Growing up, I never realized that my relationship with my mother was different from others. She confided in me, and I became her emotional support system, her confidant, and her closest friend. As a single parent, she shared her problems, fears, and daily struggles with me, not holding back any details. This was our normal, and I didn’t think anything of it.
As I grew older, I began to understand that this wasn’t how most mother-daughter relationships worked. But for us, it was just our way of life. My mother would often say, “Thank you for listening to me rabbit on,” as she perched on my bed, tucking me in. She would also comment on how grown up I was for my age. And I was. I had to be. When you are someone’s entire world, you learn quickly how to absorb their distress like a sponge.
We all want to be there for our friends, but how do we make sure we are not abandoning ourselves in the process? Without realizing it, I had 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 this understanding of love became the blueprint for my subsequent relationships.
Fast forward to my early 20s, and I had become the designated therapist in my group of friends. It wasn’t something that was decided upon; it just happened naturally. I had spent my childhood believing that my worth depended on how well I could fix everyone else’s problems. So, it was only natural that I took on the role of the peacemaker, the listener, and the fixer.
According to Elizabeth Bodett Dresser, a licensed clinical professional counselor and founder of Still Oak Counseling, many designated therapists were once emotionally attuned children in chaotic or emotionally stifled homes. They took on the role of smoothing things over, being the peacemaker, the listener, and the fixer because their parents didn’t know how to regulate their own emotions.
This perpetual caretaking becomes a “manager” part in Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy. It is a protector who has learned how to read the room, anticipate needs, and keep everyone stable. As Dresser explains, these parts are often fueled by a belief that our worth comes from what we do for others, not just who we are.
Building on this foundation, Audrey Schoen, a licensed marriage and family therapist, explains that some people learn early on that their survival is tied to their ability to solve problems and keep the peace. They become hypervigilant to everyone’s moods because their family’s stability depends on it, pushing their own needs aside. And this doesn’t just turn off when they become adults; it becomes their default mode in all relationships.
The signs of an unhealthy dynamic were everywhere in my friendships. 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 from a mile away. But when it came to my life, no one seemed to notice or care.
It wasn’t malicious; my friends cared in their own way. But when you are the “strong and capable” one, people tend to forget that you might be struggling too. They would throw out the occasional “How are you?” but their eyes would glaze over, waiting for their turn to unload.
The exhaustion crept up on me slowly. After three years of being everyone’s unpaid therapist, I was mentally and physically drained. I would spend hours crafting the perfect response to someone’s emergency text, researching resources and offering solutions, only to have them ignore my advice and recreate the same chaos the following week. I would cancel my own plans to be there during their worst moments, but when it came to their fun social events, I wasn’t even on their radar. I felt like I only mattered when things were falling apart. And I’m not the only one who has felt this way.
According to Samantha Potthoff, a marriage and family therapist and co-founder of Therapy Collective of California, many people who have become the psychological anchor for everyone around them come to therapy not because they are struggling with one particular issue, but because they feel emotionally worn out and unseen. And there is usually a belief lurking underneath – if I stop showing
