I AM the Table

 What do I bring to the table? My gut answer — the honest one — is nothing.

Not because I don't do anything. I do everything. I'm the scheduler, the rememberer, the carpool, the alarm clock, the sideline cheerleader, and the person who's still awake at midnight when someone needs to talk. I keep every person I love fed, okay, and feeling seen — usually while running on empty myself.

The problem is none of that looks like anything. It's invisible until it isn't done.

So in this episode, we're naming it. The mental load, the emotional labor, the quiet extraordinary work of holding a family together. And we're flipping the whole question on its head.

You don't bring something to the table. You ARE the table.

This one hit close to home for me, and I think it will for you too. Listen all the way to the end — there's a permission slip in there that you might actually need.

I love you. ❤️ 

#Whyamiyelling #menopausalmom #podcast #middleagedwomen #iamthetable #support #womenover40 #middleage #menopause #perimenopause 

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:12

Hello, yellers! Welcome back to Why Am I Yelling? The podcast where I say all the things you've been thinking, but were too polite, too tired, or too hormonally compromised to say out loud. I'm your host, Chris DeRizzo. I'm middle-aged. I'm in the thick of perimetopause, and I have children who need things from me at all hours. And I am delighted to be with you today. Thanks for watching or listening. Um, delighted, however, might be a little bit of a stretch. Uh I slept maybe, I don't know, three to five hours last night. Woke up in my typical middle-aged menopause evening, nighttime from my REM sleep, thinking about all the things. Did I email that teacher back? Did I reply back to that client? Uh what needs to happen for whatever going on this weekend, all the things that are, you know, running through your mind at three o'clock in the morning. I know that you guys understand what I'm saying. But I am here. I showed up. And honestly, for some of us, on some days, that is the biggest win. Uh, today's episode is called I Am the Table, which was inspired by a meme. If you are a mom on any of the social media channels, you've probably seen the meme that talks about uh, you know, you being the table or, you know, what have you brought to the table? And then it goes on to talk about how you're the table. Uh, I have saw that going around. I think I've shared it a few times. Uh, and it has it sparked a reaction in me, right? And I figured we should talk about it. Because I feel like it probably is sparking a reaction in a lot of moms because it's being shared universally. I want to start this conversation by asking you a question, and I want you to sit with it for just a moment. When was the last time someone asked you what you bring to the table? And you had an answer that didn't shrink you. When was the last time that you listed everything you do and felt proud of it instead of exhausted by it? When was the last time you counted yourself as a contribution? Okay, I know that was three questions and not one question, but that's what we're gonna talk about today. So let's dig in. As I mentioned, this episode came from a meme that I found when I was scrolling on the instas. I'm not a TikToker, so that's not gonna happen. Uh, but you know, it was one of those scrolly things, felt like it was speaking to me, and you know, noticed that it was speaking to other people that I know. And so I thought a lot about this phrase. What do you bring to the table? The context of this felt like a reminder to the women or from women around the world to the world, right? It it felt like, okay, let me remind you what women do, what moms do, right? And it was framed in a value way, as in what value do you bring? What are your skills? What can you offer? And so I have sat and thought about this for a long time. Uh, because when you read something like this, what do you bring to the table? Most people's initial gut answer to that is nothing, right? I don't bring anything to the table. And then when you catch yourself and you start thinking about these things, it's wholeheartedly untrue, right? And I think a lot of us think of it as a business kind of thing, like what do you bring to the table in work, right? How hard do you work, how hard do you this, how hard do you do that. None of us really think about what we bring to the table in a family or at-home setting, right? We don't think about the things I have done today, because they're just kind of things that we have done every single day of our lives for all of our lives, right? Except we are not people who bring nothing. So why does that feel like a hard thing, right? Why does it feel like something that we have to apologize for or defend, right? Why does it feel like that? And I think I kind of I kind of know why, right? It's because, you know, the things that that we do don't make a list that impress people at dinner parties, right? They don't fit on a resume if we're talking about the stuff that we do just in our homes and in our lives regularly outside of work, right? They don't show up in anyone's performance review of me. Those are completely different things that go into my performance review. They're not monetized or optimized, right? And they are absolutely, completely, utterly invisible until they are not done. You know what I mean, right? Like nobody notices that I made the dentist appointments, or nobody claps because lunch was made today or this week. Nobody sends me a little trophy because I remembered that Thursday is spirit day at school, or that for all week we've been trying to figure out, you know, things for the kids to wear to school because there's themes going on, whatever. They only notice when it doesn't happen. They only notice when I drop the ball. And that is a special kind of thanklessness, right? The labor of keeping everything running is only visible in its absence. I'm going to repeat that sentence because when I was writing it, I couldn't get it out fast enough for my brain. The labor of keeping everything running is only visible in its absence. So when someone asks, what do you bring to the table? and all my value is woven into invisible infrastructure of everyone else's daily life, it's no wonder the answer feels like nothing. Because nothing is exactly what I'm supposed to be. Look at the world. Women are supposed to be invisible, seamless, quietly holding it all together so that everyone else can walk into their day without friction. And listen, I know that some of you just went gasp. I know that some of you are sitting there in your car, on your walk, wherever it is that you're listening to this or watching this. And you felt your chest loosen a little bit. Because that's real. That recognition of what I just said is real. And I want to sit in it for a minute because I think we rush past it too fast. We get uncomfortable with how much it hurts to feel unseen. So we make a joke, or we pivot to gratitude, or we remind ourselves that we chose this life and that we love our kids, which of course is all true. But there's a hurt that's still there. And it deserves to be acknowledged before we can move through it. So I'm acknowledging it for me, for you. It hurts to pour yourself into something that doesn't say your name back. Okay, now let me tell you what I actually bring to the table. Or more accurately, let me tell you why I am the table. And I'm gonna go through the list that was on that meme, and the meme varies for different reasons or like different, I don't know, things that are included in the list. But this was the one that I posted on my Instagram a while ago and or I saw that kind of resonated with me. So um, this is the list that I am gonna go through that was on that meme. Um, and I don't mean this as a list of accomplishments, right? This is the list of things that I actually do, the invisible things. I want to name them out loud because they deserve to be named. So I make the appointments, not just schedule them, I make them. I remember they need to happen. I noticed that it's been too long since child number one saw the doctor or child number two has been to the dentist. I carry that awareness in my brain all the time. There is a running mental file in my head of every person in my family's physical and emotional health status. And I am the one who notices when something is off and does something about it. That, yellers, is called cognitive load. There's actually a term for it. We call it the mental load, right? The invisible, unpaid, exhausting work of managing everyone's life while also living your own. And it is significant. It's the thing that makes you wake up at 3 a.m. Woo-hoo! It's the thing that makes your brain go a million miles an hour in the shower. It's the thing that you're doing when you look like you're just sitting there doing nothing. Mental load, the invisible, unpaid, exhausting work of managing everyone's life while also living your own. I do the laundry. Now I know that sounds small, and I know that sounds like, oh, anyone can do the laundry, but I'm not just talking about the washing and the drying and the folding and the put away. I'm talking about the knowing. And you know what I'm talking about when I say that word. Knowing whose soccer uniform needs to be cleaned by Saturday, right? Knowing what one kid can't wear and one kid can wear because the tags are itchy, right? Knowing which items cannot go in the dryer. Knowing that if you leave the wet stuff in the machine for more than like, I don't know, an hour or two in the summer, it starts to smell like you have to rewash it. You know what I'm talking about. It's not the actual task, it's the knowledge, infrastructure around the task. That is what I carry. I remember the birthdays, all of them. Not just the kids, not just my husband, the mother-in-laws, the sister-in-law, the friends, the dog, all of the people. I remember. I send things, even if it's a text or a meme or a card or a gift. I make sure family shows up for people even on the days when none of us feels like it. I am the connective tissue between my family and the world. I keep us in that relationship or in those relationships. I cheer. I cheer from the sidelines. There is something about standing in a cold, in the cold, on a field at seven o'clock or eight o'clock in the morning on a weekend. Who's with me? There's something about sitting in an auditorium watching a school play, or just being in the room when your kid is nervous. There's something about that kind of showing up that doesn't get counted as a contribution. But I want to tell you, being witnessed matters. Having someone who believes in you in the stands matters. I am that person for my kids. My husband is also that person for our kids. I am that person for my husband. I am that person who says, I see you, I believe in you, and I am going to be here no matter how this goes. That is not nothing. That's foundational. Children who genuinely feel witnessed by a parent, there's data to back us up on this, says that they are more resilient. They're more willing to take risks, they recover faster from setbacks. My presence in those stands, my voice yelling their name, my face in the crowd, that's not just a nice thing to do. It is developmental support. I am literally contributing to who they are becoming. I pray for the wins and I hold space for the losses. I want to stay here for a second because I think this one might be the most underrated thing on the list. Holding space. What does that even mean? Right? It means I create the conditions for people to feel things without being fixed or rushed or made to feel like their pain is inconvenient. It means when my teenager comes home from a terrible day, I don't immediately problem solve. I make eye contact, I put my phone down, and I say, What do you got? And then I wait and I listen. And then I carry the hard stuff with me. Do you know how much emotional strength that takes? Do you know how much I am quietly processing my own stuff? My own anxiety, my own worry, my own bad day if I've had one, my own hormonal challenges and chaos. Just to hold still enough to be present for somebody else's pain. That is labor, emotional labor. And it's exhausting and it's important and it's love in its most active form. I make sure everyone is fed, loved, and okay, even when I am running on empty. Even when I am running on empty. That part. Can we just sit with that part? Because I think that's where a lot of us live. Not at the full tank, not even at the half a tank. We are a lot of times on the blinking E-Light and we still are making the meal, still answering the texts, still showing up for that thing. And we do it because we love our people. Yes, absolutely. But we also do it because somewhere along the way, we got the message that our needs, women, mothers, are optional. That we can keep going past empty, that there will be time for us later. If you've been following me for a while, you know how I feel about this. So I want to gently, lovingly, and very directly call that a lie. There will not magically be a time later. You have to make the time now. There is no later. There's just, you know, a woman who's been running on empty for so long she's forgotten what full feels like. We're gonna come back to that. But for now, I'm the alarm clock. Good morning. I'm the first domino in everyone's morning. If I don't get up, the whole sequence falls. I'm the person who remembers which kid has early drop-off, which one has to do this, which one has a test, who needs to eat before they get in the car, who doesn't want to have breakfast. I am the carpool driver. I'm the one who knows which playlist makes the morning drive easier. I know which questions to ask and which ones to not ask. And when silence is okay. And at the end of the day, I'm the late night talk when someone can't sleep. There is something about that 11 o'clock text that I recently got from my college kid when I was in bed that said, Hey mom, are you awake? Can I call? Of course you can call. You can call me at 11 o'clock, you can call me at 1 o'clock, you can call me at 4 a.m. You can call me whenever you want. I will always be awake for you. And I make the room, right? We make the room in the dark, and we listen to that thing that was too big to say in the daylight. The worry, the fear, the question they've been carrying all day. When my kids were little, and we were still, you know, putting them to bed and laying with them before they went to sleep. We did that for many, many years. Um, that was the best part of my day. Because we would lay in the dark and we would talk about all the things. It was a safe space. Nobody was looking at each other and staring each other down and passing judgment or any of those things. Those are some of the most sacred conversations I have had in my parenting life. And they only happen because I have made myself available. I stay accessible, I will keep the light on, metaphorically. Even when I'm so exhausted, I can't keep my eyes open. But it matters. That time matters, it shapes your people. I am the encourager. I'm the safe place when my kids need to fall apart. And I protect and I nurture and I pray. Good God, do I pray? So no. No, I don't bring anything to the table because I am the whole fucking table. Now, to be honest with you, and to be honest with myself, because if I if we just leave it at I am the table or we are the table moms, and we all feel great about, we just acknowledged all those feelings, right? Those sometimes those hard feelings, or we feel validated by the things that we do. And we can shut this down now and make this a quick podcast in 20 minutes, I think it is. But then nothing changes, right? I've done you a disservice. I haven't talked to you about things we can do to address those feelings that have come up as we have been talking for these last 20 minutes. I've given you this speech, but what I might actually need to give you is a mirror, right? Because here's what I have not said yet. Tables need maintenance. Tables need to be cared for. And if you're the table and no one's caring for you, not even you, then the table is gonna break. I have been the table, and I have also been the broken table, right? I've been the woman who has given everything and has had nothing left and was completely blindsided by my own collapse. That has been me. I have definitely sat in my car or in my shower or with tears streaming down my face. I have definitely locked myself in bathrooms in order to just have five minutes alone. I've definitely been there. And I've cried because I didn't know who I was anymore outside of what I was doing for other people. Even with a job, even with a a schedule, even with a robust friend connection. That is not a victorious moment. That is a crisis moment. And I think a lot of moms, a lot of women are quietly living in that crisis and calling that crisis quote unquote fine. I'm fine. It's fine. We're fine. I'm fine. So now I want to ask you something else. And this is not a question designed to make you feel guilty. It's a question designed to maybe help wake something up. When is the last time you were on your list? When is the last time you made an appointment for yourself and actually kept it? Didn't have to reschedule. When is the last time you said I need out loud to the people in your life and let them answer? Because here is what I have learned slowly and not without a lot of resistance. Your family cannot actually thrive long-term on a table that is falling apart. The invisible work that you do, the appointments, the laundry, the late-night talks, the carpools, all the things, that infrastructure requires a person. And that person requires care. It doesn't have to be luxury care. It doesn't have to be a spa day or a girls' weekend or any of those things, although my care includes my every other week manicures. But it needs to be real. And consistent and non-negotiable care. And sometimes, honestly, sometimes we have to stop waiting for somebody else to see us and start seeing ourselves. I know that sounds like a little bit like a bumper sticker. See yourself. Feel free to roll your eyes right here. I understand. I get it. But I mean something specific. I mean the voice in your head that says your needs are too much, that you're asking for too much, that it's selfish to want to rest. That voice is lying to you. It's using your love for your family as a weapon against you, and it has to stop. Yeah, like we have a devil and an angel that sit on our shoulders. Remember that when you were little? My mom used to say those things to me, right? The devil is telling you, you're asking for too much. You need to settle down, you need to sit down, you need to be invisible, you just need to do these things. But the angel is saying, you're allowed to be that person, you're allowed to be a person. You're allowed to have limits and set boundaries. You're allowed to say, I need help. That is a whole nother podcast conversation. You're allowed to ask for things. Not after everyone else is okay. Not when things slow down. Right now. As you are, as tired as you are, you are allowed. That's not a disclaimer to the I am a table conversation. That's the other half of it, right? Being the table with full pride and zero apology, and knowing that the table needs tending to, both things can be true at the same time. I want to give you something today. I know I can't actually hand you anything in real life, if unless I know you in real life, and then I can hand you things all day long. But I want to give you permission. And I know you don't need my permission. You are a grown adult. Nobody needs a stranger in a podcast to validate their choices. But I also know that sometimes we are so deep in the fog of doing everything for everyone that we've forgotten we're allowed to want things. And so if the voice in your ear is saying you're allowed, which is my voice right now, saying you're allowed, I'm the angel, is what it takes, then there it is. You are allowed. You're allowed to be proud of what you do. Not humble about it, not self-deprecating, not oh, it's nothing, I'm just a mom. Proud. The work you do, the work we do for our families, for our children. It's extraordinary. It's real. It matters in ways that don't show up in metrics, but show up in your people. Your family is shaped by your presence. Your family is shaped by your presence. That, my friend, is extraordinary. You are allowed to name what you do out loud to yourself, in the mirror, in a journal, out into the world when you're on a walk with the dog, to a friend. This is what I do. This is what I carry. This is how I show up. Say it, name it, give it weight. Although we don't want any more literal weight. You are allowed to ask for the table to be acknowledged. Not praised consistently, not thanked every five minutes, but acknowledged. I see how hard you work, I notice what you carry, I appreciate that you're here. You're allowed to want those things. You're allowed to ask for it. If the people in your life don't know, they should offer it, tell them. Not from a place of bitterness, but from a place of this is what I need to feel seen. You are allowed to rest, actual rest. Not rest, quote unquote, rest that's secretly just less worrying. I mean laying down, sitting still, doing the things that fill you up. Whatever that looks like for you. Reading a book, taking a walk, getting a manicure, staring at the ceiling and doing absolutely nothing, going to a workout friend, going to dinner with your girls, and not talking about your kids for the entire time or most of the time. You are allowed that. Especially in the stage of life where we are. Perimenopause, menopause, middle-age, midlife, especially here, because your kids are getting older, you're changing physically and emotionally, the things that used to define us are shifting. And it's okay to not have it figured out. It's okay to still be in the process. You don't have to have found yourself to deserve care while you are looking. And finally, you are allowed to be the table unapologetically, without needing to it to look impressive from the outside, without needing it to fit someone else's definition of a contribution. You are the foundation of people's lives. You are the structure that holds the meals, the conversations, the projects, the hard days, the celebrations. You are what everything rests on. That's not nothing. That is everything. Everything. Is the idea that love makes labor invisible. Right? That if you really love your family, if you're doing this from the heart, then it shouldn't feel hard. That it shouldn't feel heavy. You should just feel grateful and full and blessed. Hearts. Hearts. And I think that's all a trick. Yes, yes, it is love. And yes, there are moments of pure grace in this work of being the table. And I would not trade it. And it is also hard. And it is also heavy. And I also sometimes need to sit in the garage or in the driveway, in my case, for a few minutes before I go inside my house and face the music. Two things can be true. Labor and love, grace and exhaustion, pride and depletion. Those aren't opposites. They live together in you every day. So next time someone asks you, or next time you ask yourself, what do you bring to the table? I want you to stand up straight. I want you to look them or you dead in the eye. And I want you to say, nothing. I don't bring anything to the table. I make the appointments, do the laundry, remember the birthdays, and cheer from the sidelines. I pray for the wins and hold space for the losses. I make sure everyone is fed, loved, and okay, even when I'm running on empty. I'm the alarm clock, the carpool driver, and the late night talk when someone can't sleep. I'm the encourager, the safe space when my kids need to fall apart. I protect, I nurture, I pray. So no, I don't bring anything to the table because I am the whole damn table. Thank you for being here today, yellers. If this one got you, and I hope it did, because it got me thinking, please send it to somebody who needs to hear it. Share it out on your social medias. Let's get this podcast going. Every time I get my Buzz Sprout BuzzFeed information, um, I get excited because more people are listening and watching. So thank you to the listeners and the watchers. I appreciate you so much. Um send this to people who know who you know need this. Share it with yourself and re-watch it. Send it to your kids. You can find us wherever you guys get your podcasts. Leave us a review, send me a DM. Um, I want to know what's on your list. What invisible thing do you do that nobody sees? DM me, put it in the comments if you have this on the YouTube or the Instagram, wherever I'm promoting it. I don't even know. Anyway, you're the table, don't you forget it. I'm here, I see you, and we will be yelling again together next week. Until then, take care of yourself, treat yourself accordingly, and I love you.