When the Ones You're Serving Make It Hard to Serve

A raw reflection on resentment, responsibility, and learning to release the weight of doing it all.

There’s a part of homemaking that almost no one talks about.

It’s not the folded laundry, the grocery runs, or the endless dishes. It’s the silent grief of trying to hold a home together when it feels like the very people you are doing it for are tearing it apart. (A home that you are blessed and proud to have) It’s feeling invisible in your own house. It’s trying to keep things in order while others move through the space like they are unaware or unwilling to help. Sometimes, it feels like intentional neglect. Sometimes, it feels intentional. Sometimes, it feels like sabotage.

I have lived this. I have cried in my room and in spaces no one else noticed. I have cleaned up the same messes with a heavy heart. I have felt like I was failing when the truth is, I was just exhausted. Not physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It wears on you when the people you love most are the very ones making it harder than it has to be.

In those moments, I would pray for the strength to endure. Then one day, after speaking with a friend, she provided me with the wisdom I needed to start praying for a strategy. I knew that at that moment, I was at my breaking point. Something had to change. And that something was me.

And if I can be completely honest with you, there were times I didn’t want to pray at all. I wanted to pack my things, walk out of this house, and let them figure it out on their own. I told myself, "It’s not worth my peace. They can have all of this. I’ll leave it right here, and they can sit in it. I am tired of being the only one who sees, the only one who shows up, the only one who sacrifices."

I wrote in my journal, "My body is shutting down. I am locking myself in my room more and more, just to cope. I am not speaking to anyone. I am doing the bare minimum. I do not feel seen, and I am not okay."

I knew those feelings were coming from a place of deep, built-up resentment. And resentment is sneaky. It does not always show up as anger. Sometimes, it shows up as silence. Disconnection. Numbness. You just stop showing up in your own life the way you used to. You pull back and say, forget it, what’s the point?

And I knew something had to give. Not because I am weak, but because I am human. And knowing that I was not meant to carry the weight of an entire household alone. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not spiritually.

When I think of the story of Mary and Martha, I think about how Martha was running around the house trying to make everything perfect while Mary sat down and chose to rest at the feet of Jesus. And Jesus told Martha that Mary had chosen the better portion. I used to wrestle with that. Because let’s be real, somebody had to do the work. Right?

But now, I get it. It was not about the chores. It was about the condition of the heart. Martha was performing. Mary was present. That hit me hard. Because somewhere along the way, I had started measuring my worth by how well I performed. How much I could juggle. How perfect I could appear. I had convinced myself that showing up meant showing up flawlessly.

So I started letting go. Not because I knew how. But because I was breaking. Letting go looked like me crying on the floor and whispering to God, I cannot keep doing this. Letting go looked like opening my hands and saying, Lord, teach me how to surrender. Not in theory. But in action. I had to surrender control. My biggest struggle was needing to be in control (don’t confuse that with being controlling). I had to stop performing like peace depended on me alone.

Letting go of control. Letting go of perfection. Letting go of doing everything just because I could. I had to be honest with myself about why I was doing it all. It wasn’t always from love. Sometimes, it was from fear. Fear of being seen as lazy. Fear of judgment. Fear of what would fall apart if I stopped.

But I was already falling apart. So I let it go.

And slowly, things began to shift. Not overnight. Not perfectly. But deeply. And here is what is helping me now:

• I Shared The Vision
  I sat down with my family and told them what kind of home I want to live in. I was real about how I felt. I cried a lot during this meeting. But, I made it clear that I was no longer willing to do it all on my own. I did not just give orders. I invited them into the vision. We are building this together.

• I Assigned Things With Purpose
  Each child has their own tasks based on their age and ability. Not because I want to sit back and do nothing. But because I want them to grow up knowing how to contribute. How to care. How to carry weight. I want them to leave this house prepared, not entitled.

• I Stopped Fixing Everything
  If someone forgot something, I did not run behind them cleaning it up. If a chore was missed, I did not rescue. I paused. I let the consequences speak. Because growth comes through responsibility, not through rescue.

• I Made My Schedule Known
  This was a game changer for me. I told my family, this is what my day looks like. And I meant it. If I blocked off time to rest for an hour, I was resting. If I set aside time to read, pray, journal, or make phone calls, that time was mine. I was no longer negotiating my well-being. My self-care was no longer optional. I stopped shrinking my needs to fit their convenience. I simply stopped asking for permission and waiting for everyone else to make sure that I was also on my list of priorities.

• I Prayed For The Home I Wanted, Not Just The One I Had
  I talked to God differently. I asked Him to change the atmosphere in my home, but I also asked Him to change my heart. I didn’t want to just survive the days. I wanted to feel joy again. I wanted peace again. And I trusted Him to show me how to get there.

• I Celebrated Small Wins
  If one child picked up their clothes without me saying a word, I thanked God. If dinner came together without drama, I noticed it. I gave thanks. I stopped waiting for everything to be perfect to feel encouraged. Small wins are still wins.

This journey has not been easy. There are still days I get overwhelmed. There are still moments when I want to cry in my room. But I am not doing it all alone anymore. I am not trying to be this perfect homemaker. I am trying to be a healthy woman who leads her home with grace and trust in God. And that takes faith.

So if you are in a season where your home feels heavy, I want to remind you… God sees you. He sees the meals you make and the tears you try to hide. He sees the parts of your heart that feel tired and forgotten. And He is with you.

Our story is not over. We are growing. We are healing. We are learning how to let go and still lead. And that is beautiful.