A sink full of dishes and a choice in every moment
This morning, I walked into the kitchen and saw the sink full of dishes.
My first instinct? Blame my husband.
And that’s exactly how it used to go:
I’d say, “Why don’t you ever help with the dishes?”
He’d respond defensively: “I’m tired, I’m doing the best I can” or “Why do you keep nagging me?”
I’d fire back: “Why do I have to carry all the mental load — dishes, appointments, birthdays, everything?”
Round and round we went. The dishes got done, but only with tension, resentment, or loud, passive-aggressive scrubbing.
How did we get out of that cycle?
We decided to get help.
We worked with a couples therapist who didn’t just listen or give advice. They helped us:
Notice the protective voice causing distress.
Give that voice attention without an agenda to fix or change it.
Understand its hopes, fears, and intentions.
Befriend it.
Step back from it so we could problem-solve together without the voice running the show.
What I learned about my system:
I have a hypervigilant part that notices all the things that need to be done.
I have a critical part toward my husband for not contributing as I expected.
I would blame or politely request he do the dishes.
I’d grow resentful if he didn’t do it independently, or if I was left to do it alone.
Repeat.
From my husband’s perspective, this looked like blame, criticism, judgment, eye rolls, and lip smacks.
Here’s the key insight: the blaming voice isn’t trying to hurt my partner — it’s protective.
It tells me things like:
“They don’t care. If they did, they’d see what I need.”
“You think domestic work just happens — by doing nothing, they’re assuming I’ll pick up the slack.”
“You don’t see the weight of what I anticipate, plan, hold, and carry.”
“You get to choose when to help; I don’t get to opt out.”
“You’re benefiting from a system that burns me out.”
“You’re waiting for me to manage things so you don’t have to.”
Its protective role is to:
Get urgently-needed support.
Restore fairness.
Protect me from feeling invisible, neglected, or alone.
Prevent resentment and contempt from growing.
Signal that something isn’t working.
Push for change when softer requests haven’t worked.
Defend against hopelessness.
Maintain connection — sometimes by creating conflict rather than being ignored.
By practicing self-compassion and curiosity, I learned to see the tender longing beneath the blame:
✨ “I want to feel supported, considered, and not alone.”
✨ “I want to feel like your partner, not your mom.”
✨ “I want rest and connection.”
Once we could see the need beneath the words, the fight stopped being about winning, fixing, or fairness.
It became about being met, valued, and understood.
The fight was never about the dishes.
It was about connection.