You ever just… hit a wall? Like a real, honest-to-god brick wall made of… I dunno, dish soap and dirty socks and unanswered phone calls? That’s where I’m at. Right now. It’s 2 AM, my back aches from trying to fold fitted sheets on the floor cause the bed’s full of laundry that needs to go to the dry cleaners—not for me, obvs, for *him*—and I can’t sleep. Because I’m still thinking about some dumb commercial. It sounds so stupid. I know. And I’m already worried someone’s gonna read this and be like, “Lady, get a grip.” But you know that feeling, when something just… SNAPS? Like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far for too long? That was me tonight. Completely. So I’m in the living room, trying to make some dent in the laundry mountain. Piles everywhere. His stuff, the kids’ stuff, mom’s stuff from when she was here last week and "forgot" half her wardrobe. And the TV’s on in the background, just for noise. The boys—my sons, big hulking teenagers who basically live on that sofa these days—are sprawled out, playing whatever shoot-em-up game they’re into. They don’t even see me, really. Just the laundry lady. The background noise to their important lives. And then this commercial comes on. For laundry detergent. Yeah, I know. Lame. But it was one of those… sappy ones. Like, a mom, just tired, washing her kid’s favorite blankie after years. And the kid’s grown up, but the mom still remembers the smell, the stains, all the memories. You know the kind. The soft music, the slow-mo shots of bubbles. And she’s just… looking at this blanket, and then her grown kid comes and gives her a hug. And it’s supposed to be heartwarming, right? But something about it just… punched me in the gut. All of a sudden, I wasn’t just folding socks. I was thinking about all the socks. All the blankies, all the stained shirts, all the crap I’ve washed for everyone. My kids, since they were babies. My husband, who still “forgets” where the hamper is. My mom, who needs me to do her laundry because her "joints just aren't what they used to be," even though she just spent a week power-walking through the mall. And it’s not just laundry, is it? It’s *everything*. The meals, the doctor’s appointments, the school forms, the bills, the goddamn grocery lists that no one else ever bothers to look at. It’s all just… on me. All of it. All the time. And this commercial, with its soft music and fake happy ending, it just hit me. Like a ton of bricks. It was supposed to make me feel warm and fuzzy about being a mom, probably. About all the invisible work. But instead, I just felt… invisible. And stupid. And tired. So tired my bones ache. And then the tears just started. Not a pretty cry. Like, a full-on, ugly, snot-running, shoulders-shaking SOB. Over a damn laundry commercial. And the boys. Of course, they noticed. The game paused. I heard it. And then, one of them, I think it was Mark, he goes, “Mom, what the hell are you doing?” And then a snicker from the other one. “She’s crying over Windex, dude!” Or something like that. They started laughing. Not even mean laughs, really. Just… oblivious. Unthinking. Like I was a cartoon character. A joke. My own sons. And I just wanted to disappear. Right into that pile of dirty sheets. The humiliation was so intense. Like a burning hot flush all over my face and neck. To be that vulnerable, that raw, that… pathetic, in front of them. The ones I’ve done everything for. And to have them just… laugh. It felt like a lifetime of holding it all together, holding it all in, just… disintegrated. For a stupid commercial. For a laundry ad. I ended up just getting up and stomping out of the room. Didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Just left the laundry. Still sitting there probably. And I’m in here now. Trying to make sense of why a commercial about suds made me feel like I was drowning. And why their laughter felt like a final nail. It just… sometimes you just feel like you’re doing so much, giving so much, that there’s just nothing left. Nothing. And nobody even sees it. Or cares. And you’re just the person who washes their damn underwear. That’s it. That’s all you are. And it’s not gonna change. Ever. It’s just… always gonna be like this. The laundry. The invisible work. The laughter.