Duct Tape, Coffee, and the Myth of Self-Care: Why “Just Take Care of Yourself” Falls Flat for Busy Parents
If you’re a busy parent—especially a mom—chances are you’ve been on the receiving end of well-meaning but wildly unhelpful advice.
“Don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“You can’t pour from an empty cup.”
“Make sure you’re practicing self-care!”
Ugh. These statements sound kind. Supportive, even. And let’s be real—they are great priorities for us as parents. But honestly, they often feel more like a slap in the face than a lifeline.
Here’s Why
If you’re drowning in responsibilities—meals, meltdowns, laundry, work, emails, doctor’s appointments, maybe even sleep training and soccer practice—being told to “just take care of yourself” feels insulting.
It’s like someone is shouting, “Swim harder!” from the shore while you’re gasping for air as the waves keep knocking you under.
And here’s the kicker: the people saying it rarely offer actual help. They don’t step in. They don’t take the kids for an hour. They don’t drop off dinner. They just drop the advice…and walk away.
Appreciating the Intent (Even When It Misses the Mark)
Here’s the thing: most people aren’t trying to be dismissive or unhelpful.
They say those things because they care and genuinely don’t know what else to offer.
“Take care of yourself” is often code for, “I see you’re struggling, and I wish I could fix it—but I don’t know how.”
We’re a culture that’s uncomfortable with other people’s exhaustion, grief, or overwhelm. So instead of stepping into the mess with someone, we reach for a tidy phrase that makes us feel helpful.
The problem isn’t the intent—it’s the follow-through.
So, if you’ve ever said “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” this isn’t about shame. It’s an invitation.
The next time you feel tempted to offer encouragement, try pairing your words with something tangible:
“You can’t pour from an empty cup—so how about I bring you dinner this week?”
When caring words meet concrete action, that’s when support becomes real.
What Busy Moms (and Parents) Actually Need
Stop telling overwhelmed moms to take care of themselves—unless you’re also willing to be inconvenienced.
Want to help a busy parent practice self-care? Try this:
Offer to watch the kids for an hour so she can nap, walk, or sit in blessed silence.
Send a meal, not a meme.
Text, “I’m at the store—what can I grab you?”
Show up with coffee. (Yes, this counts as emotional support.)
Remind her she’s allowed to be a whole person—even if the house is messy and the kids are wild.
The Myth and the Missing Village
One thing coming to the forefront lately is the realization that it really does take a village. That we’re missing community.
But here’s the problem:
Everyone wants a village, but no one wants to be the village.
Once upon a time, “the village” wasn’t a metaphor—it was literal. People lived closer to extended family, knew their neighbors, shared child-rearing, meals, and emotional labor. There was built-in support.
Now, we live scattered across cities and states. Our “community” is often a group chat or a social media comment. We trade casseroles for emojis. And somewhere along the way, self-sufficiency became a badge of honor instead of a survival skill.
We’re isolated, but pretending we’re fine.
We’re overextended, but afraid to ask for help.
We’re lonely, but surrounded by people who are just as exhausted.
The truth? We were never meant to do this alone.
Rebuilding the Village
So what does being the village actually look like today?
It’s not grand gestures—it’s consistent, small acts of presence.
It’s texting, “Want me to grab your kid after practice?”
It’s dropping off a rotisserie chicken instead of saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”
It’s asking, “What’s one thing that would make your week easier?” and then actually doing it.
It’s noticing when a friend withdraws and checking in without judgment.
Being the village means understanding that care is reciprocal—that the favor you offer today might be the one you need tomorrow.
And from a therapist’s perspective?
Community isn’t just nice—it’s regulating. When we feel supported, our nervous systems settle. We move out of survival mode. We think more clearly, parent more gently, and reconnect with ourselves.
Self-care isn’t meant to happen in isolation. It’s meant to happen in connection.
Real Talk: Self-Care Isn’t Always Bubble Baths
Sometimes “self-care” looks like letting the screen time roll because you just need a minute to think.
Sometimes it’s crying in your car, eating snacks you swore were for the kids.
Sometimes it’s saying no—even to things that look “good” on paper—because you’re maxed out.
If you’re a mom (or parent) who feels stretched thin, please know this:
You’re not doing it wrong. It’s just that hard.
Realistic Self-Care That Actually Helps
If bubble baths and “me time” feel impossible, here are some forms of self-care that don’t require a babysitter or a spa budget:
Micro moments of regulation: Take 30 seconds to unclench your jaw, drop your shoulders, and breathe. Tiny resets count.
Movement that fits your day: Stretch while your coffee brews. Walk to the mailbox and notice the air. Wiggle your toes when you’re stuck in traffic.
Ask for—or accept—help: Say yes when someone offers to fold laundry or bring a meal. That is self-care.
Set gentle boundaries: You don’t have to volunteer for every event or answer every text immediately.
Reclaim small joys: Music in the kitchen. Sun on your face. Eating lunch without multitasking. These aren’t luxuries; they’re lifelines.
Talk to someone safe: A friend, a partner, a therapist. Speaking the truth of your overwhelm is part of caring for yourself.
Real self-care is less about doing more and more about allowing yourself to be human.
If You’re Supporting a Busy Parent, Ask Yourself:
Have I offered tangible help, or just tossed out a cliché?
Am I assuming they have the same time, energy, or support I do?
Could I lighten the load—even just a little—today?
Compassion without action is just noise.
Let’s stop placing the burden of “self-care” on the person already carrying the heaviest load—and start showing up for each other in real, meaningful ways.
A Note from a Therapist
If this resonates with you, please know—you’re not the only one feeling like you’re holding it all together with duct tape and caffeine. And if you’re like me, sometimes even the duct tape goes missing—usually dragged into the backyard by your 120-pound adolescent dog.
I see this every week in therapy sessions: parents who love their kids deeply but feel utterly depleted. You’re not broken. You’re human, living in a culture that praises burnout and calls it resilience.
If you need support, connection, or a place to finally exhale—you deserve that.
You don’t have to carry it all alone.
