The Gen X Woman: Doing It All Nearly Undid Us

In 1995, I was living in Cincinnati, Ohio. I was married, pregnant, and working full time. We needed two incomes to survive. As women, we were expected to do it all—and told we could have it all. We worked 9 to 5, cared for our kids and husbands, and although we were being told to start conversations about sharing household chores, those conversations weren’t going very well.

Gender roles were supposedly shifting, but what did that actually look like? How was it really happening? Even now, decades later, we’re still sorting through those shifts. We were tired, but society, magazines, and those around us reassured us it was fine. We could—and should—make it all work.

Growing up, my own parents had very traditional roles. I had a stay-at-home mom. My dad was an engineer who left after breakfast and returned for dinner at 6:30 p.m. That was my blueprint. I saw my mom doing all the housework while my dad worked.

So when I got married and became a mother, I was already carrying this idea of what a “good woman” did. And even though the world around me was saying, “you can have it all,” I had already absorbed what I thought I should be doing based on what I saw at home.

As I thought about writing this, the lyrics popped into my head:
“I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan, and never let you forget you’re a man.”

I could’ve sworn that was a full-length song sung by someone like Sheena Easton—but ChatGPT assures me it was just a jingle for a perfume ad. Enjoli. From the 1980s. Mandela Effect, anyone?

That era was also when I subscribed to Working Woman and Working Mother magazines. They gave us tips on how to “balance it all.” We were supposed to ask our husbands to help with chores—but most of them had never seen that modeled. The magazines showed women in power suits and pantyhose, dropping their kids at daycare and heading into the office like it was no big deal.

But the economy had shifted. By the 1980s, most households couldn’t survive on one income. Women had to work outside the home. But when we got home, the work didn’t stop. We cooked, cleaned, coordinated the family calendar. The household roles hadn’t shifted alongside the income expectations.

The years I lived as a working mom were tough. Stressful. I pumped breast milk in office bathrooms, smiled through meetings, and still picked my daughter up from daycare. Then came dinner. Then cleaning. I grocery shopped at 5 a.m. on Saturdays. I was even the one cutting the grass—much to the chagrin of a few neighbors. But who else was going to hold it all together if not me?

As wives and mothers, we desperately needed help. But it wasn’t there. And maybe we felt ashamed to ask for it. We were supposed to be able to do it all.

And although it may be controversial to say, many of us—now in midlife—have wondered if second-wave feminism helped us or hurt us. Maybe, just maybe, we would’ve felt less pressure, less stress, if we hadn’t been told we were supposed to do everything.

Comedian Ali Wong captured this sentiment perfectly in one of her specials. She said:

“I want you to lie the fuck down. I think feminism is the worst thing that ever happened to women. Our job used to be no job. We had it so good.”

Was she joking? Absolutely. But also… not entirely. Were the women of past generations truly happy just managing a home and caring for kids? Maybe not. But it sure looked simpler from here.

Even though I worked out and stayed social, I carried a constant undercurrent of anger and resentment toward my spouse.

All of this—this doing it all—what did it really do to us? It made us exhausted. We pushed so hard. We begged our husbands to help clean, to carry just a little more of the load. In my case, I handled the finances too. There wasn’t a single area I didn’t touch.

Back then, no one really used the word “willpower.” Instead, we heard: grit. Perseverance. Keep going. Hustle harder. These terms weren’t framed in psychology yet—they were just expected.
And they only pushed us further into overdrive.

Now in our 50s, many of us are still stuck in this mode. We don’t actually want to lounge on the couch eating bonbons while a housekeeper tidies up. (Okay—maybe a little.)

What we really want is the space to figure out who we are. Breaking those old habits—unraveling years of conditioning—is hard.

We never had time before. We were too busy surviving.

Even when we try to relax—take a vacation, cancel a meeting—our nervous systems rebel. We feel guilty. The floors are dirty. The laundry’s piling up. The job needs us. The house needs us. Someone always needs us.

Your body knows that stress. In a strange way, it almost feels familiar—maybe even safe.

Since 2012, I’ve been slowly rediscovering who I am and what I actually want—not what I was told to want, or what I was trained to tolerate. It hasn’t been easy. But it’s been necessary.

But we are a tough generation.
Tired. But tough.

Have things changed? A little. There are more stay-at-home dads. More men help with bedtime and dishes.
But we’re still the ones remembering birthdays. Planning graduation parties. Keeping track of dentist appointments.
We still carry the emotional labor.

So maybe the question we should be asking is:
“What were you taught about what men do and what women do? And what are you still carrying that needs to be questioned?”

I’m a 56-year-old woman married to a 67-year-old man. His mom worked and later ran a business—but she was mostly a single parent, so she “did it all.” That’s what he saw. That’s what he expects. Maybe it’s even what he needs from a wife.

Today in 2025, we’re flooded with conflicting messages:
Men should be softer. But not too soft.
They should help more. But not feel emasculated.
They should reject toxic masculinity—but also still “man up” in emergencies.

It’s confusing. For them and for us.

Honestly, we’re all still confused. Men and women alike.
What do we want from our husbands?

In a perfect world, I have a man who provides for and protects me—which I do.
Would it be amazing if he also did half the housework? Yep.
But he doesn’t. So the work still comes back to me.

And now the real work—the inner work—is trying not to pressure myself to do and be everything.

What would it look like if I didn’t have to be everything for everyone?
What would it feel like to be just me—for once?

That’s a work in progress.