I am, by my own admission, sickeningly smug about how balanced a relationship I have with my partner. Ours is what some might deem a rather “millennial” alliance: we are equal breadwinners, work the same hours and divvy up the childcare. We communicate well about our feelings, our finances, our families. He doesn’t babysit our son – he parents him. We even have a civil partnership because we felt marriage was too problematic, too steeped in historical gender inequality. There are no “boy jobs” or “girl jobs” in our household. So why, when it comes to Christmas, do I find myself doing all the bloody work?
The festive merry-go-round starts in September when the annual text comes in – to me, of course – from a family member: “What are you thinking for Christmas this year?” And so begins my seasonal shift as a logistics coordinator (no pay), managing the needs of different relatives, working out who we prioritised last year and who we need to consider this time. Tentative suggestions about our plans are met with shrugs and “sures” from my partner as I liaise with friends and family on timings, locations and, now we have a baby to think of, festive nap schedules. (“Should he nap at my mum’s or yours? Pram or car? Before or after lunch?” “Sure.” “Sure.” “Sure.”) The list of plans – and of people to communicate them to – is seemingly endless, and seemingly my responsibility.
I’m not alone in this. A straw poll of my female friends – who are all in relationships that, I’d say, are as similarly balanced as ours – revealed the majority feel they, too, shoulder the Christmas load, both physical and emotional.
It is perhaps no great surprise that so much of Christmas’s cognitive workload falls to women. In 1983, the US sociologist Arlie Hochschild came up with the term “emotional labour” to describe the aspects of paid work that require managing and performing emotions, like flight attendants having to smile. The term has since expanded to refer to the invisible mental load that women take on around unpaid domestic work: the planning, the delegating, the coordinating, the communicating, the worrying, the caring. Given these types of jobs inevitably increase over the Christmas period – which is focused, typically, around family time and children – it’s little wonder women find themselves taking on more of the cerebral donkey work.
But it’s not just emotional labour that women undertake over the festive period. A 2016 study found women were responsible for 17 Christmas-related jobs, including buying and writing Christmas cards, making nativity costumes and preparing the Christmas dinner if hosting – and, in my experience, sometimes even if not. Even after Christmas, the work didn’t stop, as women were tasked with getting children to write thank-you cards.
Meanwhile, men took on only nine jobs, two of which were setting up new toys – often meaning quality time with their children – and carving the turkey. I assume this means their partner got up at 5am to put it in the oven and sporadically left the festivities to baste it, making carving the turkey the Christmas equivalent of Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong being written into the history books after the moon landings while poor old Michael Collins, who flew the damn rocket, became a mere footnote.
My personal gripe is giving presents. Although he’s not great at Christmas in general, my partner seems to have a particular blindspot when it comes to gifts. I remember – quite fondly, actually – one Christmas Eve coming home from the pub together to find my gift sitting unwrapped on our kitchen table. This much I can tolerate; within the privacy of our home, we share similar views on the insanity and excess of Christmas shopping. My issue is with presents for others. I remember – much less fondly – the Christmas when, despite my repeated reminders, he used wrapping paper and Sellotape borrowed from his mum to wrap our young nephews’ presents (bought by me) on Boxing Day morning, mere minutes before the boys opened them.
In reality, no one actually minds and, if anything, Uncle Stuart’s mad Boxing Day dash up the stairs to wrap the presents has become a jolly family tradition. I suspect my fear, though, is about being seen to be disorganised around Christmas time – and that the blame will inevitably fall on me, not him. Perhaps it’s due to my having internalised the narrative that women are meant to be on top of everything, especially at this time of year. I worry, too, that the people around me – family members, friends – have internalised it as well. Thus, while my partner can get away with such slap-dashery by grinning, winking and cheerfully taking the stairs two at a time, sticky tape in hand, I feel prying, curious eyes on me, wondering why I didn’t step in sooner to sort it all out.
So what can we do if we’re fed up with decking the halls alone? If we don’t want to always be the stocking fillers? If, actually, all we want for Christmas is someone to share the mental load with us? You could go nuclear, like a friend of mine who, one year, refused to buy any presents on behalf of her husband. It led to a few awkward Christmases but paid off in the long run: he sorts out his own gift shopping, while she kicks back with a Baileys.
I took a slightly gentler approach: talking. When I spoke to my partner about his approach to Christmas, he explained, apologetically, that he found the whole thing, presents in particular, too transactional, which is why he struggles to engage with it. It was helpful to hear his side of the story, even if it didn’t give us an immediate solution. Later on, though, he approached me in the kitchen and, excitedly, told me of a thoughtful present idea he’d had for one of his nephews. Come back on Boxing Day to see if he wraps it on time.
Chloë Hamilton is a freelance journalist
