How Do You Do It All? – And Why Do We Keep Trying?

I get this question a lot.

At first, it feels good. It’s a small affirmation that my effort is seen, that my sacrifices are noticed. But when I really sit with the question, it becomes more complicated. It forces me to confront the stories I carry, the ones I inherited, and the ones I’m creating for my daughter.

Carrying the Weight of Generations

My grandmother never had the luxury to pause and reflect on this question. She grew up on a small farm, married young, and became a mother before she was ready. She worked tirelessly, washing clothes, cooking, cleaning, sewing, doing whatever it took to make ends meet. But she dreamed bigger. She created a restaurant with a concept no one else had imagined: fresh, innovative dishes made from local fruit. She turned hardship into possibility, creativity into survival.

My mother’s path was different, but no less demanding. She started working at just six years old, selling empanadas in stadiums, helping support her family as the second oldest of five siblings. She shouldered the weight of responsibility early, caring for younger siblings while still a child herself. Education became her escape route, a way to build a life outside of poverty. She worked by day and went to school by night, finding creative ways to pay for her degree, pushing through exhaustion, and never letting go of her dream for a better life. It paid off. She became a successful accountant, eventually rising to an executive position at an international company. She built the economic stability she had once only dreamed of, creating a foundation that allowed our family to break the cycle of poverty and rewrite our story.

Seeing Their Strength

The ironic thing is that I have asked this same question to the women in my life—my mother, my grandmother, and the many strong, relentless women I have been fortunate to know. I’ve marveled at their incredible work, at how superhuman it all seems, and at how impossible it must have been to juggle so many roles, carry so many burdens, and still keep going.

I am impressed by their resilience, moved by their strength, and deeply aware that they often had no choice. They worked without rest, without pause, without the luxury of reflection. They carried their families, their dreams, and their hopes for the next generation on their backs. My deepest feelings of gratitude and empathy are for them.

My Own Path

And then there’s me. I had more privilege. I was the youngest of three, raised in a different time and place. My family immigrated to the United States when I was 12, and I had access to education as an expectation, not a luxury. I started working at 17 and have not stopped since, but my struggles have been different, less about survival, more about purpose, about finding my place in a world where I can be both provider and nurturer, protector and dreamer.

Breaking the Inheritance

I often wonder, when do we break up with society’s expectations of us?

For generations, men have been expected to provide, to protect, to carry the family financially. On the other hand, women have been cast as nurturers, caretakers, and the ones who hold it all together. But now, many of us are carrying both. We are providers and nurturers, breadwinners and caregivers, juggling roles that were never meant to be balanced on one set of shoulders.

I am proud of my ability to hold it all together, to move through the world with strength and purpose, to build a life that honors the sacrifices of the women who came before me. But I also wonder if my sense of pride, my unwillingness to let go, is quietly perpetuating the same system I hope to disrupt.

Am I ready to pass down a freer version of womanhood to my daughter? Or will I unconsciously hold her to the same expectations that have shaped me, the ones that whisper that rest is weakness, that productivity equals worth, that survival is our birthright?

What Do I Want for My Daughter?

I want my daughter to be resilient, to push through hard times, to feel proud of herself, and to be unapologetically her. But I also want her to know peace, not just the external kind, but the kind that comes from within, the type that isn’t always striving, always pushing, always trying to prove something.

I want her to have the freedom to rest, be gentle with herself, and find joy without guilt. I want her to believe that her worth isn’t measured by what she accomplishes, but by who she is.

But how do you pass on the strength without the struggle? The drive without the self-doubt? The resilience without the exhaustion?

Am I ready to let go of the story that survival is the only path to success? Am I ready to teach her that softness can be strength, that rest can be revolutionary, that her value isn’t tied to her productivity?

What About You?

How do you do it all? Have you ever wondered if you’re passing down the same drive you inherited? Are you ready to break the cycle, to redefine what it means to be strong, to be successful, to be whole?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.