I am a woman breaking family traditions.
Yes, you read that right.
A lot of people say family is important—and that’s true. But somewhere along the way, the desire to have a family turned into a rigid expectation of roles, responsibilities, and self-sacrifice—especially for women.
For me, wanting a family has always meant wanting a partner, a teammate. Not a system where one person carries the emotional and physical labor of tradition simply because that’s how it’s always been.
Easter, Reimagined
This year for Easter, I decided to start something new—my own version of a tradition. I’ve always been the black sheep in the family, and maybe that was my role all along: to break generational patterns.
Growing up, my mom and aunt split the holidays—my mom would do Christmas Eve and Easter Sunday, my aunt would do Christmas Day and Good Friday. The women, of course, planned and executed every detail. The men… sat at the table.
After my mom passed in fall 2020, I tried to carry on those traditions. Until one day, I just said: F*ck that. This isn’t how I want to spend my life. I want to be served. I want to enjoy the day. I want to be at a restaurant, ordering what I want, eating what I enjoy, and walking home happy.
Family Dynamics After Loss
Since my mom passed, I broke ties with my dad (a story for another time). My siblings split holidays with their in-laws, as many families do. And me? I don’t have my own family, so I get passed around like a free seat at the table. Sometimes I go to my aunt’s. Sometimes my sister’s.
But the traditions didn’t change. The anxiety didn’t leave. The same old script played out—men at the head of the table, women who cooked and prepped sitting beside them, serving them. Cleaning up after them. Receiving “the look” to start clearing the table, as if I needed instructions.
When I helped my mom, it was different. I helped because I loved her. Because it was us. But I always wondered—why isn’t anyone else helping her? Why is her husband just watching? Why aren’t we questioning this dynamic?
A Tradition of Silent Servitude
I watched this same thing happen at every family event. I wasn’t sad for myself—I was sad for the women who accepted this as normal. We’ve glamorized this dynamic and called it tradition.
If you’re a girlfriend or wife visiting your partner’s family and don’t help clean up, you’re labeled lazy. But if you do help? “She’s a keeper.” That’s how low the bar is. That’s how ingrained the expectation is.
I know how hard it is to host—my mom made it beautiful. We would plan for days, shop, cook, clean, polish silverware, fold napkins. I loved those moments with her. But the second you go from creating joy to becoming a maid, it shifts. Watching all the men sit back while the women moved around them—it made me want to shatter everything.
The Year I Took It All On
The first year after my mom died, everyone looked to me: “You’re the head of the household now.” So I hosted. I did it all. And when I didn’t host? I was still expected to help as a guest. It was never-ending.
When I help clean now, it’s not because I’m a woman—it’s because I’m capable. I show up looking good, working hard, and making a statement: I can buy my own home, run my own business, pay my bills and help clean. What’s your excuse?
Choosing Myself Over Tradition
This year, I chose peace. I chose change. Starting with Christmas—I spent Christmas Day alone in the city, made a gorgeous meal, walked for hours, and felt nothing but joy. Not guilt. Not loneliness. Just peace.
And now Easter is coming. The invites rolled in. I politely declined, saying I was going elsewhere. In reality? I booked a restaurant. I’ll sit, eat a beautiful meal, sip wine, and walk home. Alone. Happy. Empowered.
This Is the New Tradition
I want my nieces and nephews to grow up seeing a different example. To ask, “Why doesn’t Auntie come to every holiday?” And for the answer to be, “Because she values herself.” Because if I walk into your home and see the mother doing everything—no. That’s not tradition. That’s oppression disguised as etiquette.
Tradition is not a sacred rulebook—it’s a pattern. And patterns can be rewritten.
To all the women: When did your boyfriend become your second child? Was it when you fed your baby while serving your husband? Was it when you faked orgasms and called that intimacy?
These “traditions”—who do they actually benefit?
I’m done carrying them forward. You can break them too.
Start with Easter.
As for carrying out my new traditions—do I expect to keep doing them alone? Absolutely not. I’ll do it again and again until the people who want to join me value their worth as much as I value mine. There is always a seat at my table. But at my table, no one serves and no one is served. We eat together. We talk to each other. We show up as equals.
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