By: Laiba Laraib
She wakes up before the sun. Not because she wants to, but because the day has already made its demands. She makes breakfast, packs lunch bags, braids little hairs, and wipes sleepy faces. Then she rushes to her own job — the one that pays the bills. The one that helps keep the family afloat.
By the time she returns home, the second shift begins. Laundry. Homework. Groceries. Dinner. Bath time. A thousand little things that no one notices until they aren’t done.
She handles it. Quietly. Bravely. Exhaustedly.
But here is the part that breaks her heart the most: no one says thank you. Instead, the people around her — especially the men — say something far worse.
“You are a woman. This is your job.”
Not just once. But again and again. Until she almost believes it.
Let me pause here and say something very clearly: She is not a machine. She is a mother, a partner, a worker, a caretaker, a cook, a cleaner, a financial supporter, and a human being with her own dreams and limits.
And still — even after doing all of this — she is not valued.
When a man comes home from work, he is praised for “helping the family.” But when a woman comes home from work, she is asked, “What’s for dinner?”
When she brings money to the household, it is treated as extra — as if her salary is just a bonus, not a lifeline. But if she stops earning? The house feels the loss. If she stops cooking? The house falls apart. If she stops managing everything? No one even knows where the extra light bulbs are kept.
So why is her effort invisible?
Because somewhere along the way, society decided that a woman’s work — all of it — is simply her duty. Not a contribution. Not a sacrifice. Just something she was born to do.
Let me tell you, sister to sister: this is not fair. And it is not love.
Respect is not about letting a woman “rest sometimes.” Respect is seeing her work as equal to yours — whether she is at a desk, a hospital, a school, or a kitchen stove. Respect is saying, “You did so much today. Let me take over now.” Respect is teaching sons to wash dishes and daughters to dream big — and then letting both of them live those dreams.
To every woman reading this: I see you. I know the weight you carry. The sleepless nights. The quiet tears in the bathroom. The way you smile when inside you are breaking.
And to the men who live beside these incredible women: please, stop calling it her responsibility. Call it our life. She did not marry to become your servant. She married to become your partner. If she can handle children, a home, a job, and still love you — then surely you can handle giving her the respect she has earned a thousand times over.
Because doing it all is not her nature. It is her exhaustion. And exhaustion, without appreciation, turns into a very lonely kind of pain.
Let’s change that. Not tomorrow. Today.
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