u/hans2580

I’ve been learning about enmeshment and parentification recently, and it feels like someone finally handed me the missing puzzle piece for my life.

Growing up, I always felt responsible for other people’s emotions. I was constantly trying to keep the peace, making sure everyone else was okay, and I never really felt like there was space for me to just be myself.

Looking back, I realize I carried that dynamic into friendships and dating too.

In friendships, I was often the listener, the funny friend, the one people came to with their problems. I felt like I had to monitor myself all the time—“Can I say this? Is it safe to be myself? Will this make them uncomfortable?” I didn’t notice how exhausting that was until I stopped doing it.

When I stopped over-functioning and stopped being everyone’s emotional support person, a lot of those friendships disappeared. At first it hurt, but now I wonder if those relationships only worked because I was playing a role.

Dating was similar. I found myself trying to fit what I thought men wanted instead of asking whether I genuinely liked them. I’d laugh at jokes that weren’t funny, soften parts of my personality, or choose someone who looked “right” on paper rather than someone I actually connected with.

Now I’m in a season where I honestly don’t miss many people. For the first time in my life, I get to figure out who I am without constantly managing someone else’s emotions.

One thing I’ve noticed is that I have very little patience for relationships where people repeatedly vent without wanting to change anything. I know everyone needs support sometimes, but after spending so much of my life emotionally carrying other people, I feel completely drained by those dynamics. Sometimes I wonder if this is just burnout from years of enmeshment.

Right now I’m much more interested in building my career, working on myself, and creating a life that feels authentic than trying to maintain friendships that leave me feeling emotionally responsible for other adults.

I’m curious if anyone else has experienced something similar after recognizing enmeshment.

Did you go through a phase where you wanted much more solitude? Did you become hyper-independent? How did you learn the difference between healthy boundaries and shutting people out completely?

I’d really love to hear from people who’ve come out the other side. What did healthy friendships and relationships end up looking like for you?

I think this version is likely to get thoughtful responses because it focuses on your experience rather than making broad claims about women or friendships. People who have recovered from enmeshment will probably recognize themselves in it and share how they navigated the transition.

Hey everyone,

I’m a 24-year-old woman, and I’ve known since I was a child that I don’t want kids. Recently I had a conversation with my aunt that really got me thinking.

For context, my aunt has a very different life experience than I do. She married a wealthy older man who has since passed away. She inherited property, her children inherited money, they had household help, and she told me she’s basically never had to worry about bills because her husband handled everything.

I don’t come from that kind of background. My parents divorced, and while I wouldn’t say I grew up poor, my life has looked very different from hers.
Last week I was at her house, and she asked me whether I wanted children. I said no.

She immediately started talking about the joys of motherhood, how much she loves her children, how her son (18)recently bought her an iPhone, and how children are such a blessing.
The thing is, my reasons for not wanting children have nothing to do with hating kids.
I’m the oldest daughter, and I was heavily parentified growing up. When my mom had health issues, I spent a lot of time helping care for my younger siblings. In many ways, I got a preview of motherhood without ever giving birth.
That experience made me realize something about myself: motherhood feels like a level of self-sacrifice that I simply don’t want. To me, it often looks like putting everyone else’s needs before your own for decades. I know some women find fulfillment in that, but I don’t.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become even more confident in my decision. I’ve built different interests, different goals, and honestly, the more I learn about the realities of parenting, the less appealing it becomes to me.

During our conversation, I asked my aunt something simple:
“What about mothers who regret becoming mothers?”
She completely dismissed the question.
She kept insisting that women who don’t have children are the ones who regret it, and that mothers regretting motherhood is extremely rare. She also told me that when I’m older I’ll change my mind and understand.
What really bothered me wasn’t that she disagreed with me. It was how unwilling she seemed to even entertain the possibility that some women genuinely regret motherhood.
She also brought religion into it and said that children are a blessing from God, and that willingly choosing not to have children when you’re capable of doing so is rejecting that blessing.

As someone who’s spent years deconstructing a lot of the beliefs I grew up with, that kind of argument doesn’t really work on me anymore. It feels less like a discussion and more like someone projecting their worldview onto me.
The whole conversation left me wondering whether some people simply can’t imagine that another person could genuinely want a different life than they do.

I don’t tell parents they’ll regret having kids. I don’t question whether they know their own minds. Yet people seem completely comfortable telling childfree women that we’ll regret our choices, change our minds, or eventually “see the truth.”

Am I overreacting here?
Do you think my aunt was being reasonable, or does it sound like she was dismissing any perspective that didn’t match her own?