Not My Problem
Updated: 16 hours ago
Hello,
In my house, I literally don't have any chores anymore except doing the whites. If you've ever done laundry, you know that's really just one load, not an entire household responsibility. Everything else, though, is pretty much done by my husband.
If you know us, this won't surprise you. Howard dusts, vacuums, makes the beds, empties the garbage, and generally takes care of the house. There was even a time in our marriage when I couldn't have told you where the vacuum cleaner was because I never used it. While that arrangement has certainly made my life easier, it isn't quite as selfless as it sounds. Howard likes things done a certain way, and the easiest way to guarantee they're done to his satisfaction is to do them himself. I benefit from that, but it's really about control more than generosity.
That desire for control has created challenges, too. You may have noticed that I said everything else is done by my husband, not by my husband and our children. While we have three of them, our kids haven't had nearly as many opportunities to learn responsibility around the house because it's often easier for Howard to do something himself than to let someone else do it imperfectly. Just this summer, he was talking about trying to find time after work to get something done. I suggested asking Lilia or Oliver to do it since they were both home. He looked at me as though I had suggested something absurd. He knew it wouldn't be done to his satisfaction, so he'd rather do it himself.
No More Mediocre
Given all of that, I'm probably one of the last people you'd expect to read No More Mediocre by Laura Danger. I picked up the book after seeing Laura on Instagram analyze two familiar jokes that, until that moment, I had never really thought much about. The first showed a husband spending the entire video trying to put a pillow into a pillowcase while his wife quietly completed nearly every other household chore in the background. The joke reinforced a familiar stereotype: the husband who can't even manage the simplest household task.
The second example wasn't really a joke at all. Laura asked viewers to imagine a woman approaching laundry the way men are often stereotypically portrayed approaching a grill or smoker. She stood in front of the washing machine as though it required her constant attention, telling the kids to ask their dad for help because she was busy "tending" the laundry. Transplanted into a different setting, the behavior suddenly looked ridiculous.
That was Laura's point. The first joke reinforced a stereotype. The second exposed one. It wasn't making fun of women. It was shining a light on something many people have become so accustomed to that they no longer question it. I found that fascinating, not because I recognized my own marriage in the examples, but because someone had taken something I had seen a hundred times and helped me see it differently.
So I borrowed the book. As I read it, I kept coming back to the same question: Why was I so interested in a problem I don't actually have?
Mirrors and Windows
As an educator, I've often heard books described as either mirrors or windows. First coined by educator Emily Style, a mirror reflects our own experiences back to us. We recognize ourselves in the characters, the circumstances, or the emotions. A window does something different. It allows us to look into someone else's life and understand experiences we may never have ourselves. Both have value. We all need mirrors to remind us we're not alone, and we all need windows to remind us that we're not the only ones whose stories matter.
The more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that mirrors and windows aren't limited to books. The news can be a mirror or a window. So can the conversations we have with our neighbors, colleagues, and friends. Every day we're presented with opportunities to understand experiences we don't share and burdens we'll never personally carry. The question is whether we keep looking once we realize we aren't looking at ourselves.
That's why I finished No More Mediocre. It wasn't a mirror. It was a window.
Effect and Affect
I wasn't reading No More Mediocre because I was looking for advice. I picked it up because I found the reel by the author compelling. When I realized the book was about inequities in relationships, particularly around the division of labor at home, which is something that doesn't impact me personally, I made a conscious decision to keep reading. Why? Just because something isn't my lived experience doesn't make it any less important to understand.
That hasn't always been true. Early in my teaching career, the union I belonged to announced that contract negotiations were approaching. Members were invited to serve on two committees: one focused on salaries and one focused on health insurance. At twenty-four years old, the decision was easy. I volunteered for the salary committee because I cared about my paycheck. Health insurance didn't even cross my mind. I was healthy. I didn't have children. I couldn't imagine why anyone would spend time negotiating benefits that didn't seem relevant to my life.
Looking back, I smile at how shortsighted I was. At twenty-four, I filtered the world through a question that's incredibly easy to ask: How does this affect me? If the answer was, "It doesn't," I didn't spend much time thinking about it.
As I've gotten older, I've realized that focusing only on what affects me blinds me to the effect my attention, understanding, and actions can have on someone else. I still think it's natural to ask how something affects me. I just don't think it should be the only question. The better question is: Who does this affect?
Responsibilities and Contributions
Every winter, one of the districts where I worked put up a Giving Tree. Hanging from its branches were paper mittens with the age, interests, and gender of children whose families needed help during the holidays. Staff members could take a mitten, shop for that child, and return the gifts before winter break.
Every year, I took at least three mittens, one for each of my own children. Then the four of us would go shopping together. The point was that we had the chance to look into the windows of others. I wanted my children to understand that generosity isn't reserved for people we know, and concern shouldn't be reserved for people whose lives look like ours. We help because another human being has a need, not because we share their circumstances. Our mirror should be one of generosity, even if the windows we’re looking into are ones of need.
There's something else I wanted them to understand, too. When they were growing up, I never referred to the jobs around our house as chores. I called them responsibilities and contributions. Responsibilities benefited you personally. Contributions benefited everyone in the family. The point wasn't simply getting work done. It was understanding that families function because everyone has responsibilities and contributes in ways that make life better for someone else.
Ironically, that lesson never fully took hold in our own house. Howard's desire to do everything himself often got in the way. If something wasn't done to his standards, he'd rather do it than teach someone else how. Even so, I still believe in the idea.
The older I get, the more I think communities work the same way. Our mirrors should show our responsibilities. Here are the actions we take because we all have responsibilities. As well, the windows should provide us with opportunities to contribute. People contribute in countless ways. They volunteer, advocate, mentor, donate, coach, organize, and care. Sometimes, though, the contribution is quieter than that. Sometimes it's choosing to understand a burden you'll never personally carry. In this way, understanding is a contribution too. In fact, it may be one of the most important ones we can make.
Choosing to look through a window isn't an act of charity; it’s an acknowledgment of our shared humanity. I don't need to struggle with the inequity of the mental load at home to recognize that when the people around me are exhausted, my community is weaker for it. We don't live in a vacuum. When we decide that someone else’s systemic struggle is "not my problem," we quietly ensure that it stays a problem. True contribution starts with the willingness to look at a burden you aren't carrying and say, I see you, and I’m paying attention. Even more, it’s the decision to pull up a chair, listen to a story that isn't ours, and decide that it matters anyway.
~Heather
P.S. One of the ideas I explored this week is the importance of looking through windows instead of only into mirrors. We naturally gravitate toward stories that reflect our own lives, but some of the most meaningful books are the ones that invite us into experiences we may never have ourselves.
That is why my Catch of the Week this week is American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins.
The novel follows a Mexican mother and her young son as they flee cartel violence and make the dangerous journey north. Whether or not you've shared anything like their experience, the book has a remarkable way of making their fear, hope, uncertainty, and resilience feel deeply human. It reminds us that behind every headline is a person with a story.
The catch is this: we don't have to share someone's experience to care about it. Reading stories that become windows into someone else's life expands our understanding, deepens our empathy, and reminds us that humanity is far bigger than our own lived experience.
Sometimes the most important books aren't the ones in which we recognize ourselves. They're the ones that help us recognize someone else.
P.P.S. Please remember to...
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