How do you do it all?
I’m often asked this question, and I know I’m not the only middle-aged woman. It frequently comes up in conversations with colleagues, other school mums and friends; sometimes quietly, sometimes with admiration threaded through it. In fact, I sometimes ask my female clients the same question:
How do you do it all?
The work. The caring. The remembering. The holding together of so many moving parts.
The question rests on a myth that many women at this life stage have quietly carried for years. That competence means limitless capacity. That strength looks like powering through. That saying no isn’t an option. That “doing it all” is both possible and desirable.
What I see, over and over in my clinical work, is just how early this expectation takes root. Many women learn at a young age to be capable, attuned, and reliable. To anticipate needs. To keep things moving. To cope. And for a long time, this way of being works. It builds careers, families, and reputations. It earns praise.
That is:
Until the body starts to speak up.
Until resentment creeps in.
Until the tiredness deepens beyond sleep.
Until the question quietly shifts from How do I do it all? to Why am I the one doing so much?
Midlife has a way of revealing the weight women have carried for years. It brings hormonal shifts, changing roles, ageing parents, and evolving identities that collide with the ongoing demands of work and life. Suddenly, what once felt doable can feel exhausting, not from failure, but from the long-standing and relentless effort that has quietly piled up.
So my own response is gentler and truer now when people ask me the question. I tell them:
I do some things well.
I do some things imperfectly.
Some days I drop balls. Some days, I deliberately put them down.
I ask for help a lot more than I used to; it’s not always easy or comfortable, but I do it.
I say 'no' more frequently, not always confidently, but more honestly, because my plate is already full.
I make room for not knowing, for changing my mind, for not always having the answers.
I’ve put myself on my list of people to care for.
For many of my female clients, therapy becomes the place where they can finally question the script they’ve been living by. Sitting with me gives them space to explore who they are beneath the roles, the competence, the constant doing. A place to give voice to and to grieve what’s been carried alone, and to imagine a different relationship with responsibility, care, and self-worth.
If you find yourself asking, or being asked, "How do you do it all?" it might be worth pausing before answering. Why?
Because perhaps the more important questions are:
What am I carrying that no longer fits?
What have I learned to do at the expense of my own ease and happiness?
What might become possible if “doing it all” was no longer the goal?
What if I said no? Would it really be a bad thing?
Who am I outside my daily roles of mother, daughter, sister, colleague, friend, and confidant?
Where am I on my list of people to care for?
In the end, midlife is not about doing it all. It’s a time of great change (perimenopause, menopause, shifting roles, and new rhythms). It’s also a time in life when many of us stop, turn toward ourselves, and give ourselves permission to let someone else take the weight for a while.
To step back without guilt, to care for our own body and mind, and to trust that life can continue even if we aren’t holding everything.
This is the work of midlife: choosing ourselves, quietly and gently, every day and remembering that our worth is not defined by how well we “do it all.”
Have you been trying to do it all? If yes, perhaps it’s time to pause, get curious, and imagine what life could feel like if you let some things go
Go gently,
Dearbhaill
