For the last twenty years I have been the go to girl to solve everything in my family. And I mean everything. Anything less than everything was selfish.
When I was with my ex it was no problem. I could keep them afloat because financially he was keeping me afloat. We had other issues with our relationship of course, but my family was ever so happy and snug while I was with him.
When he dumped me, and I mean seriously dumped me, it broke me in ways I still do not think people around me fully understand. Not only because someone I loved could no longer stand to be around the person I had become when the people pleaser gene did not discriminate, but because the need for me to be the fixer did not stop just because my life had exploded.
And when I say fixer, I mean I am the first person anyone calls about anything. Anything. If they are questioning which shampoo to buy I get called and Google never even hears about it. Honestly I would have been thrilled if every problem that was not life or death had at least been run through a basic search engine first.
But that is beside the point.
The point is that when I was no longer financially someone else’s problem, and I never should have been, I had absolutely no idea what I was in for.
When I would reach out for support, what I often got back was retail therapy disguised as care. Every time I would go out it cost me money. Money I did not really have. Money I put on credit cards I had only qualified for because my ex’s income boosted mine. I clearly was not in a good headspace. I clearly was spiraling. But people still needed me.
Or maybe people were just used to needing me.
I went through multiple rounds of relatives I genuinely wanted to help, people whose approval I wanted so badly it embarrassed me, basically strip mining my life while telling me how lucky I was to have them there to guide me.
That is the thing about invisible labor. The people benefiting from it rarely see it.
I would spend hours researching things for people. Solving problems. Filling out paperwork. Managing emotions. Finding resources. Calming crises. Answering questions that could have been solved with a five second search bar interaction. Tiny little pieces of me shaved off all day long until I realized I had somehow become less of a person and more of a public utility.
Need reassurance?
Call me.
Need someone to fix the form you ignored for six months?
Call me.
Need someone to absorb your panic and hand back solutions?
Call me.
Need someone to save you from consequences you saw coming from a mile away?
Apparently call me.
And the reason this worked for so long is because I was trained for it young.
When your grandmother calls you selfish for basic self care at eight years old, you learn very quickly that your needs are an inconvenience. When your parents rent out your bedroom as a teenager and you sleep on the floor, you learn that your comfort is negotiable. That your role is to make things easier for everyone else first and then maybe, if there is anything left over, you can have crumbs after.
You get conditioned to keep saving people.
You get conditioned to think being needed is the same thing as being loved.
At thirty though, I realized with some very sharp clarity that I was tired of saving people who knew they could not swim but jumped into the river expecting me to be the lifeguard.
And sure, I will still help people. I love helping people. I am good at helping people. That part of me is real.
But this lifeguard takes Venmo now.
I have to save me too.