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You become who they need you to be, so they stay

You apologize even when you haven't done anything wrong

You make yourself small to keep other people comfortable

You call it being "easy-going," but you're still fighting a silent battle inside

Trust me when I say, "I've been there" 

I remember one afternoon when I was a server, sitting in my car after work, staring at the steering wheel because I couldn't bring myself to go home. I felt exhausted from trying to be what everyone expected of me all day, but I still worried about disappointing anyone. That was the moment I realized just how much I was giving of myself trying to keep everyone happy.

It's easy to look like you have it all together on the outside. It's like you learned the rules of being a good friend, employee, sibling, or partner, but then why does it feel so lonely? 

If you recognize yourself in this, please know you are not alone. Many people who care deeply and try to show up for others feel this heaviness, too. It can be hard, but there is hope things can shift, and it really is possible to show up as a "good __" without draining every last bit of your soul. 


I went my whole life surrounded by people, and the moment it was quiet, everything I had been suppressing came flooding in.

 
So what did I do? I stayed busy. I went to all the events. I did the college thing, like you're supposed to. I was constantly learning, partying with friends, attending the family events, and my calendar was full of plans that required me to show up for everyone. My life looked great on the outside, but internally, I felt so lonely if I wasn't being needed. 


If this sounds familiar, you might try starting small

Maybe just take ten quiet minutes for yourself each day: got for a walk & leave your your phone, breathe, and check in with how you're really feeling. It might feel uncomfortable at first, but honoring your needs, even in a tiny way, is a gentle step toward learning who you are outside of being of service to others. 

What does Childhood Trauma PTSD have to do with it

I was an expert at overriding my own feelings and focusing on someone else's. I learned how to be a good, helpful girl when I was young. 

I grew up with an angry, controlling stepfather and two parents who constantly yelled at each other. My childhood home felt like chaos. I couldn't just be myself without worrying about upsetting someone. 

I remember going through a phase of drawing my name with the B as a butterfly, but my stepfather did not like it. It ended with me rewriting my entire paper and writing my name plainly, but we didn't come to that without it turning into a physical altercation where I wound up on the ground in the fetal position, protecting my head from getting hit. 

My escape was school, friends, and after-school activities like dance classes. My childhood trauma created a cycle of overfunctioning and walking on eggshells. Making anyone upset meant chaos; whereas being busy meant I was safe. 

This traumatic childhood dynamic created a longing for connection, but connection meant I had to suppress so much in order to stay safe (in order to be loved). 

Unlike single moments that create PTSD, childhood trauma PTSD shapes the nervous system at a foundational level. 

It creates patterns and belief systems that become deeply ingrained ways of relating to yourself and others. It feels like a personality characteristic but it's actually a trauma response AKA a survival pattern. 

One of the most common and least recognized trauma responses is the pattern of over-functioning in relationships. 

Over Functioning in Relationships

I adopted many identities after escaping chaos and heading to college. I left home at 18, determined to make it in LA even though I couldn't cook rice. Beneath that determination was a mess of emotions: fear of leaving everything familiar behind, excitement at finally starting over, and a nagging uncertainty about whether I could actually make it on my own. I felt both free and completely unmoored, trying to convince myself I was ready even when I wasn't sure I was.

So I did what I knew best: Work hard and never give up. 

A true statement that came from childhood conditioning that I later learned is toxic as hell. Never giving up and overworking became the basis of overfunctioning as a way of survival. I took on 3 jobs at a time while saying "YES" to everyone and everything. I partied just as hard as I worked. Drugs and alcohol became the way I "de-stressed," and I was in college, so it was completely normal to get blacked out wasted at that time. It wasn't until I found myself exhausted, burned out, and realizing I didn't even recognize who I was anymore that it really hit me: this way of living wasn't actually helping me cope at all. I started noticing how empty I felt when the parties ended or when I was praised for "doing it all," but still felt completely alone. That was when I began to question if there might be another way to live.


I dated people who made me feel like I had to earn love. I had a relationship where, on top of multiple jobs, school, and partying with friends, I was expected to be up early for breakfast "together," do the laundry, make his lunches and pack them, make dinner for both of us (which he often wouldn't eat, but that's because I couldn't cook). My life was a new type of chaos, and I loved it. 


I wasn't being abused anymore, so the new highs and lows became a type of dopamine that I chased. I kept my feelings to myself and constantly imagined what life would look like next to keep going. I became the dream girl I thought my boyfriend wanted. I thought that was how you do relationships. I lasted as long as I could until things got too real, as marriage and kids talk. Then I self-sabotaged to get out of the relationship because I was terrified to do the breaking up myself. My past trauma taught me that conflict was dangerous. So if I could passively get him to break yo with me, it would be safer. 


I know it doesn't make much logical sense, but in my early 20s, this was how I was responding based on my childhood trauma patterns.


For queer adults this pattern often runs deep because you have learned early that your belonging is conditional. That being too much of yourself carried real consequences. SO you learned to manage, perform, and carry the weight of everyone's needs on your shoulders. That heaviness is a feeling you don't want others to feel so you take it on for them and make it so you don't expect much (or if anything) in return. 

Five Signs of Over-Functioning is Rooted in Childhood Trauma PTSD

  • You can't rest without guilt
  • You are always the one people can count on
  • Your worth is tied to what you can do for others
  • You attract partners who under-function
  • You feel resentful but don't talk about it

How to Break the Pattern of Over-Functioning

I learned the hard way: If you don't get comfortable disappointing others, you will always be disappointing yourself.  

Society glamorizes and praises over-functioning as if it were a requirement for success. In reality, this pattern keeps the systems of oppression and power and control at work. If we are all good worker bees, then the big corporations and the 1% stay in power. 


Healing childhood trauma, PTSD is about understanding why you do what you do. 

It's so easy to run on automatic, but the minute we create space before responding, we can actually start to understand what we need in any given moment. One grounding practice I use is to simply pause and take three deep breaths before reacting. This small act gives me a chance to check in with myself and notice what I am actually feeling or needing, instead of defaulting to old patterns.


Over-functioning persists when slowing down feels risky or unsafe. If that resonates with you, try a simple practice to create a sense of safety: like self-soothing by placing a hand on your heart and taking a few slow breaths, or reaching out to a trusted friend for support. Reminding yourself that you’re not alone can help make slowing down feel less threatening.


The moment I started giving people permission to walk away from a relationship was the moment I stopped performing to be loved. 


I experienced some really hard moments of loss, like losing my brother to suicide, losing all of my friends when I got sober, and losing another brother when I came out and started living loudly online as a bisexual polyamorous person. 

The losses were painful as hell, but they taught me that I can keep going. I can keep building a community full of people who will support me and love me as I am, without having to be of service to them. If you're facing loss or rejection, especially as a queer person, know that it's possible to find or create new supportive, affirming queer communities. Even when it feels like hope is gone, there are spaces and people out there who will celebrate you for exactly who you are. Reaching out, connecting with others, and building chosen family can help foster a sense of belonging after even the hardest losses.


Slowing down still isn't my favorite, but having quality sleep and time to create have become two of the most important things I get to focus on now that I don't do as much. 


Over time, I've been able to identify which patterns show up as over-functioning, and I've allowed the impulsive thought to come without reacting to it. Like in moments when my current partner is venting, I can allow space for it without having to save the day and save him from his emotions. 


It required real practice to begin noticing these patterns (usually with the help of a trained professional, such as a therapist or coach). 


I created an Attachment Blueprint Quiz to help people understand and discover which patterns from their childhood trauma PTSD are still showing up in their life and their queer relationships right now. When you take the quiz, you'll get personalized insights into your unique attachment style  to gain a deeper understanding of how your past experiences may be shaping your current relationships.


TAKE THE FREE QUIZ HERE