I don’t remember a time when my mum didn’t confide in me. I was her emotional support system, her confidant, her closest friend. She was a single parent and I became her sounding board. She shared her problems, fears and daily struggles – not the watered-down version most kids get, but the whole, raw, unfiltered story.

As I grew older, I slowly became aware that this wasn’t how most mother-daughter relationships worked. But for us, it was just normal.

“Thank you for listening to me rabbit on,” she’d say, perched on my bed, tucking me in. “You’re so grown up for your age.” And I was. Had to be, really. When you’re someone’s entire world, you learn quickly how to soak up their distress like a sponge.

We all want to show up for our friends, but how do we make sure we aren't abandoning ourselves in the process?

Without either of us realising it, I absorbed a particular understanding of love. To me, caring for someone meant being the calm in their chaos, their safe harbor. Being needed felt like being valued. But that understanding of what it meant to love someone became the blueprint I carried into subsequent relationships.

When Love Meant Being Someone’s Lifeline

Fast forward to my very early 20s. Somehow, I’d become the group therapist. Not officially, obviously. There was no vote where everyone decided I’d be the one fielding crisis calls at midnight. It just happened the way these things do when you’ve spent your childhood believing your worth depends on how well you can fix everyone else’s mess.

“Many ‘designated therapists’ were once the emotionally attuned child in a chaotic, unpredictable or emotionally stifled home,” explains Elizabeth Bodett Dresser, licensed clinical professional counsellor (LCPC) and founder of Still Oak Counselling. “Maybe their parents didn’t know how to regulate their own emotions, so the child took on the job of smoothing things over — being the peacemaker, the listener, the fixer.”

That perpetual caretaking? It becomes what Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy calls a “manager” part. A protector who discovered how to read the room, anticipate needs and keep everyone stable. As Dresser puts it, “These parts are often fuelled by a belief that your worth comes from what you do for others, not simply who you are.”

Building on this foundation, Audrey Schoen, licensed marriage and family therapist, explains that some people learn early on that “their survival was tied to their ability to solve problems and keep the peace.” We became hypervigilant to everyone’s moods because our family’s stability depended on it, pushing our own needs aside.

“This doesn’t just turn off when they become adults,” Schoen said. “It becomes their default mode in all relationships.”

The signs were everywhere. I knew intimate details about everyone’s disasters. Their family drama, relationship trainwrecks, career meltdowns and everything in between. I knew their deepest fears and insecurities and could see a spiral coming a mile away.

But ask any of them what was happening in my life? Blank stares.

It wasn’t malicious. They cared in their own way. But when you’re the “strong and capable”........

© HuffPost