how it feels to live in the rescuer role

Your mind’s constantly busy — you’re constantly finding solutions — to other people’s problems.

“If only they can just do this!” “If only they can take care of it that way — then everything will be okay.”

Overwhelmed by the general sense of chaos or uncertainty you sense around you, your mind’s constantly looking out for the problem. Even if nothing’s going wrong (‘…yet’, you think), you can already sense it coming, see it brewing on the horizon, and you’re already bracing for it.

After all, you’re used to it. Growing up, maybe you were the quiet one, observing the emotional crises of family members around you. Maybe you were the confidant, the therapist to your mother, the one who was considered ‘more mature’. Maybe you were the one who was smarter, more academically capable. And you were leaned on — in ways that didn’t necessarily feel good all the time. ‘But at least I have a role, at least I feel useful...’

And now, in your busy, buzzy life, you’re already managing a hundred other things, and it feels like you’re rarely just… resting. Or playing. You’re competent — everyone knows that. You’re responsible. That’s why the things and tasks keep piling up on your plate.

Meanwhile, your stomach is in a knot. Your shoulders are perpetually tense. You’re clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth, balling up your fists — without even noticing it. It feels weird to slow down.

It’s sometimes hard to know where you end and where others begin.

But something’s slowly shifting. Slowly at first, but there’s just been a growing sense of resentment. Anger, even. Or just exhaustion. You’re noticing nothing ever really changes. Nothing ever really shifts. Nothing you’ve said or done has ever really created meaningful change — especially not in your family of origin.

You’re beginning to wonder: “Is there another way?”

Next: the cry hiding in your heart (the unprocessed grief of the chronic rescuer)