You’ve stopped, so why do you still feel 'on duty'? You’re sitting down, but you’re listening for the washing machine to finish. Your partner’s had a difficult day and you’re wondering whether to check on them. A colleague hasn’t replied, which probably means you’ll need to pick that up tomorrow. Someone asks whether you’re enjoying your evening. You realise you’ve barely noticed it.
In my work with over-responsibility, I’m interested in what you’re still carrying when you’ve stopped doing things. You can be physically resting while keeping track of everyone else, ready to respond before they’ve even asked. It takes up a surprising amount of your evening.
What feels like yours to carry?
Perhaps you feel responsible for making sure nobody’s disappointed. You notice what needs doing and find yourself dealing with it, sometimes before anyone else has realised there’s something to do. Some of this may be part of your role. Some may have become yours because you noticed it first, did it well, or found it uncomfortable to leave alone. You might trust other people to manage perfectly well, yet still feel compelled to check. If something goes wrong and you could have prevented it, would you blame yourself? That expectation can keep you available long after the working day has finished. Rest becomes something you’ll get to once you’re satisfied that everyone else is okay. There’s usually someone who isn’t.
Where you learnt to stay available
Perhaps you were the child who could tell how your mum was feeling before she’d said a word. You knew when to help and when your own worries would have to wait. Being helpful brought warmth or approval; asking for care felt less certain. Our early attachment relationships help shape what we expect when we need someone. If care was unpredictable, or a parent relied on you emotionally, you may have learnt that asking for very little and giving a great deal helped keep you close.
The term “mother wound” is sometimes used to describe the lasting hurt around needs that went unmet in your relationship with your mother. It describes an experience rather than a diagnosis. Similar hurt can arise with other main caregivers too. There may have been love, alongside loneliness or pressure to grow up too soon. You can understand your mother’s difficulties and still acknowledge what that cost you.
Later experiences can reinforce those expectations. At work, you become the safe pair of hands. At home, everyone assumes you’ll remember. People appreciate how dependable you are, while rarely seeing how much of your attention it takes.
Letting someone else take responsibility
Think of an ordinary moment when you find yourself stepping in. Before sending the reminder or offering to sort something, ask: Have I agreed to take responsibility for this? What am I expecting will happen if I leave it with them?
There may be a practical issue that needs discussing. Or perhaps someone else’s disappointment feels difficult to tolerate. You might worry about becoming less important if you’re less useful. Once you notice what’s pulling you in, you have more choice about how to respond. You could agree who’s doing what, ask someone to take a task from beginning to end, or allow them to follow through in their own way. If you’re carrying an unfair share, that arrangement needs attention too. You need support you can rely on, including time when someone else is responsible for remembering what needs doing.
Experiencing care differently
Understanding why you feel responsible can help. So can experiences where you’re able to leave something with another person and discover what happens. You say you’re tired and someone takes you seriously. You leave a task with your partner and they complete it without reminders. You tell a friend you can’t help this weekend, and the friendship remains warm.
These can be reparative experiences: moments that help repair earlier expectations that your needs will be unwelcome, or that closeness depends on what you provide. You might still feel guilty or want to step in. As these experiences become more familiar, you may begin to trust that your needs and limits can have a place in your relationships too.
If this brings up strong feelings, a therapist can help you explore them at a pace you can manage. Having someone consistently interested in how things are for you can itself be part of that repair.
What would you like this time to hold?
As you spend less of your evening keeping track of everyone else, you may notice how tired you are. You might also realise you miss reading, being outdoors or having a conversation that doesn’t involve organising something.
You could begin by noticing what appeals to you, without feeling obliged to make good use of every spare minute. Perhaps you’d like company. Perhaps you’d quite like everyone to leave you alone for half an hour. Both seem entirely reasonable.
You’ve become very practised at anticipating what would make life easier for other people. What would make this evening feel good for you? That question deserves some headspace before you check that everyone else is completely sorted.
A place to begin together
This is part of why I created The Pause, a monthly online gathering for women who are used to noticing, anticipating and carrying too much.
Together, we practise bringing some of that attention back to ourselves. There’s time to notice how you are and what you’d like more of in your life. We also explore what comes up when you pause, including the familiar feeling that you really should be doing something else.
You can share what you notice, or listen and reflect. We make room for enjoyment and connection as well as whatever feels unfamiliar about taking this time for yourself.
If you recognise yourself here, I’d love you to join us. The next Pause is Thursday 22 October at 7.15pm, online.
Register your place here: https://forms.gle/NFUJwCzkQGjJwNFZ9