There I was, standing in the grocery store aisle, scanning shelves for something I had never bought in my life, for a stranger. Someone had asked me if I knew where the Marshmallow Croissants were. I didn’t (I mean: marshmallow croissants!!!). But instead of just saying so, I found myself walking alongside them, searching row by row, until we found it. They thanked me warmly. I smiled. And then I stood there for a moment, a little stunned by my own reflex.

Why did I do that? I had a full basket and a meeting in an hour.

I’ve done things like this my whole life. Posted myself between the doors of a train so they couldn’t close while a stranger was still running for it. Stepped into a supermarket to buy dog food and bread for a homeless man and his dog when I passed them on the street. Always the one to sense what was needed, and step in.

I know. It sounds kind. Maybe even beautiful. But when I’m honest with myself, it wasn’t always kindness. A lot of it was conditioning. A deep, bone-level sense that it was my job to fix, to help, to solve. And that if something was wrong anywhere near me, it was somehow mine to address.

When Being Tired of Responsibility Starts in Childhood

It started early. I was about eight years old when I became the one who made sure my sister got up in the morning, ate breakfast, had her hair brushed and braided, and made it to school on time with a lunch box packed. I did the same for myself, though I skipped breakfast more often than I’d like to admit. When my father came home late after a long commute, I cooked for the three of us.

I wasn’t told I had to do all of this. It just became clear, the way things become clear to children who are paying close attention, that these things needed doing, and that I was the one who could do them.

That’s how over-responsibility often works. It’s most often not demanded. It’s just an unspoken understanding that you are the capable one. The reliable one. The one who holds things together when no one else does.

What takes much longer to understand is what that does to you over time.

Why Over-Responsibility Is a Trauma Response

For years, my sense of responsibility extended far beyond anything that was actually mine to carry. A colleague looked stressed, I’d offer to take something off their plate. A friend was going through something, I’d reorganize my evening. An email arrived late at night from a student in a panic about a deadline, and every part of me wanted to respond immediately, even though I had clearly communicated my office hours.

I’m not describing this to make myself sound selfless, because I’m not. I’m describing it because I know that some of you are reading this and recognizing it. The way your body tenses when you sense someone else’s discomfort. Or the way your mind is already solving a problem before you’ve even been asked. The way saying “I don’t know” or “that’s not something I can help with” feels almost physically difficult.

Over-responsibility is a trauma response. It’s what happens when, as a child, you learn that love and safety come from being useful. From being needed. From never dropping the ball.

It keeps you safe for a while. And then… it just keeps you exhausted.

Tired of Being Responsible in Relationships Too

The shift, when it started coming, didn’t arrive all at once. One of my daughters said something to me a few years ago that I think about often. She was telling me about something she was going through, and before she had finished, I was already offering solutions. Practical, loving, well-intentioned solutions. She looked at me and said, calmly and kindly: “You don’t have to solve this for me. Just listen and be here. That’s all I need. And if I need help solving something, I’ll ask.”

I felt that. It was a little awkward. I almost wanted to defend myself. But then, I also noticed something that felt like relief. Because she was right. She didn’t need me to fix it. She needed me to be present. And in my rush to be helpful, I had nearly missed the chance to simply be there.

It was one of those moments that made a real difference.

How I Stopped Being Responsible for Everything

What I’ve learned since then is that the pause is everything. Not a long, elaborate pause. Just a beat. A breath. A moment of tuning in with myself, before automatically reaching outward.

Before I respond to that late-night student email, I pause. I breathe before I offer to stay home for a neighbor’s parcel when I’m on my way out. And I check in with myself, before I rearrange my own needs around someone else’s:

What do I actually want here? What do I feel is mine to do? What would I choose if I gave myself the space to choose?

This is what selfgentleness has given me more than anything else. Not permission to stop caring, not some managed distance from the people I love, but the ability to come back to myself before I act. To ask whether this is truly mine to be responsible for, or whether I am picking it up out of habit.

Selfgentleness is the practice of radically accepting yourself as the most important person to consistently deserve your own gentleness. That includes the version of you that is tired. The one who has been holding it together for everyone else and has forgotten how to check in with herself.

If you recognize yourself in this, I’d gently invite you to read more about what selfgentleness actually is, and what makes it different from just trying harder to be kinder to yourself. Or, if you’ve been hard on yourself for a long time and want to understand why it keeps happening, this post on why we’re so hard on ourselves might be a good place to start.

I still sometimes hold the train doors.

I’m not going to pretend I’ve become someone who always says no, who has perfectly calibrated the boundary between helping and overextending. I haven’t. And honestly, some of what looked like over-responsibility was also just love, expressed the only way I knew at the time.

But I no longer feel responsible for the whole world. I no longer confuse being needed with being loved. And when I feel that familiar pull to fix something that isn’t mine to fix, I’ve learned to pause, to turn inward, and to ask myself what I actually want to do.

That small pause. That’s where selfgentleness lives.

Curious where you are in your selfgentleness process right now? I made a short quiz that might help you see yourself a little more clearly. Take the quiz here.