Our mothers taught us a strange habit.
Before you can rest, you must first be exhausted.
Why does a “good woman” always have to be tired?
Look closely at the women in your own home.
Ammi may have been working since morning.
Breakfast for everyone.
Cleaning the house.
Taking care of the laundry.
Lunch.
Someone’s medicine.
Someone’s phone call.
Someone’s preferences.
Someone’s displeasure.
And then you say:
“Ammi, sit down now.”
What does she say?
“No, no. There’s still this one thing left to do.”
You tell her:
“It can be done tomorrow.”
And the answer comes:
“No. Jab tak kaam poora na ho, chain nahi aata.”
Until the work is finished, she simply cannot relax.
This is not always just a habit of finishing what needs to be done.
Sometimes, it is the guilt of rest.
The feeling that resting is something to feel guilty about.
Many of our women have lived in environments where their worth was measured by how much work they did.
The greater the sacrifice, the better the woman.
The less she complained about being tired, the stronger the woman.
The woman who cooks for everyone even when she herself is ill is considered remarkable.
The mother who looks after her children even with a fever is considered the best mother.
The woman who stays awake all night and still makes breakfast in the morning is called sughar.
And if she says:
“I’m tired. I’m going to rest today.”
She may immediately hear:
“Tum se to itna bhi nahi hota?”
You can’t even manage this much?
And slowly, a dangerous thought settles into a woman’s mind:
“My value is not in who I am. My value is in how useful I am to others.”
And that is where the problem begins.
When she sits idle, she becomes restless.
Even when the house is clean, she finds something else to clean.
When all the work is finished, she offers to help someone else.
She allows everyone else to rest.
But not herself.
Because perhaps nobody ever taught her that a person does not have to reach the point of collapse before earning the right to rest.
Rest is not a reward.
You do not have to exhaust yourself first and then grant yourself permission to sit down for five minutes.
Rest is a physical need.
And there is something else that is even more unfortunate.
We are passing the same habit on to the next generation.
Even today, many women feel the need to explain themselves if they hire someone to help around the house.
“I’m very busy, that’s why I hired help.”
“My health hasn’t been good, so I had to.”
“I have the children to look after, so I don’t really have a choice.”
“I have so much other work as well.”
Why?
Because somewhere, we are still trying to prove:
“Main kaam chor nahi hoon. I’m just resting this time.”
But here is a question.
Have you ever heard a man explain:
“I hired a driver, but not because I’m lazy.”
Or:
“I ordered food, but not because I can’t cook. I just didn’t feel like cooking today.”
Probably not.
So why does a woman have to prove her innocence before allowing herself any convenience?
Someone buys a machine to make the work easier.
Someone hires domestic help.
Someone orders food from outside.
Someone decides to do only half the household chores.
Someone spends an entire Sunday sleeping.
What exactly is wrong with any of that?
Not every exhaustion is bravery.
Not every sacrifice is necessary.
And doing everything yourself is not always sughar-pan.
Sometimes, the insistence on doing everything yourself simply reveals that you have spent your whole life giving everyone else permission to rest—
except yourself.
Learn saleeqa from your mothers.
Learn responsibility.
Learn love.
Learn how to hold a family together.
But do not learn that:
A good woman is a woman who is constantly tired.
No.
A good woman can also be someone who takes an afternoon nap.
Who divides the work.
Who asks for help.
Who says “no.”
Who can leave the dishes until later.
Who occasionally chooses to do her hair instead of cleaning the house.
Who lets the children play by themselves for half an hour.
Who drinks one cup of tea while simply sitting down—without doing another task at the same time.
And above all:
Who does not measure her worth by how many people she exhausted herself for today.
We want our mothers’ strength.
But not the exhaustion they have carried for generations.
We want their saleeqa.
But not the restlessness that made them feel guilty even while resting.
We want their love.
But not the habit of erasing themselves in the process.
Because perhaps this is one of the most important lessons our generation needs to learn:
You do not have to be ill to deserve rest.
You do not have to be desperate before you are allowed to ask for help.
And you do not have to exhaust yourself to prove your worth.
Do one thing today.
Leave one unnecessary household task undone.
Sit down for five minutes.
And ask yourself:
“Do I genuinely need to keep working—or am I simply afraid that someone will think I am kaam chor?”
If the answer is the latter, then perhaps this is one burden our generation should not inherit from our mothers.
Perhaps, with love, this is where we should let it end.
Do you ever feel unnecessarily guilty while resting?
Or does something happen the moment you realise your husband is about to come home?
Do you suddenly start rushing around, trying to make the house look perfect?
Do you make sure that when he walks through the door, he finds you doing something?
Anything—as long as you do not appear to be resting.
Because somewhere inside, there is a fear:
What if he thinks I spent the whole day doing nothing but resting?