The day my husband cleaned the bathroom.

There was a brief period during lockdown when my husband cleaned a bathroom. And by brief, I mean one day.

Not his bathroom.

Not a bathroom.

Our bathroom.

The one we all used. The one that somehow managed to collect toothpaste splatters, wet towels, empty toilet paper rolls, and mysterious water spots faster than seemed physically possible.

At the time, we were living in Toronto. The city was locked down. The cleaning lady couldn’t come. The children were home. Everyone was home.

For the first time in our married life, I was working full-time, and he wasn’t working at all.

Lockdown was a boom time for the wellness industry. Suddenly, everyone wanted to detox, balance their hormones, strengthen their immune systems, and reinvent themselves from their living rooms. My programs were full, my days were packed with Zoom sessions, client support, content creation, and Facebook groups.

Meanwhile, everyone else in the house seemed to be pursuing a full-time career in Netflix. They were working tirelessly to ensure no series went unwatched while I kept the economy afloat from the dining room table.

And because he’s a good man, and because he could see that I was trying to hold together a household, a business, and what felt like the emotional stability of an entire family during a global pandemic, he started helping out.

First, he took over making the lemon water, celery juice, and smoothies every morning.

If you’ve ever made celery juice for a family, you’ll understand that this wasn’t a small gesture. Celery juice sounds simple until you’re washing, chopping, juicing, cleaning the machine, wiping the counters, and doing it all again the next day.

I was relieved.

Then one day he announced that he was going to clean the bathroom.

And to be fair, he did an excellent job.

The mirrors sparkled.

The sink shone.

The bathtub looked brand new.

The bathroom smelled faintly of lemons and accomplishment.

I was genuinely impressed.

For about five minutes.

Because then it started.

“Dana...isn’t the bathroom SOO clean?”

“The bathroom smells so nice.”

“Dana...Look at the bathtub...”

“Don’t you think the bathroom looks good now?”

“I made more space on the ledge over the sink..don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

The first few times I responded appropriately.

“Yes, that’s wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“It looks great.”

“You did an amazing job.”

"Yes hubby, that's amazing, thank you!" (because that's what men need to hear).

By the twelfth time, I was still smiling externally while internally having a completely different conversation.

A conversation that sounded something like:

It’s a bathroom.

You cleaned a bathroom.

ONE.

ONCE.

Congratulations.

You’ve completed a task that millions of women quietly complete every day without holding a press conference afterward.

What I wanted to say was:

Try cleaning it every day for twenty years.

Try cleaning it while making dinner.

Try cleaning it while helping with homework.

Try cleaning it while running a business.

Try cleaning it while remembering everyone’s birthdays, buying the gifts, scheduling the appointments, folding the laundry, ordering the groceries, and making sure nobody runs out of toothpaste.

Then come talk to me about the bathtub.

Also, let’s keep things in perspective.

This was a Canadian condo bathroom.

A tiny little room measuring approximately one yoga mat by two yoga mats.

You need three paper towels, a bottle of disinfectant spray, a Swiffer wipe, and a positive attitude. Twenty minutes later, you’re standing back admiring your work.

Come talk to me after you’ve cleaned an Egyptian bathroom.

The kind with actual square footage.

The kind where the shower somehow manages to wet every surface within a five-meter radius.

The kind where cleaning the bathroom qualifies as a moderate-intensity workout and should probably count toward your daily steps.

If you know, you know.

But of course I didn’t say any of that.

Because women are taught very early that there are some thoughts we are allowed to have and some thoughts we are supposed to keep to ourselves.

So instead I smiled and admired the bathroom.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until suddenly, somewhere between the fifteenth and sixteenth compliment to himself, I had a realization.

Why don’t women do this?

Seriously.

Why don’t we?

Why don’t we spend the day announcing our achievements with the confidence of a man who has just discovered a bottle of bathroom cleaner?

Why don’t we gather the family into the kitchen and say:

“Everyone, please take a moment to appreciate how beautifully I loaded the dishwasher.”

“Notice the way I’ve arranged the forks separately from the spoons.”

“Look at the precision with which I folded your towels.”

“Please admire the smoothie I made. I’d like a few words of gratitude before anyone drinks it.”

“Let’s all pause and acknowledge the fact that I’ve cleaned up after every single one of you before going to bed so you could wake up to a calm house.”

Why don’t we do that?

I think the answer is because most of us have been doing these things for so long that we have even stopped seeing them.

The work becomes invisible.

Not because it isn’t important.

But because it’s expected.

The laundry appears folded.

The fridge remains stocked.

The appointments get booked.

The floors get cleaned.

The children get fed.

The emotional temperature of the household gets monitored and adjusted.

And because it happens every day, nobody notices.

Sometimes not even us.

The irony is that the things that keep a family running are often the things least likely to be acknowledged.

Not because people are ungrateful.

But because consistency is invisible.

Nobody applauds the sunrise.

It’s simply expected to show up every morning.

I think that’s what happens to many women.

We become so dependable that our efforts disappear.

So capable that our contributions become background noise.

So responsible that nobody stops to ask what it costs us to carry all of it.

Including ourselves.

And maybe that’s why that bathroom has stayed with me all these years.

Not because of the bathroom.

But because for one brief afternoon, I got to witness something women rarely permit themselves to do:

Celebrate their own effort.

Take credit for their contribution.

Enjoy being appreciated.

There was something almost childlike about his pride.

And instead of rolling my eyes at it, I think I understand it differently now.

Maybe he wasn’t being ridiculous.

Maybe he was simply doing what women should do more often.

Maybe we should all walk around the house occasionally saying:

“Did you see what I accomplished today?”

“Did you notice how much I carried today?”

“Did you notice what it took to make all of this look easy?”

Not because we need applause.

Not because we need medals.

But because the work matters.

And because somewhere along the way, many of us learned to appreciate everyone else’s contribution except our own.

So here’s my reminder to you.

If you cooked dinner today, count it.

If you folded the laundry, count it.

If you held your tongue during a difficult conversation, count it.

If you comforted a child, supported a spouse, showed up for a friend, ran a business, made a meal, cleaned a bathroom, or simply got through the day, count it.

The fact that you’ve been doing it for thirty years doesn’t make it less valuable.

It makes it extraordinary.

And if nobody else notices?

Notice it yourself.

If this resonated, you’re not alone.

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Written by Dana Dinnawi, holistic health coach, writer, and creator of the Hormone Detox Program.