How to Avoid the “I Don’t Know How She Does It” Syndrome

Women are applauded for doing the impossible: work, parent like a superhero, buy the most thoughtful gifts, work out 5x a week, bake, read, make time for our husbands, family, friends, schedule flawless photo shoots of our perfect families, have the best outfit for every event, and still make it to regular doctor, dentist, and personal care appointments.

There are also the metrics we keep tucked in the back of our minds: how much we weigh, how much money we make, and how many children we have.

We compare ourselves, our schedules, and our ability to accomplish (or not) the impossible. After comparing ourselves, we then even try to use it as motivation: “If she can do it, so can I.”

I find myself rejecting all of this. Maybe it’s the rebel in me.

First of all, no one can do it all. Not by themselves. Not well. Or not happily.

Second, even if someone is, why are we admiring unrealistic workloads? Why is busyness such a virtue in our culture? Why are all of these impossible standards often falling on women in particular (especially the weight, the outfits, the perfectly happy family, the clean houses, the perfect skin)?

I define the “I don’t know how she does it” syndrome as the moments when we celebrate women who manage to keep up with unrealistic standards, praise them for it, and then quietly assume we should be doing the same.

So how do we avoid this “syndrome”?

I’ve come up with a new experiment:

What if I became the woman doing the least, with the most help, with the most boundaries, and no explanation?

I’m not suggesting that I want to become the laziest version of myself. But I’ve found this question to be so enticing as someone who is naturally high-achieving, almost as if the question itself is infused with pleasure: How can I do less?

It opens up so many possibilities. It feels like an exhale, like I just found a surprising extra hour to myself.

What if we collectively found the strength to do the following with grace:

• Opt out of doing it all

• Know our limits before we burn out, hit a wall, or blow up

• Do the hard thing to set the boundary, no matter who it disappoints

• Ask for help

• Sign up for fewer things

• Lower our expectations of ourselves, especially in challenging seasons

• Remove something from the list

• Say no to an invite if we’re feeling maxxed out

• Don’t reply to the message or email right away if we don’t have the brain space for it

• Delete apps from our phones that are distracting our brain power (turns out, no one is going to give us a gold star for replying to every reel)

• Go from 5 workouts to 3

• Go from 10k steps to 7k per day (research shows you reap the most health benefits at 7k)

In a culture that stretches us to our limits, maybe there’s courage in saying: This is enough. This makes me happy. This is what I find achievable in this season.

In writing this article, I’ve also started asking myself: what if the secret to success was rooted in this concept?

What if doing less actually made me more successful?

Because there’s a COST of “doing it all”

People who “do it all” often run themselves ragged. Their creativity is tapped out and offline. Their patience is thin. They’re working out a lot, which might actually be stressing their hormones. You get the idea. They’re sometimes hitting the mark flawlessly — and sometimes not — and either way there’s stress humming beneath it all.

Sometimes I find myself comparing myself to women who are doing a lot more than me, and I have to remind myself: I’m doing less with intention and that’s kind of…the whole point?

I signed up to be a stay-at-home mom so I wouldn’t have to juggle a job and parenting. That was…kind of the whole point. To be present with my kids while they’re young. I don’t work out at 5am because that’s not what feels good in my body, which is…kind of the whole point. You get the idea.

The secret fear behind doing less

What if I had an “easier” and less stressful life than most women? Is that allowed? Does that make me “less than”? Am I less of an achiever? That’s my secret fear lurking:

• If I don’t put an impossible amount of work on my plate, where’s my badge of honor?

• If I choose to do less, does that mean I’m less capable?

• If I don’t “do it all,” am I less of a virtuous woman compared to the woman next to me?

• If I opt out, where’s my gold star?

Maybe that’s a perk of being out of the workforce for so long: I no longer need anyone to tell me I’m doing a good job or give me a good performance review. I’ve learned to decide on my own — what’s my work worth? Am I doing enough? Am I doing it well?

Knowing your limits, your worth, and protecting yourself are virtues.

What if pride came from doing less?

Most importantly, you need to feel proud of yourself. For example, I take pride in opting out. I take pride in not doing the most. Because my relaxed energy, my quality time with my loved ones, and having creative space to write and think IS the reward on the other side of opting out. I’m proud to be a woman who rejects unrealistic standards, who charts her own path, who doesn’t do anything just to ‘keep up’ or ‘be normal’ and be like anyone else.

What about you? Do you ever find yourself comparing your workload to others, or wondering: how is everyone else doing it all?‍ ‍