Episode 69 – Why Mums Are Always the Backup Plan (And How to Change It) [Part 1]

Hey ADHD mums, I’ve got something that might save you from that 2 a.m. Google rabbit hole, where ADHD somehow leads you to diagnosing yourself with 14 unrelated conditions, and then you freak out at 2 a.m.

This takes all the guesswork out of it. It is called the ADHD Pre-Diagnosis Workbook: A Guide for Women and Mothers. Think of this as your ADHD assessment survival kit—part cheat sheet, part pep talk, and completely designed to help you stop second guessing whether it’s ADHD or just mum life.

Here’s what’s inside: prompts to help you organize your thoughts—because let’s be real, those shower epiphanies are gone by the time you towel off. Tips for talking to psychiatrists, because nothing screams classic ADHD like knowing that you’ve researched the condition to death, but still feeling the urge to act surprised when they diagnose you.

And let’s face it, there’s always that moment of, “Do I sound too confident? Do they think I’m just getting meds? Should I sound like I don’t know? Should I sound like I do know? What if they don’t even diagnose me at the end of this?”

This workbook is everything I wish I’d known before my diagnosis. It creates templates—all you’ve got to do is plug it in. So you’re not walking in late to your appointment, babbling about a year’s worth of random thoughts that somehow never make it to paper.

Grab your copy now at ADHDmums.com.au—all of the links are in the show notes.

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So let’s go into today’s episode, because if you’re anything like me, you’ve already started multitasking and you probably don’t even remember what this episode is called.

Hello and welcome to the next episode of ADHD Mums.

Today’s episode is on the unspoken gendered mental load in partnerships and why it feels impossible to make change. I post about this—a lot of people do—but yet it feels like nothing really changes. We bring light to it, we talk about it, but it’s still there.

In this episode, I’m going to talk about dad and mum in terms of a stereotypical heterosexual relationship for ease of conversation. You can interchange dad and mum however your relationship looks. When I’m saying dad and mum, I’m talking more about the stereotypical setup—the dad’s working, the mum’s working part-time or full-time, and she has more of a load. I’m absolutely aware there is more than one way to have a family—and there should be.

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Now I want to say upfront—and please have a bit of a giggle with me—that I have quite significant PMDD. I’ve sat down to record and I don’t think “the mental load and what we can do about it” is probably a great topic for an autistic and ADHD PMS lady, but of course that’s the one I want to do, because I’m in rage.

So excuse me if I get a little emotional, but I started to think, well, you know what? It’s not okay. So maybe we do need to be emotional about it. Maybe we do need to stop putting pressure on ourselves. And maybe a PMS autistic woman is exactly the person that needs to be here to start to address these issues.

So let’s jump in.

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If you’re an autistic or ADHD mum, chances are you already know that expectations are not evenly distributed in relationships. This isn’t just your relationship. This is society.

From the late 1960s, across that 10-year period, by the end of the 1970s, it was the first time ever that more than half of women had jobs outside of the home. They were paid 60% less than men, but they worked—often part-time in healthcare or service industries.

They fought hard for that. Full respect to the women of the 1960s and 70s who demanded change—schooling, employment, work—and we’ve been fighting that battle ever since.

However, I think we’ve had a bit of a lag. Now we’re kind of expected to do it all, aren’t we? Not only are we working—often in careers on par, if not above, our partners—but we might be earning more money than them. We might be single mums, supporting ourselves full-time.

But women have been left in an almost impossible situation.

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Social media, bank accounts, messages, WhatsApp, sporting teams, the pace of life—it’s all so much faster. Women are exhausted, juggling more than ever before.

If you’re in a partnership where one or both partners are neurodivergent, I’m sure you feel this even more acutely. There’s a silent but undeniable gender imbalance in how routines, flexibility, and emotional labour play out in neurodivergent relationships.

One reason I’m doing this episode is because I’ve been writing a self-diagnosis book for autistic women for about six months—it’s just in its final draft.

When I was writing it, I kept thinking about practical strategies to make life easier for autistic mums—ways to reduce burnout. I looked at routines and rituals—part of the autistic makeup—but also important for ADHD.

Some ADHD people enjoy routine. There’s a certain sequence that makes you feel good, and you don’t want it interrupted. If you’re autistic, interruptions are even more annoying.

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When I looked at this interplay of relationships, I started to think about an autistic dad.

So let’s say you have a neurodivergent mum—many of the women on this podcast are—and a neurodivergent partner. For example, if you have an autistic dad who needs his morning routine uninterrupted, society sees that as a necessity.

But if you have an autistic mum who needs the same, she’s expected to be flexible, to push through, to prioritise chaos over her own regulation.

She’s got kids following her into the toilet, no privacy, no peace. Yet her partner might disappear for 30 minutes every morning, uninterrupted, phone in hand—and that’s seen as normal.

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Maggie Dent even jokes that dads were doing this before phones existed—that they’ve always taken longer in the toilet.

But women? We get two or three minutes, tops. If you’re on your period, you’ve probably got spectators. You’re trying to shower while your kids commentate and attempt to join you.

Yet, it’s accepted that partners can take their time—because they need it for work. Even though we work too.

This isn’t just my perspective—the research on gendered expectations, cognitive load, and autistic masking confirms what many of us live every day.

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Today, I want to look at the why.

The gendered load of routine and responsibility.

This isn’t a beginner’s episode on the mental load. I’m not talking about remembering lunches or cooking dinner. There’s so much more to it—especially in neurodivergent households.

If we strip away the labels, we often see a pattern. In a heterosexual relationship, the autistic dad’s structured routine is protected. The autistic mum is expected to absorb unpredictability and remain flexible—far beyond her neurotype’s capacity.

This applies to ADHD, trauma, depression, anxiety—whatever it is. Dads are often protected; mums are expected to adapt.

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That’s where we get the “default parent.” The one who picks up the sick kid, stays home, cancels plans, drops off forgotten lunches, answers the school call, stays overnight in the hospital.

They’re the go-to parent, the one who always takes one for the team.

And when the day finally ends, any scrap of time left isn’t for relaxation—it’s to do a wee in peace.

That’s why mums joke that “going to work is the break.”

And honestly? That’s fucked up.

Work should not be the holiday. But if that’s your reality—you’re not alone.

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There’s this expectation of female flexibility—so deeply rooted in gender roles. Research shows women, neurodivergent or not, are conditioned to be the default caregiver and problem solver.

Meanwhile, men’s routines and needs are accommodated—almost like a child’s.

And if we flipped it? If men worked all day, cooked dinner, made lunches—no one would bat an eye. But when they do even a bit, it’s, “Wow, he works and cooks? He had the kids so you could go to the gym? Amazing!”

But when women do it, it’s just expected.

And if something goes wrong—like the wrong lunchbox—it’s not, “You worked 18 hours today.” It’s, “You got that wrong, Mum.”

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A study from 1989 called The Second Shift found that even when both parents worked full-time, women still handled most of the house and childcare duties.

This imbalance is worse for autistic and ADHD mums. We mask our needs to prioritise others.

We push through boring, dopamine-less chores—washing, ironing, packing lunches—because our children need us.

And yes, we’re doing it for them.

But it’s still exhausting.

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As your kids or partners get diagnosed, you might start noticing those patterns—rigidity being a big one.

Rigidness can show up in autistic people or in how someone was raised.

And for those with autistic partners, you’ll see how their need for structure is socially permitted and supported. They can say, “I can’t do that, I’m overloaded,” and that’s okay.

But when mums say the same, we’re told to “do better, be better, try harder.”

When we assert needs, we’re labelled selfish or unfit.

So we mask harder.

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Think of masking as the gap between your real self and the version you perform. Some people mask 10–20%, others 80%. The bigger and longer the mask, the faster the burnout.

Mums mask constantly—overload, frustration, rage—because they have to keep the household running.

That accelerates burnout.

It’s one reason women are misdiagnosed with anxiety, depression, or borderline personality instead of autism.

They’re so conditioned to suppress their traits that they disappear.

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Assessments often ask about flexibility and routines. Women who’ve been forced to be flexible don’t appear autistic. They smile through frustration, mask people-pleasing, and suppress anger.

If your whole family is neurodivergent—kids, partner—who’s the flexible one?

Usually the mum.

Because if everyone’s rigid, chaos would reign.

So we flex until we break.

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Let’s break this down with an example.

The autistic dad wakes, drinks coffee in peace, completes his morning tasks in order. No disruptions. Everyone accepts he needs that time.

Meanwhile, the mum is handling night wakings, breakfast meltdowns, missing shoes, missing notes, missing socks. She’s mentally juggling everything.

The kids go to her, not Dad—because they’ve learned he can’t be interrupted.

Her need for structure is just as neurological—but it’s dismissed.

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So, what needs to change?

We need equal recognition of needs.

If one partner can take 20 minutes alone to self-regulate, so can the other. Whether that’s to shower, do makeup, or just breathe.

A mum’s need for predictability should not be shamed.

And while we’ll go into practical solutions in next week’s episode, the reality is that one partner’s ability to take time relies on the other absorbing the chaos.

It’s not malicious—it’s privilege gone unnoticed.

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When a child suddenly gets sick, the default parent rearranges everything—because the other can’t.

And that constant absorption of unpredictability contributes to burnout—autistic burnout, ADHD burnout, maternal exhaustion.

If you need structure, you’re not rigid or selfish. It’s a basic accommodation.

We’d fight for it if it were for our kids, but not for ourselves.

Because it feels impossible.

Like dreaming about a Canada holiday you’ll never take—why even think about it?

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That’s why we stay quiet.

But neurodivergent relationships already face higher breakup rates than neurotypical ones. There’s more appointments, less downtime, more pressure.

And the unspoken gendered load is a major factor.

We don’t speak up for ourselves, even though we advocate fiercely for our children.

That needs to change.

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If this speaks to you, listen to next week’s episode—where I’ll talk about why we don’t ask for change, how we can start tackling this in our relationships, and what practical steps we can take forward.

I don’t want my daughter growing up thinking this imbalance is normal.

We can model change now—for our generation and the next.

Thank you so much for listening.

This episode was about the gendered load of routine and responsibility in neurodivergent partnerships.

If you’d like to share your experiences, join our Facebook group. I moderate it myself and read every post—so please share, I’d love to hear from you.

You are not alone.

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