Aggressively Human: The Bloody Mental Load No One Sees

Mar 16

Written By Candice Coughenour

The Trash Bag, the Tampon, and the Mental Load

What a very bloody moment in my bathroom revealed about invisible labor, relationships, and finally letting things be seen.

If you came here from the Midol-and-Dunkin’ story with my dad, welcome.

That moment was about something small that healed — asking for help instead of assuming rejection.

But Friday the 13th had another revelation waiting for me later that night.

It involved a bathroom garbage can, a very bloody tampon, and the exact moment the concept of mental load stopped being theoretical and became extremely, aggressively real.

This is the part I didn’t send to the inbox.

Because sometimes growth looks less like a tidy life lesson…
and more like standing in your bathroom holding a tampon and realizing you’re done quietly carrying things for everyone else.

Welcome to the Aggressively Human version.

Later that night I had the kind of moment that explains mental load better than any article ever could.

“Shit. I really bled through.”

And of course — absolutely fucking of course — as I’m holding the bloodiest tampon I’ve seen in months, there is no bag in the little garbage can.

The same garbage can I have specifically asked to have a bag replaced in after garbage day.

One…
Three…
Ninety-eight times.

That’s when the invisible labor of my life became aggressively obvious.

And here’s the part I didn’t name before:

There have also been numerous times I quietly put the bag in myself.
Or had to hunt for one in the middle of urgently needing one.
Or wrapped things in toilet paper and pretended it was fine.

That’s the part no one sees.

In my new empowerment era, I scream — not from rage — but from new action.

I call to my partner and ask him to bring down a bag.

And I say (because internalized sexism doesn’t dissolve in one day):

“Prepare to be scarred.”

He walks in.

I show him exactly why I have asked — repeatedly — for a bag in the garbage can.

“This is why I need a bag in here. Look at it.”

And here’s where the mental load clicked.

It was never just about the bag.

It was about the noticing.
The remembering.
The repeating.
The quietly fixing.
The absorption of inconvenience.
The protection of someone else’s comfort.

Mental load isn’t just about doing the task.
It’s carrying the awareness of the task.
Tracking it.
Anticipating it.
And then deciding whether to say something or “just handle it.”

For years, I handled it.

I would quietly replace the bag.
Quietly find one mid-crisis.
Quietly adjust my behavior so no one else has to feel uncomfortable. (Or have to consider me.)

That’s invisible labor.

And if I keep protecting his comfort — by just asking him to hand me a bag, or worse, not asking at all — I am once again over-functioning for the men of society.

And I know for a damn fact that is not what I need.
It’s not what he needs.
It’s not what we collectively need.

Did I feel like a smiling devil horn emoji?
Uh. Hell yeah.

But I also felt congruent.

I stopped managing.
I stopped pre-absorbing.
I stopped making anything small.

He looked at it with a face that said, “Uh… yeah. That tracks.”
And moseyed on his way.

No explosion. No fragility. Just reality.

And that’s when I realized:

I had spent years mind-reading.
Over-functioning.
Pre-solving.

When one more sentence
one more degree of honesty and vulnerability
shifted everything.

Now it’s late.
I’m caffeinated (rare).
Hormonally feral (not rare).
And maybe not thinking the clearest…

Am I worried this isn’t the best thing to be sharing with the world?
Yeah. A little.

But growth doesn’t happen in the quiet over-functioning.