Overly Responsible
A few weeks ago when I began this breakdown I am still experiencing, I realized part of it is due to my enormous (possibly over-enlarged?) sense of responsibility.
As the eldest child, both in my home of two and among my cousins on both sides of my family, I automatically assumed a lot of responsibility growing up. (I have only one cousin who is older than me, but we grew up and still live on opposite coasts. So, for all intents and purposes, I am the eldest.)
My mother was young when I was born; and by the time my brother entered our lives, I had spent a solid four years as the center of the adults’ attention. Since my brother was just young enough for me to feel like I had nothing in common with him, I often sat at the grown-ups’ table. And they let me. I was often privy to the conversations about relationships, friends, and work. I knew how to stay just quiet enough to allow me a spot at the table; I absorbed everything my parents, aunts, uncles, and grandparents said.
Whenever we gathered with my cousins, I would happily play the role of babysitter, hoisting whoever was the youngest at that moment upon my hip. I would play but always as the older cousin/sibling. I was never quite an equal, having no cousins close in age to me. As a result, I also gravitated towards the adults. They rarely shooed me away, so I felt it was okay even if I did not quite belong.
I was always a responsible and diligent student. I was always a responsible and diligent daughter. My parents rarely had an issue with me in my youth. They’d always be so proud of how well I managed things independently. I never cried going to school, just waved good-bye to my mom in my pigtails and Barney clips. As I got older, I took on responsibilities in and around the house much earlier than my brother, even when he reached the ripe age of 11, which is when I started dusting, vacuuming, and Windexing the house with my mom.
As I grew into an adult, I was always present for my parents in ways my brother was not. And there was nothing wrong with that; it took me a little longer to release myself and live my own life in some ways.
In the last few years, my mother has taken to confiding in me (or, most often, venting and complaining to me) about myriad of things. Sometimes It’s okay. Sometimes it’s inappropriate. And she does not quite realize it. But I want to be there to support her. My father has taken to taking little responsibility around their house, etc. So that’s been fun to hear about from afar. My role is changing, but I still have a sense of responsibility to be present for them in some of those ways, even if they do not want me to fulfill that role. There is something ingrained.
During the height of the COVID pandemic, we read articles and heard news clips about being responsible citizens. And, as an already-overly-responsible citizen, I heeded. It was what I had always known was true was imperative now. I was extremely cautious. I was responsible to the point that it hurt me in some ways. I avoided events because I was afraid of then possibly infecting people I was close to or would see soon after. I avoided my grandparents for a long time because I was being responsible. I avoided seeing some people for the sake of responsibility.
Over the summer, I took on the responsibility of taking care of my mother before and after her double-knee surgery. And, because it was my first experience doing so, I was overly-responsible. Even when my brother and father arrived at the hospital, I remained. I should have given myself rest and time. I went above and beyond to support those around me. Because it was my responsibility. And I take my responsibilities seriously.
And now, I am burned out from and overburdened by responsibility. I have run myself down to the point of exhaustion. I cannot take on even the basic responsibilities of my life at the moment. So, I need to change. And I need to grow a bit. In order to not be weighed down by responsibility.
