I thought my first pregnancy would be peaceful, especially with my husband’s support. But at seven months, exhausted and in pain, he dismissed my struggles. Doug scoffed when I mentioned leaving work early, calling me lazy and saying his mother worked until the day she gave birth. Hurt but determined, I pushed myself to do everything—work, chores, cooking—while he watched, convinced I had energy to spare.

Then I planned a lesson. I hired Shannon, a doula who runs parenting workshops, to put Doug through a “dad simulation day.” When two screaming babies arrived and chaos erupted, Doug faced nonstop crying, diaper disasters, and exhaustion. He finally understood what I endured daily, without breaks or help.

That evening, I gave him a scrapbook filled with photos and messages showing my invisible struggles. He apologized, eyes red, finally seeing my reality. The next day, he made me breakfast and called his mother, learning she actually stopped working months into pregnancy, contradicting his harsh standards.

Since then, Doug has been more caring, never calling me lazy again. Sometimes, to teach real strength, you need to let someone live it—poop, puke, and all.