The loneliness of taking care of everyone else - and what it's protecting.

Maybe you’re the “Mom friend” - the one with snacks and Advil and an itinerary for the day. Or perhaps you’re the “therapist friend” who processes the break-ups, grabs the tissues, and listens to your family vent. Or maybe you’re the “Dad friend”: helping people move, good with a hammer, and giving encouragement with a clap on the back. And then when it’s your turn to need? Crickets.

Part of you probably loves organizing the hangouts and being there for people you love. There’s meaning and value and identity there. And part of you is lonely and overwhelmed and maybe a little resentful. Like it’s never your turn to be held and cared for.

And I’m here to gently ask you - what if that isolation is by design? What if part of you actually feels safer in this role - always giving and never receiving. Because while caretakers are seen as selfless and mature, they are also roles defined by safety and control. And having more reciprocal relationships will mean giving up some of that safety and control, which is - well, scary.

You don’t want to overcorrect and become helpless or worse - selfish. So how do you continue being the loving friend you so deeply want to be, while having more reciprocal and vulnerable relationships? Well, first we have to look at what’s happening under the surface.

You know that feeling where you finally open up and let someone see your pain and their response absolutely misses the mark? Like Charlie Brown kicking the football just to have Lucy swipe it away at the last second. Well if you’re the Competent One of the group, you just might be trying to avoid that feeling. Because showing your weaknesses, your fears, your vulnerabilities will open the door for disappointment or hurt. If you never share what you’re going through, they can never say the wrong thing, right?

If you never share what you’re going through, they can never really see you. That’s what you’re missing out on.

The people in your life will screw it up at times. They won’t hear your pain or will make a wrongly placed joke. Let yourself hear this: you are strong enough to tolerate that disappointment. You are also assertive enough to say “Hey. I don’t think you really got that.” or “Ouch. Try again.” Being everyone’s parent is just making you feel alone in your overwhelm. Let people in and you can share the burden together.

If something in you clenched up at that last sentence, be real with me for a second: does a part of you relish the control taking care of others gives you? The sense of competence is real. You see a problem, offer a solution, and everyone wins. It’s validating to be helpful, to be the competent, together one and not the one who needs something. And then if they screw up helping you? Well that’s just a bridge too far.

Because at the end of the day, being helpful has a sneaky way of reassuring you that you are lovable, that you have a role. People like helpers! No problem is left unsolved when you’re on the case. And shifting into the person who needs help can feel like giving up an entire identity. Who are you when you aren’t being helpful? Will people stick around when you don’t offer something to them?

And here’s the hard thing. You can begin to let people help you, stop identifying as the Helper, and then hit a wall of grief and rage. It could have been like this all along?! is excruciating. There is grief to living life harder and lonelier than necessary. Sometimes we choose to stay in the hard we know rather than feel grief. You are well acquainted with this brand of hard: the hard of seeing everyone else and feeling like they don’t see you. The hard of showing up and giving and listening, then feeling alone when it’s your turn.

But the hard of realizing people closest to you might not actually be there for you? The hard of sitting with loneliness and uncertainty when you decide that relationships moving forward have to be more reciprocal? That’s uncharted territory. So you stay stuck and a little resentful because the alternative is scary.

And yet. Others also like to give support and help. People want to show up for you. Helping creates closeness and intimacy. By being the Competent One, you may have been depriving your circle of really knowing and loving you. Basically, stop hoarding all the likability!

I can’t know what will happen when you stop identifying as the Helper, when you start actually showing up in your relationships as a whole ass person with needs and problems and vulnerabilities. Your people might disappoint you. You might lose relationships. You might grieve a lot. That is hard, truly. But it’s more alive. It means you have a fighting chance at creating or finding relationships that actually meet you, that actually feel alive and reciprocal. You will free yourself from the cage of the Competent One. And then there’s a whole life to live, one where your worth just... exists.