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I was what psychologists call a parentified child. From a very young age, I was responsible for caring for my single mother, who had untreated mental illness, as well as my siblings, one of whom had a severe developmental disability.
Throughout my childhood, I cared for my family emotionally, physically, and even financially—handing over my babysitting earnings to help pay for groceries and utility bills. For many years, it was up to me to keep everyone safe and well cared for. I cleaned our house, cooked, bathed my brothers, and counseled my mother through her bouts of depression.
When a social worker intervened during high school, I began the long process of stepping away from my family’s role reversals (a story I share in my book, Forces of Nature).
As an adult, I’ve worked hard to counteract the long-tailed effects of parentification. While the old ache of neglect never fully goes away, I believe it’s possible to soothe it. I’ve found that I’m able to enjoy loving, mutually beneficial relationships as an adult that I never would have imagined as a kid.
While healing will look different for everyone, I’m here to share a few steps I’ve personally taken to counteract the effects of parentification:
I grieved my lost childhood
Probably the biggest, most daunting task I’ve faced as an adult is mourning the loss of the childhood I should have had. Through therapy, I’ve learned to feel the waves of heartache, disappointment, anger, and longing for what might have been. Making space for that grief has opened me up to feel more gratitude and joy. And it’s given me a sense of empowerment and agency knowing I can successfully get my needs met as an adult.
I set healthy boundaries
My emotional and physical boundaries were violated as a child. So, much of my healing as an adult has involved setting new boundaries and protecting myself from further harm. That means I’m not always available. I no longer rush to rescue people or problem-solve on their behalf. I don’t answer the phone if I’m tired or busy. I carefully consider requests for my time and energy—at work, in friendships, and at my kids’ schools.
Having strict limits might appear selfish to some. But the benefit of having boundaries is that it allows me to show up more authentically because I’m no longer overextending myself or bypassing my needs. When I do say yes or respond, I’m able to do so cheerfully. I’m fully present and engaged, not exhausted and resentful.
I practiced asking for help
One side effect of being too responsible at a young age is growing up to be a very capable, fiercely independent adult. It’s a point of pride that I can handle just about anything on my own. But just because I can handle everything doesn’t mean I should. I’ve noticed that overfunctioning for too long leads to burnout and stress, and there are times when it is really nice to have support.
Still, asking for help takes practice. I started small—asking a taller friend to reach something on a high shelf, for instance, or enlisting my partner to help me move a piece of furniture. When my kids were babies, I practiced accepting offers of meals and childcare. Now asking for support comes a bit easier. At work, I’ve learned to ask for assistance with large projects and presentations. If there’s ever a crisis, I know exactly who I can lean on for support. That peace of mind has been healing.
I tuned in to my physical needs
As a kid, I was so adept at muting my own needs that I became numb to basic physiological sensations like hunger and fatigue. One of the things I’ve had to relearn as an adult is how to identify those feelings (and any associated emotions that come with them). When I feel dysregulated now, I run through a checklist in my mind: Am I hungry? Tired? Thirsty? Overstimulated? Do I need to take a break, read a book, or go for a walk? Do I need to talk with a friend? I also regularly engage in somatic practices that help me tune into my body sensations, like bodywork, Pilates, and therapy.
I focused on reciprocal relationships
Growing up parentified made me a highly intuitive, vigilant person. That means in relationships, I’m quick to anticipate others’ needs. That can be a wonderful quality to bring to relationships—but it also results in imbalances. If I’m too quick to caretake others and ignore my own needs, people may take advantage of me (knowingly or unknowingly).
I’ve learned that the healthiest relationships in my life feel reciprocal—no one is sacrificing too much of themselves or abandoning their own needs. That’s not to say my relationships are transactional. I don’t keep a balance sheet. But I do look for mutual support and the emotional safety that comes from a healthy give-and-take.
I found mentors and therapists
Early in my healing, I realized that my neglect could be healed in part through breaking patterns and forming new bonds with healthy adults. It’s what therapists call a “corrective emotional experience.” Within the safety of these relationships, I learned to speak up and ask for what I need. I also learned in this context that I don’t have to be responsible for other adults’ emotional well-being. The result was that I felt freer to be myself and take up space in the world. In these relationships, I enjoy feeling seen and understood.
