Why I Stopped Over-Functioning in Relationships

There’s a version of me that you probably would have loved — and honestly, I probably would have loved her too, at least from the outside. She was always there. Always helpful. Always thinking ten steps ahead so no one around her would ever have to struggle. She anticipated needs before they were even spoken. She fixed, she planned, she smoothed things over, she carried things that were never hers to carry.

She was exhausted. And she was me.

For a long time, I thought this was just “who I am.” I’m a caretaker. I’m thoughtful. I love deeply and I show up fully — what’s wrong with that? But over the past year or so, after sitting with some really powerful books and doing a lot of honest reflection, I started to see that what I was calling love was actually something else. It was over-functioning. And it was quietly draining me — and, I hate to admit it, quietly disrespecting the people I loved most.

I want to share that journey with you today, because I have a feeling I’m not alone in this.

It Started with My Marriage — My First One

My first husband struggled with alcoholism. I didn’t have the language for it back then, but I was classic codependent. I read Melody Beattie’s Codependent No More and it was like someone had written a book about my life. She describes codependency as this pattern where we become so focused on managing and rescuing others that we lose ourselves in the process. I was doing exactly that — monitoring his moods, covering for him, holding everything together so tightly that I didn’t even realize I’d stopped tending to my own needs entirely.

What hit me hardest in that book was the idea that our “helping” is often really about our own anxiety. We over-function because we can’t tolerate watching someone else struggle. We step in not because they need us to, but because we need to feel in control of an uncontrollable situation. That was me. Every single day of that marriage.

But the Codependency Didn’t End with the Divorce

Here’s the thing nobody tells you: when you grow up as an over-functioner, or when you spend years in a relationship that rewired you to operate that way, it doesn’t just disappear when the relationship does. The patterns follow you.

I started to see it with my older kids. I was doing things for them that they were fully capable of doing themselves. I was solving problems before they even had a chance to sit with them. I was jumping in, rescuing, smoothing — all in the name of love, all wrapped up in the best intentions. But what I was actually communicating, without meaning to, was: “I don’t trust you to handle this.” That broke my heart a little when I finally saw it clearly.

And with Frank, my husband now — the same thing. Frank is wonderful and capable, but I was still operating like I had to manage everything to keep life running smoothly. I was anticipating, over-preparing, over-explaining. Less like a partner and more like... a very loving, very anxious project manager.

The Books That Cracked Me Open

2025 became the year I did the reading. And oh, what a year it’s been.

Boundary Boss by Terri Cole gave me the vocabulary to understand that I didn’t just have a “helping” personality — I had a boundary problem. I didn’t know where I ended and other people began. I had spent so much of my life making myself responsible for everyone else’s feelings and outcomes that I genuinely couldn’t tell you what my own needs were. She helped me see that real love doesn’t mean taking on what’s not yours to carry.

The Joy of Saying No by Natalie Lue was a game-changer for me. She talks about how saying yes when you mean no — out of guilt, obligation, or fear — isn’t kindness. It’s self-abandonment. And every time we abandon ourselves to over-function for someone else, we quietly build resentment. We give until we’re empty and then wonder why we feel so unseen. That resonated deep.

Terri also wrote Too Much: Breaking the Cycle of High-Functioning Codependency, and that one helped me understand how I’d normalized making myself small or making myself indispensable as a way of earning love and security. I was doing too much as a way of proving my worth. Let me say that again: I was over-functioning because somewhere deep down I believed that if I wasn’t useful, I might not be loved. That’s a heavy thing to carry.

And then there’s How We Heal by Alexandra Elle. This one was the most tender. She writes about how healing isn’t just about what we stop doing — it’s about learning to come home to ourselves. I’d been so far from home for so long. This book felt like a gentle invitation to finally unpack and stay a while.

What Over-Functioning Actually Looks Like

I want to be real with you about what over-functioning looked like in my day-to-day life, because it’s sneaky. It hides behind helpfulness. It disguises itself as love. Here’s some of what I noticed in myself:

• Reminding my adult kids of things they didn’t ask to be reminded of.

• Jumping to fix a situation the moment I sensed tension or discomfort — before anyone even asked.

• Over-explaining or over-justifying my decisions to manage how others would feel about them.

• Taking on tasks that belonged to someone else because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.

• Saying yes and then quietly simmering in resentment.

• Feeling responsible for other people’s moods and doing mental gymnastics to fix them.

None of that is love. It’s control dressed up in a very sweet outfit.

Letting Go (Which Is Way Harder Than It Sounds)

I want to be honest with you: I’m still in this. I haven’t “arrived” at some magical place where I’ve got it all figured out. What I’ve done is decide to be conscious. To notice. To pause when I feel that familiar urge to swoop in and ask myself: “Is this mine to do? Or am I just uncomfortable watching someone else manage their own life?”

Sometimes the answer is yes, this genuinely needs me. But more often than I’d like to admit, the honest answer is: no, I just can’t sit with the uncertainty.

What I’ve found on the other side of over-functioning — even just a little bit of the other side — is something that surprised me. Relationships that feel more equal. Conversations that feel more real. A quiet sense of self-respect that comes from knowing I’m showing up because I want to, not because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t.

And honestly? The people I love haven’t crumbled without me managing everything. They’ve actually risen to things in ways that made me proud. Who knew.

A Note to You, If Any of This Feels Familiar

If you read this and felt a little seen, I want you to know that over-functioning often comes from the most tender place inside us. It comes from love, from fear, from the very human desire to be needed and to keep the people we care about safe and okay. There’s nothing shameful about it.

But if it’s costing you yourself — your peace, your energy, your sense of who you are outside of what you do for others — it might be worth sitting with the question: What would happen if I let this one go?

You might be surprised. I was.