I thought we were further along

“So when the kids are sick—or something doesn’t go as planned—
it’s automatically my responsibility.”

She says it almost casually.
A small, slightly embarrassed smile afterward.

Two young children. Both working.
A modern couple—at least, that’s what it looks like.

I listen – and for a moment, I’m speechless.

Really?
We are living in the 2020s.

I thought we were further along.

In recent weeks, I’ve had several conversations like this.
With women in their early to mid-thirties.
Educated. Confident. Working. Loving.

And still, again and again, this sentence:

“If something unexpected comes up, it’s my responsibility.”

Where does this come from?

Has someone explicitly told us that we have to step in automatically?
Or have we taken it on ourselves—quietly, almost without noticing?

And yet, if I’m honest,
a large part of care work and household responsibilities in my own relationship still falls on me.

Of course, it doesn’t help that I work freelance from home.
I’m “there,” after all.

And while I’m thinking about this, I read about this year’s call for the women’s strike on March 9.

Over a hundred years of women’s rights movements.
And we are still striking.

I notice:
It makes me sad.
And a little angry.

Not only at structures—
but also at ourselves.

What happens when we become tired of standing up?
When we think: maybe it’s not worth it anymore?
When we stay quiet?

The women before me kept going—
often under very different conditions, with far more resistance.

They fought so that I could choose.
So that I could work, have my own bank account, and live independently.

They passed the baton to me.

And now it is my responsibility to carry it forward.
To my children and grandchildren.
To young women who today study, travel, work –
and still hear: “When the kids are sick, it’s your responsibility.”

I was deeply moved by the documentary “A Day Without Women” about the Icelandic women’s strike in 1975.

So calm. So clear. So determined.

These women weren’t loud.
Not aggressive.
Just clear—and they acted.

For one day, they stopped working.
Paid and unpaid.

Today, Iceland is one of the countries with the highest level of equality.
Coincidence? Hardly.

Maybe it doesn’t always take a big fight.
Maybe it takes a stand.

And to me, taking a stand doesn’t mean being against men,
but standing up for ourselves.

For conversations on equal footing.
For honest questions: How do we really share responsibility?
For watching films together, listening to podcasts, opening perspectives.
For gently – but consistently – addressing even the “small” comments.

I admire a much younger friend of mine.
She speaks up consistently—calm, clear, grounded—
whenever something feels dismissive or unfair.

Every time.
Even when I catch myself thinking: is it worth it?

It is.
One of the most convinced feminists I know is her husband.

Not in big slogans.
But in conversations at the kitchen table.
In consciously sharing responsibility.
In standing up—again and again.

Women’s rights are human rights.
And we are half of this world.

If you take one thing from this:

• Question what feels “normal”—especially when it exhausts you
• Speak—not in accusation, but in clarity
• Learn together—knowledge connects
• And if it feels right to you: take a stand, in your own way

Not loud.
But visible.

I will keep going.
With an open heart—and a straight spine.

Will you join me?

Your Takeaway
What feels “normal” can be questioned.
What is unfair deserves to be named.
What matters deserves your voice.

Learning to trust yourself again is often the first quiet shift.
→ Read: Beginning Again in Self-Trust

If you find yourself in a phase of change — not just in relationships, but within yourself — you might resonate with this:
→ Read: When Life Begins to Rewrite You