked manageable from the outside didn’t mean they felt manageable on the inside.
And in many ways, stepping back where I could felt necessary. Necessary for survival. Necessary for balance.
My husband doesn’t have it easy
Somewhere along the way, I also started noticing something else. My husband never really had the luxury of stepping back. For him, there is no clear line between responsibilities. His parents, his children, his wife — all of us need him, often at the same time. One moment he is paying the school fee or discussing an extra club expense with the kids. The next, he is handling something related to his parents. Somewhere in between are financial decisions, household concerns, and the invisible pressure of making sure everyone feels secure.
And unlike me, he cannot quietly tell himself, this part isn’t mine. Because for him, it’s all his.
I began to see that his role also feels invisible at times. In Asian families especially, sons are often expected to care for their parents while also being providers, present fathers, and dependable husbands. These responsibilities may not compete on paper, but in real life, they overlap in exhausting ways. I started seeing this more consciously over time. Not because I hadn’t cared before — but because I slowed down enough to really look at life through his perspective.
The emotional responsibility of keeping everyone steady — making sure parents feel cared for, children feel supported, and home remains peaceful. That kind of pressure doesn’t announce itself loudly. But it is there — quietly and continuously.
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I have guilt about how much i’m doing
And this is where things become emotionally complicated for me, because logically, I know the boundaries I’ve created are necessary. I know I cannot carry everything. I know I am already doing a lot. But love doesn’t always listen to logic.
When I see him juggling so much, there are moments when guilt quietly creeps in. Not guilt that I’m failing. But the softer, harder-to-explain kind. I wonder, am I doing enough to make this easier for him too? Could I step in differently? Support him better? Lighten the load in ways I haven’t thought about?
We talked about it. I realized that sometimes even saying, “Thank you, you’re doing a good job,” or “I see how much you’re handling,” matters. He also told me that simply acknowledging what he carries feels like support.
We’re still figuring it out
There is no perfect balance in a home with three generations. Some days feel lighter. Some don’t.
Over time, we have both realized something important: understanding each other’s burdens matters just as much as sharing them.
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