Trigger Warning: The post contains reflections on childhood trauma, emotional neglect and abuse.

For as long as I remember, my time was never truly belonged to me.

Asa child, I rarely had space to sit with my thoughts, process my experiences or simply be. Every attempt to care for myself was met with criticism: “You just want freedom,” they said, or “You need to take responsibility instead“. I lived under constant physical and emotional strain, carrying burdens far beyond my age.

Before I was 11, I was already doing what no child should have to do: helping my mother, taking my brother to nursery on foot across town in all weather, rushing back to school and juggling chores- all while enduring beatings, verbal abuse and emotional punishment. Even at five, I was told to stop playing, focus on chores and help with my baby brother.

From age 11, after I nearly died from pneumonia and my mother went to work in Spain, my grandmother left me to discipline my brother adding her own criticisms. I helped my nan with household tasks and from about 13, cared for my great-grandmother- lifting her, turning her in bed, feeding her, giving medication and helping nan carry my great-grandmother to the bathroom to have a bath- all while attending school and navigating bullying. I was emotionally abandoned, constantly criticised and expected to perform perfectly, even when sick, hurting or struggling.

As I grew older, the pattern continued. I worked hard, gave more than anyone expected, they expected a lot and cared genuinely for others. Yet my efforts were often ignored or minimised. At work, I was expected to take on tasks beyond my role, while my needs were ignored. In my personal life, even when I was maid of honour for my friend’s wedding- caring for my child at the same time- my efforts were met with complaints rather than appreciation.

Th truth is clear: I always gave more than was fair, more than anyone else was willing to give, yet my contributions were overlooked.

When my body began shutting down at 34, it wasn’t weakness. It was my nervous system finally saying enough. Decades of hyper-responsibility, chronic stress and trauma had taken their toll. My exhaustion, my pain and my limits- these were undeniable truths I could no longer ignore.

And I’ve learned something powerful: caring doesn’t mean self-abandonment.

I can be kind without being exploited. I can help without being drained. I can give without sacrificing my peace, my time, or my health.

Now, I’m learning to put down what was never mine to carry: other people’s responsibilities, moods and expectations. I’m reclaiming my time, my pace, my peace. I’m finally carrying only what belongs to me.

This journey hasn’t been easy. But every step toward protecting my energy, setting boundaries and trusting my own voice has been worth it. I no longer second-guess my intuition or let others dictate my worth.

For anyone who has left the weight of the world on their shoulders: giving care is not the same as giving away your life. You can be present, compassionate and helpful- while still protecting your own space, energy and peace.

I was never lost. I was only learning to believe what I already knew.

K. Minderland