What I Want My Daughter to Know About ‘Having It All’

A boomer who tried; a millennial who calls out the lie.

“’Having it all’ is a lie,” my daughter told me, eight months pregnant and still working at her desk. She’s a banker. I’m a boomer. We had the conversation my generation was too polite to have.

The women in her orbit—banking, tech, consulting—recite the same refrain: At home they feel like bad employees; at work, like bad mothers. I’m the generation who tried to believe otherwise. We mistook access for balance and sprinted between conference rooms and band recitals. My daughter named what we couldn’t.

The Promise We Swallowed

My cohort grew up in the long shadow of the “career woman.” The myth was seductive: If you were capable and organized—color-coded calendar, negotiating like a man—you could ace the job and still make bedtime stories. “Having it all” wasn’t just a goal. It was a moral performance.

When we dropped a ball, we questioned ourselves, not the myth.

We mistook permission for infrastructure. Doors opened, and we congratulated ourselves for walking through. Women who “made it”? They had invisible scaffolding—a partner with steady income, a grandmother on standby, a sitter running overtime. The rest of us grinned for the photos while sprinting a wire.

What my daughter sees is less cinematic, more honest. “Capitalism was designed for a working husband and a stay-at-home wife,” she said. “It isn’t built for two careers—or one single person—doing everything.” The math is old, the demands are new, and women fall into the gap.

The Treadmill, Not the Finish Line

The culture pretends it has softened. Instagram tells women to self-care and forgive themselves for store-bought cupcakes. HR emails nudge us to hydrate.

She offered an example that’s perfectly mundane, which is the point. “I made the baby registry. I found the nanny. I told him, ‘You buy the stroller.’ But I had to tell him to go buy the stroller. The emotional labor is real.” No one’s villainous, but the playbook still lands in her lap. Studies suggest mothers still carry about 71 percent of the mental load at home, a gap that doesn’t just breed resentment, but burnout—and leaks into working life with women twice as likely as men to sacrifice hours or promotions for parental tasks.

There’s a line that circulates amongst her peers: Every working woman wants a stay-at-home wife.

Even paternity leave, marketed as progress, exposes the asymmetry. Her husband won’t take his full leave. “His job means shutting off coverage for months—huge career setback,” she explained. “If I had that job, it wouldn’t even be an option.” The market penalizes pause—and the penalty settles, mostly, on women. “Mandatory parental leave for everyone would remove the stigma and the hit,” she said. “Till then, women shoulder the cost.”

The Myth’s Aftertaste

If “having it all” was our rallying cry, its aftertaste is resentment. Not just toward each other, but inward: The gnawing sense you’re failing at two jobs, the permanent apology etched in your calendar.

“It’s near impossible to reconcile a 120-hour week with a 24/7 job called ‘mother,’” my daughter said. The senior men she watched in banking? Stay-at-home wives or wives with less demanding jobs. The senior women? Outsourced everything, managed nannies and house managers—and then managed the management. The higher they rose, the more control of their calendars, yes. But the double bind never left. Failure times two.

That sorrow corrodes partnership, making sex logistics, dinner a second shift, and tenderness something you save for last—if there’s anything left to save. The advice machine keeps humming: time-block, order meal kits, spreadsheets for drop-offs. Productivity hacks for a problem that isn’t productivity.

What Changes, What Doesn’t

I asked her what “having it all” meant at 20, at 30, now.

“At 20—marriage, kids, a big job. At 30, same list, more tired. Now? Same, but I’m honest about the cost.”

The dream wasn’t frivolous. The invoice was just hidden.

She left banking—pragmatism, not bitterness. She found another job. Still high-powered, still pays, but with agency over her time. “I wanted something I could do while entering motherhood without feeling like a failure.”

That word—failure—it’s how the myth polices women: keep up or confess weakness.

Living by design, she told me, also includes building a true partnership. “Marry someone who wants to be a father, not just someone who wants kids.” The difference is obvious: One wants a story, the other wants the work. “We’re both open to being primary earner or caregiver. The season, not the gender, defines the role.”

That’s feminism lived, not posted.

The Real Ledger

My generation talked about choice—whether to stay home, return to work—as if the outcome were individual virtue. My daughter’s generation knows better. For most, there is no choice. Housing, healthcare, education—this isn’t a society built for one income, or for the mental load to be carried by one person without consequence.

She points to the “wife quiet quitting” trend—women fantasizing about opening cafés or moving to farms, not to churn artisanal butter but because the bargain feels rigged. “I have to work harder than the men for half the life my parents had. Some women choose singlehood because the men they meet aren’t equals—and if they’re not adding value, they’ll expect domestic labor on top of my job.”

If that sounds harsh, she shrugged. “Pick the right partner. It’s huge. That’s the real job interview.” The bar isn’t perfection, just reciprocity.

She delivered a viral line: “I didn’t marry a loser. I’m not romanticizing support. I’m auditing it.”

What I Wish I’d Taught Her

I asked if I could have inoculated her against burnout or self-doubt. She wouldn’t indulge me. “Most of it’s societal,” she said. “You taught me: You can do anything, not everything.”

She’s right—I said it but didn’t always live it.

Her own creed, simplified:

• Choose with eyes open. She left a marquee job because she didn’t want the life, not because she couldn’t hack it. Titles mean less than agency.
• Pick the partner, then keep picking them. “Marry someone who wants to be a parent, not just someone who wants kids.” Share money, mess, the mental load.
• Let standards drop where they should. “You can’t care about everything. Pick what matters, let go of the rest.

The Politics of the Private

Many women my age want to keep the struggle dignified: tidy the edges, no cursing, gratitude first. My daughter is less polite, more useful. She said the quiet parts: Pregnancy took her out of play; returning to work is a calculation, not martyrdom; she won’t apologize for wanting a big job and big love that participates.

She’s blunt about desire—a topic often censored by motherhood.

“When you’re overstimulated and over-touched all day, intimacy becomes logistics. Foreplay starts when you do the dishes.” That’s not vulgar; that’s infrastructure.

What I’d Tell Her Friends (and Mine)

That bluntness—naming the gap between fantasy and reality—is where her generation is smarter.

There’s no fix that fits on a tote bag, but there is earned wisdom.

• There’s no balance—there are choices. Make them on purpose.
• Ambition isn’t a sin. Rest isn’t laziness. Take credit for what you build. Ask for respite, no apology.
• Renegotiate the mental load. If you’re the home’s project manager, name it, price it, and share it.
• Don’t perform stoicism. Refuse the performance that your body and your baby are corporate inconveniences.
• Audit the partnership. If one career is always the fixed star, romance won’t balance the math.

What Changed—and Didn’t

It’s trendy to scold boomers for hoarding wealth and handing down lectures. For us, “having it all” meant buying dinner with our own credit card. For her generation, the bill is bigger and the system less forgiving. My daughter isn’t resentful; she’s practical. People live longer, money has to last, safety nets fray. “It’s not that I blame boomers,” she said. “I just don’t pretend the game is the same.”

The Better Question

Thirty years ago, my cohort chased “having it all” like a finish line. We built careers that fed us and families that saved us and paid for both in currency we didn’t name: sleep, intimacy, pride.

My daughter doesn’t pretend. She’s building a different system: Work that matches the season, partnership built for reality, standards set by her actual energy. No ledger tallying success against tenderness.

So the better question isn’t “Can women have it all?” It’s “What do we choose, and what do we let go?”

“Having it all” wasn’t a door I held open for her. It was an illusion. What I can offer is this: Not permission, but recognition—that she already owns the choices, the grit, and the agency. If there’s any “all” worth having, it’s claiming your life on your terms.

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If this piece struck a chord, you may also want to read The Woman Who Thought She Had Everything by Melissa T. Shultz—proof that the myth shapeshifts with every decade, and the definition was never as tidy as they told us.