SHE’S NOT YOUR MOTHER, SHE’S YOUR FUCKING PARTNER
How Men Confuse Emotional Labour With Love
He doesn't want a girlfriend.
He wants a mother who'll also touch his dick occasionally.
It’s Freudian enough that even Freud would take one look and say, “Mate… this is waaaay above my pay grade.”
You've met him.
I’ve been him.
He enters a relationship like a guy walking into a high-stakes poker table with Monopoly money, declaring he’s “working on himself,” as if self-improvement were something he could bluff his way through with a charming smile and two functioning sentences.
The only things he's worked on lately are his FIFA ranking, his protein shake consistency, and a deep, spiritual belief that women are “complicated.”
He doesn’t want partnership. He wants parenting with orgasms.
He wants you to soothe him, organise him, emotionally babysit him, rebuild his self-esteem, stabilise his moods, remind him he’s “a good man,” keep track of his appointments, and praise him like a golden retriever every time he replies to a text within the same 48 hours.
Ask him to communicate? He shuts down like dodgy Wi-Fi in a storm.
Ask him to take accountability? Suddenly you’re “attacking” him , as if holding up a mirror counts as aggravated assault.
Ask him to grow? He becomes a discount monk who “needs space” — not to reflect, but to avoid making eye contact with his own bullshit.
These are the men who call themselves “emotionally unavailable” like it’s an astrological sign and not a giant neon hazard symbol flashing RUN, GIRL ,RUN.
These are the men who think “I’m not good at feelings” is a quirky personality trait, instead of a confession that they've done zero emotional maintenance since the early days of MySpace.
These are the men who expect you to carry every emotional grocery bag while they wander behind you empty-handed saying,
“Babe, I’m just simple,” the same way a toddler explains a mess he definitely made.
No, mate , you're not fucking simple. You're underdeveloped.
And here’s where the comedy becomes tragic:
The moment you stop mothering him, he accuses you of “changing.”
No, sweetheart. She didn’t change , she clocked out of a job she never applied for.
She’s not cold. She’s not mean. She’s not “being dramatic.”
She’s just done being your unpaid therapist, personal assistant, emotional Sherpa, emergency parent, and part-time sex coach.
Love didn’t exhaust her.
Carrying you did
A woman can love you. But she can’t raise you.
She can’t fix wounds you refuse to admit you have.
She can’t carry the entire relationship while you contribute vibes, a Netflix login, and occasional foreplay.
If you want a mother, talk to yours.
If you want a partner, become someone who can actually meet one.
Groundbreaking concept, I know.
And for the men reading this thinking,
“Fuck… this feels personal”…
That’s how truth works. It slaps the ones who recognise themselves in it.
Women will tag their exes.
Men will either get defensive or get honest.
Choose honest. It’s cheaper than therapy and far less humiliating than waking up at fifty wondering why every woman who ever loved you left looking exhausted.
She’s not your mother.
She’s not your therapist.
She’s not your emotional project manager.
She’s a woman who expected a partner and got a dependent.
Do better. Stop looking for a mother. Grow into a man who doesn’t need one.
Because women are tired. And frankly, so is your mum.
A woman can hold you, heal you, steady you , but she cannot mother the boy you refuse to outgrow.
The boy in you wants to be saved.
The man in you knows he has to do the saving.
(Gender shifts. Truth doesn’t.)
If this rattled something loose:
The Lie About Love
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