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15 'habits' of people who grew up with an 'emotionally fragile' parent

Having an emotionally fragile parent can leave lasting damage.

via The Mighty

If you grew up with an "emotionally fragile" parent, chances are, you didn't have the typical, idyllic childhood you often see in movies.

Maybe your parent lived with debilitating depression that thrust you into the role of caregiver from a very young age.

Maybe your parent was always teetering on the edge of absolute rage, so you learned to tiptoe around them to avoid an explosion. Or maybe your parent went through a divorce or separation, and leaned on you for more emotional support than was appropriate to expect of a child.

Growing up with an emotionally fragile parent can leave lasting damage on a person as they leave childhood and enter adulthood.

Though it's true many kids who grow up with emotionally compromised or neglectful parents struggle with their mental health in adulthood, it's important to remember parents seldom set out to abuse their kids.

Oftentimes they simply do not have the support or resources to care for their own mental health. If you are a parent struggling with your mental health, we want you to know there is no shame in struggling, but it's important to seek the support you need.

Our partners at The Mighty wanted to know what "habits" people who grew up with emotionally fragile parents have now as adults, so they asked their community to community to share their experiences with us.

Here's are the "habits" our community shared with us:

1. Constantly Apologizing"

"Constantly apologizing is just one of many things I do as a result of an 'emotionally fragile' parent. Another is panic and, again, apologize if someone looks at their watch or checks the time when I am doing something, particularly if shopping. It is why I prefer to be alone and do things at my own pace, the anxiety and fear such an innocent thing like checking the time because of me is horrible." — Jodie B.

"Constantly apologizing for normal things like having an opinion and crying, bending over backwards to please everyone and keep the peace, not standing up for myself because when I did at home I'd get blown up at, etc." — Natalie J.

2. Overthinking

"I overthink everything all of the time because I'm trying to prepare myself for the next thing you will be disappointed in." — Faith L.

3. Always Feeling Afraid of Upsetting Others

"Not talking or doing anything for fear of getting into trouble or making people upset. Feeling like you can't move or speak without permission, even amongst your closet friends." — Rye B.

4. Having "Control Issues"

"I have huge control issues because I felt responsible for everyone's feelings. My father had a hairpin trigger temper and my mother was a perpetual victim, so I tried to micromanage every little thing to keep him from exploding, and protect her. Now I have debilitating anxiety and it becomes worse if I feel like something is out of my control. Because if I can't control everything, then something might upset someone, and it'll be my fault and not only will I be in trouble, but no one will love me. It's exhausting." — Murphy M.

5. Being a "Parent" for Others

"Be the mom for all my group friends. The mature person who will be there to give you the advice someone else can't." — Gladys M.

"Automatically parent everybody because I had to do it my whole life, but then I break down when it comes to trying to take care of myself." — Chloe L.

6. Struggling to Make Decisions

"I have a hard time making choices, or having an opinion. When you spent your whole childhood, teens and part of your 20s without the ability to choose things for yourself, you either feel guilty, or really uncomfortable having an opinion. Because you feel like you're going to get in trouble, or you're going to have a panic attack." — Kaylee L.

7. Ignoring Your Own Feelings

"I feel like I always have to fix everyone, take care of everyone, control everything. I feel like I have to ignore my feelings, and I have a hard time reaching out to people." — Kayla O.

"[I] try so hard to hide my feelings rather than rock the boat." — Jodi A.

8. Being a "People-Pleaser"

"I find it impossible to talk about how I feel. I constantly try make others happy, even if it means hurting myself. But I grew up with a dad who was both physically and emotionally abusive." — Jamie J.

"Being a people-pleaser. I do a lot of 'fawning' now because I always had to watch what I said in case it triggered either severe depression or anger." — Sela M.

9. Feeling Like You're a Supporting Role in Your Own Life

"I always feel like I'm just playing a small supporting role in the great drama of other people's lives instead of my life being a story of my own. I have a really hard time believing my feelings are valid and matter." — Susanna L.

10. Constantly Fearing Abandonment

"Constantly fearing abandonment… And no matter how much reassurance I get, I keep waiting for the moment where that love disappears." — Monika S.

11. Overanalyzing the Behavior of Others

"I overanalyze how people talk and their body language. When you're used to looking for small clues to try to make life easier or prepare for a meltdown, it's… a hard habit to break." — Lexi R.

12. Pushing People Away

"I push people away when I hit my depression low since that's what my mom did. I'm trying to learn how to let people in but it's hard to do at times and I never know how to tell people." — Jennifer B.

13. Getting Offended Easily

"My daughter would say I cry too much and get offended too easily, and she isn't wrong." — Kat E.

14. Cleaning Up After Others

"Cleaning other people's homes while you're there because you grew up cleaning up after everyone because your parents didn't clean." — Des S.

15. Being Very Empathetic

"Yes there has been some negative impact but I also recognize that I learned how to be empathetic at a really young age. I remember my mom crying — I was only about 3 years old — and I went and got her the stuffed bear she had in her room." — Lauren A.

If you grew up having to take care of an emotionally fragile parent, you're not alone. Whether you're struggling to assert boundaries in your life, have trouble communicating your needs or don't know how to take care of yourself, we want you to know there's a community of people who want to support you in your recovery journey.


The article was originally published by our partners at the Mighty and was written by Juliette Virzi. It first appeared here on 8.19.19

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What one mom wants to tell you when you ask if her daughter has autism.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

I’ve seen the looks. I’ve heard the whispers. Nobody actually says it to my face, but I see them wonder. “Are you sure she has autism?”

People have a narrow view of autism. They seem to think they would be able to spot a child with autism a mile away. They envision a nonverbal child lining up his cars. They envision a child who can recite statistics about Mars.

But that isn’t the reality of my child. That isn’t the experience in my house.

My child will greet you. She will say hello and make eye contact. She can be quite social and has no trouble answering your question of, “How are you today?” with a response of “fine.”

But she may not be feeling “fine.” It takes effort to muster up that response. She would likely much rather be in her room with her headphones on and her heavy blankets.

When you are asking her how she is, her brain may be latching on to sounds, and it can take effort to quiet them in her head. The feeling of the seam on her sock may start to send an overwhelming sensation pulsing up her body, causing her skin to itch and tingle. The lights in the room may seem too bright, making her head pound. But while all of that is going on in her body, she manages to look you in the eye and muster the words “I’m fine.”

So how does she do it?

Autism in girls like my daughter can look quite different.

She has distinct instincts, so she learns to model and copy, but children with autism can have difficulty transferring information from one situation to another. She learns her friend Jane thinks it’s funny when she says a certain phrase, and she may expect everyone to think it’s funny. So when Suzy starts to get upset by the same thing, the world becomes a confusing place.

The strain and stress of holding it together can become a huge weight to bear. It can become too much to contain. It needs a release. It needs an outlet. This can be where aggressive, demanding, or oppositional behaviors come out — or at least that’s how it appears to the outside eye. The reality is that underneath is likely confusion and isolation and anxiety.

Autism is a spectrum. It is not a one-size-fits-all diagnosis.

While the spectrum includes some general traits, those traits do not present themselves the same way in all individuals. So people will wonder and whisper and question our diagnosis.

I won’t carry around my assessment papers to prove to the skeptics my daughter has autism. I shouldn’t have to.

There should be less judging and more acceptance. There should be less questioning.

So please don’t question if my daughter really has autism. Trust that she does. Trust that she is working hard to find her place in a world that can often be difficult to understand.

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What one woman with bipolar disorder wants you to know about taking medication.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

I have Bipolar 1, the most severe form of bipolar. I was diagnosed almost 10 years ago. It took me about three years to get on the right meds.

Throughout those three years, I cycled through episodes of mania and depression. It resulted in three hospitalizations. Once I was on the right medication cocktail, I stabilized — at least, I became as stable as anyone with a severe mental illness can be. Despite the five medications I take for my mood disorder and anxiety, I still deal with symptoms.

I am a high-functioning person living with mental illness, but this doesn’t mean I’m totally asymptomatic.

One of the things I struggle with most is impulse control. I have horrible impulse control. When I want it, I want it now. I have such knee-jerk reactions, and I make decisions without thinking them through. I get so stuck on an idea that I just can’t put it to rest until I do something about it.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

A lot of people I’ve talked to with bipolar seem to experience the same thing, even if they are on a good medication regimen.

I stick to my routine. I take my meds every day. I get enough sleep. But still, my mood disorder is there, underneath the meds, the routine, and the sleep.

It took me a long time to realize that even though my bipolar is well-managed, it still affects me. I seemed to think for a while I was doing so well that I was “cured.” I know there is no cure for bipolar. It is a lifelong disorder, with episodes coming over the years. I am extremely fortunate to be as stable as I’ve been for the last six years. Many people with bipolar don’t get that lucky.

Most people with mental illness struggle for years, trying to get the right diagnosis or trying to get access to appropriate mental health care. They try medication after medication, and it doesn’t work or the side effects are so bad we can’t tolerate it.

One of the biggest problems with people diagnosed with bipolar disorder is they fall into the same trap I did: When they get on the right medication, they feel cured.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

They think it’s over; everything is better, so I can stop taking my medication. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

I applaud people who have learned to deal with mental illness in natural, holistic ways. However, for me, and for most other people with severe mental illness, we need medication. We need to keep taking our medication. I have accepted I will be on medication for the rest of my life for my mood disorder. Do I like it? No. Yet, I don’t like my heart medication, and I still take that.

There is such a stigma around taking medication for a mental illness.

Recently, Olympic gold medalist Simone Biles' medical records were hacked, revealing that she is taking ADHD medication. She has come out and been vocal about the issue, and she has brought attention to the fact there is no shame in taking medication for mental illness. It is the same as any other illness.

So why is it different when we need to take psychotropic medication? Why is that shameful? The short answer is: It’s not. It’s not shameful.

It’s not for everyone, but for people who need medication for a mental illness and choose pharmaceuticals as a treatment option, there is no shame. The shame comes from the stigma. The shame comes from ignorance, from people who don’t understand.

I stand loud and proud that I take medication for my mood disorder, and I have never gone off it. It allowed me to complete a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. Without it, I truly believe I would have died due to suicidal thoughts, which I was close to before getting on the right medication.

Mental illness is more prevalent than you think, and someone you know most likely lives with a mental illness.

Let’s take the stigma out of mental illness and medication.  Let’s continue the conversation around mental illness. Let’s get people the help they deserve. Whether it’s a veteran struggling with PTSD or an Olympic gold medalist with ADHD, we all deserve to live the best life possible, and sometimes that requires medication.

If medication  makes our quality of life better, then that should be the most important thing. If it means we can hold a job, have quality relationships, and function in society, then that’s what it takes. There’s no shame in that. It’s not a crutch. It’s a disease. We are not less because we take medication.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

We are people. We are humans. We happen to have a disease. We are resilient. It means we haven’t given up. So don’t give up on us.

Author’s note: I wanted to acknowledge that bipolar II or any of the bipolar spectrum disorders can be just as destructive, debilitating, and devastating as bipolar I. I was speaking more in a clinical sense, where on the spectrum of bipolar disorders in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, bipolar 1 is at the top as the most severe on the spectrum, then bipolar 2, cyclothymic, NOS.

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This woman explains the frustration of having to prove her mental illnesses are real.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

“Huh. Must be a women thing” was said with a dismissive shrug and a grin.  This was my supervisor’s response when I tried to explain how my brain works differently with its multiple anxiety disorders.

The problem was apparently not with my brain chemistry, but with my ovaries. Give me a fainting couch and some smelling salts because here comes the female hysteria.

It wasn’t the first or last time someone dismissed my disorders, though it was the first time someone attributed it to a gender problem.

I’ve been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), and panic disorder. They first appeared in my life around the age of 4, and they have been my constant companions ever since.

Unfortunately, because my illnesses are mental, I’ve had to deal with people who think they aren’t real.

I’ve had more conversations than I want to defending the fact that disordered anxiety exists.

“But everybody gets anxious” is the most common refrain. It’s like telling someone with depression that you’ve “been sad, too.” Cell growth happens, and when cell growth becomes disordered, it’s cancer. Nobody argues against that because you can show it on an X-ray or MRI or point to a visible tumor. But there is a certain group of people who believe because they’ve never experienced mental illness and there are no medical tests for it that it couldn’t possibly be real. It’s made­-up, a cry for attention, or just plain weakness.

Image via iStock.

I used to get into long discussions with these people, trying to put them in my shoes and make them see how my brain works. I’ve described vividly the sensations of a panic attack or the deep need to unplug all of my appliances before going to bed because if I don’t an electrical fire will start in the walls and my house will collapse around me while I sleep (obviously). I would endure a painful back-and-forth that invariably ended with them refusing to accept anything other than what they had experienced themselves.

What makes me respond so fiercely to these people is the fact that I used to question the validity of my own experiences — not so much whether I had anxiety, but whether it “counted.”

Because my illness was not physical, I felt as if I didn’t have a right to claim illness or seek treatment or take care of myself. After all, I managed. I survived. I eked out successes in school and life.

But I fought tooth and nail to do so. I fought the obsessions that made me afraid to do anything and the anxiety that left me deeply depressed on more than one occasion. Everything was a struggle in ways it wasn’t for other people.

Eventually, I reached a point where I realized these illnesses were “real enough” for treatment. Their effects were intense and overwhelming, and I deserved to be taken care of. I deserved to name what wracked my mind with fear and even migrated to my body in the way anxiety can.

I can’t see my illness on an X-ray, but it is real and powerful.

After one particularly frustrating conversation about the validity of my illness, I asked myself why I bothered — why I spent so much time and energy to get these people to admit I have these disorders. I realized I was sick of convincing people and sick of their questions making me question myself (yes, I even get anxiety about my anxiety). I don’t owe anybody an explanation.

It was then that I decided my experience is enough; my diagnoses from professionals in the psychiatric field are enough. I won’t lower myself to try to convince strangers, or even friends, that what’s going on in my brain isn’t just a character failing on my part. I’m done debating whether I get to call myself ill and whether I need to be treated.

If someone comes at me with honest curiosity and a desire to learn, I’m open to talking. I’m not ashamed of my disorders, and I think being open about my struggles will help with the stigma of mental illness. But usually if someone questions my disorders, it’s an accusation. Prove it, they’re saying.

I won’t do that again. My word should be proof enough. Among the many things I’m doing to take care of myself, I refuse to argu​e about my disorders anymore. I have no doubt taking those arguments off the table will make me healthier. I finally learned not to question myself. I will no longer allow others to question me either.

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