As discussions about the rise of the “male loneliness epidemic” abound on social media, women are opening up about the increased emotional labour that comes with the phenomenon of “mankeeping”. Here is how to recognise the signs and stop it in its tracks.
By Sameirah Nasrin Ahsan
Ladies, let’s be real; if you have ever paused mid-task and thought, “Wait. Am I his wife or am I raising him?” then you are in dangerously universal territory. This sort of epiphany usually hits you in the middle of performing suspiciously maternal missions for your husband like rifling through his desk to locate car keys even though it was he who has misplaced them, reminding him to take his medicine everyday like a pharmaceutical angel, calling the tailor on his behalf because he “forgot” to pick up his new panjabi, racing to the store to replace his worn-out underwear so the family jewels are safe and comfortable, or giving him a TED Talk explaining why his relative is upset with him as if you have signed up to be his personal freelance diplomat. And the kicker? This is the same man who braves Dhaka traffic like a professional stuntman in a high budget action blockbuster, memorises cricket scores and player stats better than his own birthday and anniversaries, parallel parks in tight spaces like a precision-obsessed Top Gear driver, fixes the Wi-Fi router, AC, TV or any stubborn household appliance simply by glaring at them long enough and yet cannot locate his own phone charger unless it is physically taped to his forehead.
Mankeeping . noun
[man·keep·ing] [man-ˌkē-piŋ]
: the unpaid, unreciprocated emotional and social labour that women often perform to manage the lives of men, particularly to sustain their social connections and emotional well-being.
Mankeep . verb
[man·keep] [man-ˌkēp]
Unpaid, unofficial, soul draining: mankeeping is the invisible labour of running a fully grown man’s emotional, social, and logistical life simply because “he can’t” or more like absolutely refuses to do it himself. Imagine caring for a houseplant; except this one argues, forgets its own birthday, drinks water only if reminded, and asks you if you have seen its gym shorts because what if they have escaped the laundry basket. Yes, that’s what mankeeping feels like.
We as a society have somehow turned men into a fragile, high-maintenance species that must be shielded from basic adult chores, mild inconveniences, social commitments and particularly the controversial concept of using their memory to remember things. From supervising his meals (no, a smoke in the balcony is not breakfast), to pre-reminding him of basic life functions, to managing his endless cycle of misplaced belongings, you end up functioning as the entire emotional infrastructure of a relationship that is supposed to have two adults, not one.
But here is where it gets truly absurd: this entire circus is not a one-time show, it’s a full-blown multi-generational production: passed down from dadi to phuppi and from nani to amma to you like a cursed emotional heirloom. This is all thanks to generations of sons being applauded for simply existing while daughters were trained in conflict resolution, emotional diplomacy, compromise, empathic foresight, multitasking and household logistics before they could even spell their own names. It doesn’t particularly help that aunties through generations keep repeating “Meyeder ektu adjust kore nite hoy, mene nite hoy, manage kore nite hoy,” like it’s the national anthem. So naturally, as the woman in his life, you end up performing emotional CPR for someone who is fully capable of breathing, just deeply unwilling to do the work. You unknowingly become his social secretary, nutritional supervisor (because coffee isn’t a hydration plan), family liaison, and his general life manager overseeing doctors’ appointments, wardrobe emergencies, and social engagements so he doesn’t become a lonely potato.
But how do you know you’re deep in mankeeping? Let me make it easy. Ask yourself this: are you the one carrying the emotional load, doing the planning, the scheduling, the anticipating, the remembering, the reminding, the crisis management, and basically plugging every hole in the ship while he floats around assuming the ocean is naturally calm? If the answer is yes, congratulations, you are a mankeeper. And of course, you are exhausted, not because you don’t love him, but because you’re doing the jobs of two people while he barely handles one.
Surely, for all this labour, there must be some kind of return, right? Wrong! You get burnout and crumbs: microscopic crumbs, the kind that pigeons reject out of courtesy. But why are women so good at this? Because we were raised for it, conditioned in it, and trained in the art of anticipatory care. We grew up watching aunties boil ginger water before men and boys even finished coughing.
So what’s the fix, you ask? Stop volunteering for every task, ladies. If he forgets something, let him. Natural consequences build character sometimes faster than lectures. Second, be direct and delegate: not “it would be nice if you helped,” but “you’re handling school pick up and drop off on football days, thanks.” And please, retire the word “help”. He is not assisting you and you are not his supervisor; you two are in a partnership where you share adult responsibilities. And if he weaponises his incompetence and declares, “I don’t know how,” just enrol him in the prestigious educational institution known as YouTube University. He’ll survive.