Idid not plan a New Year’s get-together this year so that my family could all scream “happy new year 2023” even as I droop with exhaustion in the background. After the festivities my feet hurt and I just want to kick off my shoes, get into bed and stay there in my pyjamas. I have cancelled festivals and festivities. Yes, for ever. From Diwali to Christmas, from Holi to New Year’s Eve or Thanksgiving or Hanukkah or Eid, everyone wants to have a good time, surrounded by friends and family. But are women having a good time, too? Not really. They are busy organising and executing the “good time” because, of course, this is “women’s work” which they “do so well” because it’s a special gift that comes with having a vagina. Right. You know what else comes with that? Anxiety, stress and depression. This constant expectation of nurturing is unnerving. But dare we say that out loud? Or even think it? Nope. For many of us have grown up with our mothers slaving in the kitchen, cooking and baking, gathering family and friends together and nurturing them, writing those endless Christmas cards and New Year letters, buying gifts. But are their smiles really beatific – or have we been socialised to just see the smile and not the weariness underneath it? According to a 2019 report from the International Labour Organization, globally women carry out more than 75% of unpaid care work and dedicate 3.2 times more time to it than men. And this peaks throughout the year during festivities – annual, planned or impromptu. The famed Indian hospitality is completely built on the invisible labour of Indian women. Growing up, it was usual for my father to invite scores of his friends over for meals, without a word of warning to my mother. My mother, a working woman, would be in the kitchen for hours to feed guests, who would leave praising my father for his immense hospitality, although his part was merely inviting them. Later on, when my mother started putting her foot down the loop of hospitality labour didn’t end, it just got passed on to my aunts – my father’s sisters. So, for family get-togethers they would bring the food over, while whispering unkind words about my mother. We all have stowed away memories of those awkward flashes of our mothers, a quick showreel of exhaustion and weariness – these memories are uncomfortable because we do not know what to do with them. Did our mothers enjoy the soirees they threw often of their own volition? Do we? But we grow up with these images, we idolise them and we are dragged into replaying the same roles in our lives as wives and mothers. At work, more often than not, we are either placed in charge of planning festivities or we volunteer, because “we do it so well”. We need to stop saying “women love taking care of their friends and families”. They do, sure, but no more or less than a man. Taking care of loved ones is a primal human urge. However, women have acquired this image of thriving on caring for people around them. It’s a myth imposed on women, so they have no choice but to grin and bear it. But it’s a burden. Yet a majority of women have internalised this labour as something that only they are able to offer. For example, in 1990, a study found that “while Christmas shopping may be a labour of love to some, it is most widely construed as “women’s work”. This labour is nothing but our third shift. We can’t say it, because if we do then we are self-centred, unkind, not “woman” enough – because the most enduring definition of a woman is that she is caring. So, we overwork ourselves, taking care of the family, taking care of anyone in need, sick friends, relatives, lending empathy to those who need it. Is it any wonder that many of us suffer from anxiety and depression that only deepens during festive times? After all, a 2019 YouGov survey reported that 51% of women felt stressed around Christmas as against only 35% of men. More than a third of women also say they’ve felt anxious at this time, as against less than a quarter of men. For a long time I too thought making sure everyone was having a good time was my job. But it is not. Unless I make it mine. So, I have cancelled all festivals now. I have cancelled all extra caregiving that is expected of me just because of my gender. Saying no to overwork – emotional or physical – is a long journey of unlearning. I am almost there. Nilanjana Bhowmick is a Delhi-based independent journalist and author of the book Lies Our Mothers Told Us