I’m one of three children. The middle child, I’m two years apart in age from both siblings. My younger sister was diagnosed with autism at the age of two when she wasn’t showing any signs of speaking.
Due to her high needs, I had to step up at a very young age. Where other children had carefree fun, I still had joy – but looming over it were responsibilities at an age where they are usually not granted.
It felt as though the curtain had been pulled and I could see what the world truly was, while at an age where my imagination was supposed to be running wild.
Having a younger sibling with additional needs also meant I didn’t receive the same level of attention as other children my age. While I can now look back and understand that and have come to terms with it, as a child it left me bewildered. I didn’t once stop to think that it was because my sister had more needs, but rather that there must be something wrong with me.
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That I must be some sort of a problem.
I set out on a subconscious mission to never be a burden, never “too much”. As a result, I developed hyper-independence and learned invisibility.
Although I now understand in my adulthood why my sibling received more attention and time, these issues remain strong in my life.
I’m self aware, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still worry about being a burden in my adult life and take appropriate measures to try to be as little of an inconvenience as possible.
As a child, I didn’t want to bring more “trouble” my parents’ way. What this looked like in practice was raising myself, looking after myself, caging in my emotions, tackling issues on my own, and never asking for any kind of help. Hyper-independence is a trauma response whereby individuals become excessively self-reliant, avoiding intimacy and help from others to avoid potential disappointment or betrayal.
Some signs of hyper-independence can include overachieving, refusing to ask for help, guardedness in relationships, mistrusting other people, stress or burnout, and the dislike of “neediness”. It can come about particularly from emotional states such as a fear of being seen as weak, receiving messaging in childhood that you need to do things on your own, or parentification. Parentification is a dysfunctional family dynamic whereby a child is forced to take on the functional or emotional responsibilities of an adult, reversing the traditional parent-child role.
It causes children to sacrifice their own developmental needs to care for siblings or parents. As a result, it often leads to long-term relationship and anxiety struggles.
Parentification can be broken down into different types. For example, with emotional parentification, a child may act as a therapist, confidant or mediator for a parent, handling adult emotional burdens. With instrumental parentification, the child will perform functional tasks beyond their age level, like paying bills, caring for siblings, cooking, or cleaning.
For me, it felt like I was stepping into a caregiver role when I was supposed to be being cared for.
Hyper-independence may sound like a good thing; in practice, it is great to display signs of independence in youth. It certainly has helped me to be more resilient and strong. However, it is very lonely and isolating and can add immense weight to any issue.
Within this umbrella, I learned invisibility as a child – a survival strategy or coping mechanism whereby one intentionally hides their emotions, personality and identity to prevent “taking up space”. Learned invisibility and hyper-independence manifested for me as a means to avoid being a burden. I reduced my needs and I stopped showing any signs of weakness or struggle.
Every coping mechanism has started as a means of gaining control – and in the process of leveraging it, I’ve lost parts of myself
Unfortunately, this idea of not being a problem has carried over into my adult life, into all my friendships and relationships, and has turned me into somewhat of an overgiver. I give and give and expect nothing back, but find my cup is emptying rapidly and I have left myself exhausted.
Not only that, but it has put a block on my ability to express and show emotion. I haven’t properly cried since I was a teenager. Not when a family member or pet died, not when I didn’t do well in an exam, not when I was following through with difficult decisions.
As challenges unfold in life, instead of dealing with them as I’m supposed to do like other people (cry, process and move on), I carry these emotions with me. The pile builds and builds until it becomes too overwhelming to sort through.
Moreover, my mind always strives for some sort of coping mechanism, generally damaging in its own right, to manage all the emotional weight. I can’t successfully navigate my emotions, acknowledge them and process them, so I turned to self-harming, an eating disorder, and even alcohol to achieve mental numbness.
The dissociation feels amazing until I’m not actively engaging in any of these things, and then I’m brought back to feeling like I’ve been abandoned in a hole in the ground with no ability to get out. There’s a considerable amount of work here, not just in going through that pile, but a total reversal of old habits and my mind. It is incredibly difficult as a hyper-independent person to loosen your grip.
The idea of suddenly leaning on others for support, going through the emotions and feeling everything all at once, and constantly taking measures to be as pleasurable to be with as possible, is both terrifying and exhausting. It goes directly against my innate nature; what I’ve always done throughout my life. At the same time though, I know if I don’t have a healthy way to navigate, process and cope with my emotions, I will never get that relief I am seeking. Every coping mechanism has started as a means of gaining control – and in the process of leveraging it, I’ve lost parts of myself. Each one has been both mentally and physically damaging.
I spent my life learning how not to be seen, how not to need anyone, how not to cry. I find myself envious of people who are able to be so vulnerable and feel. I never learned how to manage and navigate my emotions in a healthy way.
Strength isn’t in making yourself small, hiding, and caging your emotions away to the point where you can have no mental release; it’s in showing up, letting your guard down to let others see the parts of you that are uncertain, fragile and human. Vulnerability is anything but weakness; it’s a pathway to relief, connection and being fully alive.
It’s the answer to just not surviving life but thriving in life.
