You finally left. Or maybe you finally drew the line. Maybe it wasn’t a dramatic goodbye; maybe it was a quiet decision to stop shrinking yourself around someone who made your nervous system their playground. Either way, you did something hard. Something brave. Something for you.
But now things feel even messier.
Because while you walked away from the pain, the people around you stayed behind.
And now you’re left holding both your truth and their denial. Your family still invites them to events. Friends still speak fondly of them. The ones you hoped would really get it downplay it like you’re making a bigger deal than it was.
It’s exhausting, isn’t it?
The truth is leaving enmeshment doesn’t happen all at once. You might physically leave, emotionally detach, or even cut contact … but parts of you still feel deeply looped into everything. Especially when other people are still part of the picture.
So, what happens when you remove the toxic person from your life but those who can’t (or won’t) see what really happened still welcome them in?
Maybe it’s family. Maybe it’s mutual friends. Maybe it’s the group chats, the awkward holidays, or the friends who “don’t want to take sides.” It could even be the people who tell you they love you but quietly expect you to shrink again so things stay “peaceful.”
And somewhere in all of it, you started to realize that in so many structured ways your identity was wrapped around theirs. The way your safety, belonging, or even your goodness got tied up in how well you kept everyone else happy. So now, even as you’re healing, you might still feel responsible for how everyone else is handling it.
That’s where it gets complicated.
Because while you’re working hard to protect your peace, you’re also watching others stay close to someone who hurt you. They’re still being included. Still being defended. Still telling their version of the story. And somehow, you end up looking like the problem—for finally choosing yourself.
Ironically, in these toxic situations, the hardest part of standing up for yourself is feeling like the problem. In families and friend groups where things have always been messy beneath the surface, finally putting your feelings into words can feel like breaking an unspoken agreement.
It’s painful. It’s unfair. And it makes healing feel lonelier than it should.
But feeling that ache doesn’t make you weak or bitter—it means you’re awake. It means you’re seeing the truth clearly. And that clarity? That’s the beginning of everything.
When You’re Out but Not Free Yet
Let’s be honest: you can do the work, find your clarity, take your space—and still walk into rooms where their version of you lives on.
So what do you do when those you love don’t fully see your pain or the reason you had to walk away?
First, own your perspective. Not in a half-hearted, “maybe I’m overthinking” kind of way. You’ve lived this. You know what it cost you. This wasn’t just some messy chapter or miscommunication. These were the people and patterns that shaped how you felt about yourself—what you thought you had to tolerate just to be loved. And trying to pretend it wasn’t that deep only pulls you further away from yourself.
Next, start seeing your boundaries not as walls between you and them—but as a bridge back to yourself. You spent so long showing up for everyone else. Saying yes when you meant no. Smiling through what hurt. Carrying guilt like it was your job. Now? You’re different. Or you’re becoming different. And that means learning to let guilt come and go without letting it make your choices. When you say no, when you step back, when you choose silence over small talk with people who trigger you— you’re not being difficult. You’re finally being honest. This is you learning to care for yourself first, not last.
And let us remind you of something important. It’s completely human to want others to understand. To hope maybe—just maybe—they’ll finally see your side, acknowledge the pain, own their part, especially when you’ve spent years being dismissed, misunderstood, manipulated, or made invisible. But this part of your journey isn’t about convincing anyone to understand your pain or admit their part in it. That’s not the goal anymore. You’re not here to prove your pain. You’re here to honor it. To give yourself the validation no one else could. To stop arguing with reality and start aligning with your own heart. This part of the journey isn’t about gathering supporters—it’s about choosing yourself, even when no one claps for it. Even when no one else gets it. You get it. And that’s what matters now.
So how do you protect your energy when you can’t always control who’s in your orbit?
Here Are Some Gentle Truths to Remember:
This part of the journey—where things feel tangled, emotional, and unclear—isn’t forever. It’s a turning point. The messy middle. Just by being present with your feelings right now you’re doing the real work—more than you probably give yourself credit for.
This isn’t the shiny, triumphant part of healing. This is the part where you sit with all the noise, all the guilt, all the grief … and still choose yourself anyway. It takes so much courage to break away from what’s been normalized in your life. And honestly? You don’t have to do that alone.
That’s why we created the 12-week program—not as a fix but as a companion for this exact chapter. The messy middle. The untangling. The moment when you know things have to change but you’re not sure how to hold your ground without losing yourself.
If that’s where you are, this is here for you. Not to tell you what to do—but to help you trust yourself more deeply than ever before.
It’s strange how long it can take to realize that a relationship—one we’ve invested love, time, and parts of ourselves in—is hurting us.
At some point, whether it’s a quiet moment in the middle of the night or after yet another conversation that leaves you feeling small and unseen, something shifts. You see it. You really see it. And it lands in your body before your brain can even catch up.
When you realize that someone you love is causing you harm, it’s not just painful; it turns your whole world upside down. Admitting it, even to yourself, is difficult. And when you finally accept it, things don’t necessarily get easier. If anything, they become more complicated.
This is especially true when that person has been in your life for a long time—a parent, a partner, someone who helped shape who you are, someone who mattered to you, and perhaps still matters to you, which makes it all feel worse. There’s what happened and what you wanted it to be. That gap can hurt more than the ending itself. It’s not just about stepping away; it’s about sorting through the pieces of yourself tangled in everything that happened.
Because honestly, the hardest part isn’t really about them. It’s seeing yourself in all of it.
Realizing how long you’ve been bending, how much of yourself you’ve buried, and how many times you’ve kept quiet, stayed, or made peace with things that were never okay. It’s brutal because suddenly you’re not just grieving the relationship—you’re grieving you. The you who thought things would get better, the you that stayed hopeful, and the you that believed love alone was enough.
It’s not just sadness. It’s confusion. Guilt. Anger. Shame. Doubt. Grief in a dozen different disguises. It’s the kind of pain that sits too deep for language. And when you try to talk about it, it always feels smaller than what’s living inside you. But if you’ve lived it, you know—it’s not dramatic. It’s a storm of pain and distortion that itches at your mind.
If you’re questioning your past, your choices, or who you thought you were, don’t panic. You’re not broken — you’re breaking open. You’re starting to see clearly. That kind of clarity can be overwhelming at first, but it’s real. And you’re strong enough to handle it.
We all must grieve certain things—parts of ourselves, our past, our hopes—before we can truly move forward. It’s not easy. But it is possible. And you don’t have to go through it alone.
Here are eight of those things we often find ourselves mourning.
There’s a version of ourselves we often cling to—the one who kept hoping, kept fighting, and kept making it work no matter how drained we felt. The one who twisted into knots to stay connected.
Letting go of that version can feel like betrayal, as if we are giving up on a story we once believed in. However, sometimes the bravest thing we can do is grieve for the self who didn’t know any better… and forgive them. They were doing their best with what they had.
Tip: Write a letter to that version of yourself. Thank them for trying, and gently let them know you don’t need to survive that way anymore.
Toxic relationships don’t just live in words and actions—they live in the beliefs we adopt just to survive them. Things like: Love means enduring pain. Boundaries are selfish. My needs are too much.
These beliefs take root so quietly and profoundly that we begin to confuse them with the truth.
Letting go of those beliefs feels confusing at first. You might not know what to think or trust. But little by little, what’s true for you starts to become clearer.
Tip: Start noticing the “rules” you live by—and question where they came from. If a belief feels heavy or harsh, it probably isn’t yours to keep.
There were likely plans. A vision. Perhaps even a whole imagined life—birthdays, kids, peace, healing, a future where things finally got better. And then… that future crumbled. Not all at once, but piece by piece.
Grieving that lost future is a quiet heartbreak for which no one prepares us. But what’s real is this: letting go of the life you thought you were building makes room for the life that wants to be built—one that includes your joy.
Tip: Don’t just push it down—name it. The future you pictured. Write about it. Cry if you need to. Say out loud what you were hoping for. There was a version of you that truly believed in that future—and they deserve to be honored. Not so you stay stuck there, but so you can let it go with love…and step into what’s next with clarity.
It’s not only that trust was broken; it’s that we gave it so freely, perhaps even desperately. We needed to believe that someone would hold us safely.
When that doesn’t happen, it not only hurts—it also shakes our sense of judgment and reality.
Grieving the loss of trust takes time. Rebuilding it, especially in ourselves, takes even longer. But it can come back. Slowly. On your terms. In your rhythm.
Tip: Start small. Do one thing you told yourself you’d do—and follow through. Little by little, that’s how trust grows back, not with big declarations, but with quiet proof that you’ve got your own back now.
5. The Illusion That We Were in Control
There’s a strange safety in our chaos; at least we know the rules there. We learn how to predict moods, navigate through landmines, and maintain peace. That can start to feel like a form of control.
But it’s not. It’s survival.
Fear at the start is part of the process. Change rarely feels safe right away, even when it’s exactly what you need.
Tip: You don’t need to control everything to feel grounded. Start by getting clear on what’s yours—your time, your limits, your energy, and your voice. That’s where real peace begins: inside, not out.
Leaving what hurts us doesn’t always feel like freedom initially; sometimes, it just feels like being lost.
We mourn the connection, even when it hurts. We mourn the belonging, even if it was conditional.
But loneliness isn’t worse than being unsafe. You deserve love that feels solid and soft. And it starts with how you choose to treat yourself.
Tip: Start by showing up for yourself. Speak gently. Rest often. Practice love the way you wish it had been given.
Toxic dynamics are exhausting. We give and give and give, and it’s never enough. Such depletion leaves a lasting scar. At first, all we can see is what we lost: the time, the effort, the emotional labor.
Here’s the truth: that energy is still ours. It’s just been tangled up in survival. When do we start calling it back? That’s when we remember what power feels like.
Tip: Your energy is yours again. You don’t need to do anything significant; start noticing what feels good and the little things that bring you peace.
There’s so much to mourn when you finally walk away. But all of it—every loss, every unraveling—is also the beginning of something new. A return to yourself. A chance to build a life grounded in truth, care, and absolute safety. Not the kind that came with conditions, but the kind that allows you to be fully yourself.
Let this grief be proof that you’re growing. Let it signify something. Because this isn’t where your story ends; it’s where you begin to come home.
Getting help can be incredibly hard for someone who feels entangled in a relationship. They may not even recognize how deeply it’s affecting them. Still, your support, when offered with care, can make a difference. Here are some things that you can do to help your friend get untangled.
E.
First, you need to identify what Enmeshment is. It is the over-involvement and over-reliance of someone. This often comes at the cost of one’s independence, and they may struggle to make decisions on their own without considering the other person. They might feel that they are walking on thin ice.
C.
Check your intentions. Before helping someone, you must be aware of your goal. Are you trying to help? You must be able to respect their pace and maintain their autonomy. You are here to be their safe space, not to control them.
A.
Ask, don’t advise. Let them feel comfortable with you by asking curious, yet non-judgmental, questions. These can spark reflection. Ask them questions such as: “How do you feel after spending time with them?” Do you ever feel like you can’t say no?”
R.
Respect boundaries. Enmeshment comes from boundaries that are overstepped. Show them what it looks like to say no and prioritize your own feelings. Don’t forget to respect your limits, too. Always remember that supporting doesn’t mean sacrificing your own well-being.
E.
Ease back when needed. Don’t push them to change immediately. Healing takes time; it is essential to allow them to work at their own pace. Determine whether they are ready to talk or take action; if not, then step back with compassion. Respect their process to protect yourself, too.
Meaningful support does not mean that you have to solve their problems; it means that you are there. You are showing up with empathy, trust, and patience. You trust that they have the courage and ability to grow and move forward. The E.C.A.R.E. approach reminds us to encourage gently, check our intentions, ask instead of giving advice, respect boundaries, and ease back when needed. These can help ensure that we create a safe space for our friend, rather than reacting.
You’re not only offering kindness but also showing what a healthy and respectful relationship looks like. Sometimes, the best thing to do is to show up and be there for your friend. Because with E.C.A.R.E., we listen, respect, and support in a gentle manner.
Everybody wants to be there for the people they love, especially if those they care about are struggling. When a friend goes through something that rocks their world, they come to us. We offer them help, compassion, an ear to hear their troubles, and a shoulder to cry on… But occasionally, the line between helping and harming gets blurry, and unfortunately, this is way more common than you’d think, and it’s far less obvious at the beginning. In our efforts to rescue others, we may lose sight of our boundaries, needs, and well-being.
When support turns into a safety net that removes all risk, it enables the person struggling not to grow and face their issue but rather to stay stuck and dependent. This is where codependency and enabling come into play. What feels like loyalty can become emotional overextension. What appears to be protection might be permission for unhealthy behavior to persist. The remaining questions are, “How do codependency and enabling work together?” “Why do they persist?” “And most importantly, how does one break free from the cycle?”
Codependency is not merely caring too much; it’s losing yourself in the process of trying to “save” someone else. When a person is codependent, they prioritize the needs, feelings, and survival of another person who’s usually in crisis, at the expense of their own emotional and physical health. The reason why it’s called “codependence” is that the codependent person basically “needs to be needed.” Enabling, on the other hand, is when your actions shield another from the natural consequences of their behavior. For example, your friend tells you that they haven’t studied for their exams because they were busy with work. The likely outcome here is that they will probably fail their exam. But you, the loyal friend, step in and help them cheat off you at the risk of possibly getting caught and punished with an immediate F.
Is that enabling? Not necessarily, it’s a one-time thing, but when your friend feels comfortable not studying for their exams because you’ll be there to help, and indeed, you are. You are now enabling their behavior and being codependent. Enabling is the smoke that rises from the fire of codependency, hard to see at first but suffocating if ignored.
These two behaviors feed off each other in a self-reinforcing loop, often rooted in fear, guilt, or an unconscious desire for control.
How does co-dependency show up through enabling? Since it doesn’t always look like a big, dramatic rescue, sometimes it’s quieter. For instance:
You don’t have to be pouring shots to enable an alcoholic. Sometimes, it’s just paying their rent. Financial support, such as repeated bailouts without accountability, creates dependency, not safety; emotional covering, such as telling yourself that your friend is just tired when they are drinking again; caretaking by fixing every mess they make while no one’s fixing your issues; avoiding topics out of fear that they’ll leave or explode; being overly involved to the point where you know more about their emotions than your own…
Now that we’ve successfully labelled the issue, it’s time to understand what drives enabling behavior, and the answer lies in deeper emotional wounds: Fear of being abandoned or unloved; desire to be essential to someone’s life; unresolved guilt or shame, often from childhood; poor boundaries, if not none at all; learned dysfunction, passed down like a cursed family heirloom… Until these motivations are addressed, the pattern will repeat: a different person, the same dynamic, and the same fallout. For the enabler, they will suffer burnout, resentment, a hollow sense of identity, plummeting self-worth, anxiety, depression, and even physical illness. At the same time, the enabled will go through developmental stagnation, stay emotionally immature, go through deepened addiction or destructive habits, and have zero accountability with no incentive to change. The relationship itself will suffer from skewed power dynamics, characterized by cycles of guilt, anger, and manipulation. All of this will be fueled by a loss of genuine connection. Trust will crumble, and intimacy will rot.
Fortunately, although the pattern grips hard, it is nonetheless a simple one:
Problem arises > Enabler swoops in and saves the day > Consequences are softened or erased > Problem repeats.
Each cycle provides a twisted reward: the enabler feels needed, and the enabled avoids reality and its consequences. Both are trapped, mistaking dysfunction for devotion.
Now, to break it, all you need to do is reclaim yourself through:
In conclusion, as much as you might mean well, if your support keeps someone sick, it’s sabotage, even if the only person suffering is you. Codependency and enabling disguise themselves as love, but they poison you from the inside out. Healing means choosing the truth over comfort, accountability over illusion, and self-respect over self-sacrifice. Let them stumble, let them grow, and step out of the flames. It’s time to stop setting yourself on fire to keep someone warm.
Stepping into the unknown. That’s how it may feel now that you’ve left a toxic partner. The emotional rollercoaster is heavy. The healing journey is possible and crucial for your well-being. Understanding the nuances of this experience may provide valuable insights while you work towards your empowerment.
Navigating Emotional Complexity
As you escape a toxic situation, you may experience feelings of grief, anger, and confusion. This is normal. You are trying to process the reality of your situation. Start recognizing that these emotions are normal and the first step in healing. Give yourself the right to feel and express these emotions. Recovery is much harder when you’re not on your side. Consider creating a safe space for your feelings to surface. Writing, art, talking to a trusted friend, and expressing your emotions will help you release from all the pent-up emotions.
Identifying Manipulative Behaviors
To maintain control, toxic partners often manipulate and complicate the decision to leave. They may use gaslighting, emotional blackmail, love bombing, triangulation, blame-shifting, isolation, guilt inducement, playing the victim, shaming, conditional love, threatening you, intimidation, exaggerating the problem, or withholding affection or communication. Once you recognize the manipulation, you can break free from the toxic person. Keep setting firm boundaries and seek support. To counter the negative feelings, you may start journaling or seek trauma-informed coaching. Practice self-care and regain autonomy and confidence. Sometimes, you also need to seek legal advice for your safety!
The Importance of Closure
Sometimes, when on our healing journey, rocks, pebbles, or even icebergs of emotions may impact your healing process. Acknowledging that the relationship has ended allows you to move forward with clarity. It isn’t easy. You can’t just switch it off. But there are ways to close the chapter for good. While I was healing, I tried diverse methods. I can’t testify for others, but here’s what worked for me:
I also focussed on my personal growth. I read self-help books, engaged in strength training, and ate clean foods. While he thought I would fall apart and beg him to take me back, I concentrated on celebrating my new journey. How often had I laid on the cold bathroom floor, asking myself why I was enduring such behaviors from someone who claimed he loved me? I decided that if he couldn’t love me, my only choice was to love myself how I deserved. So, I created a vision board. I pinned everything I wished my life could be. Then, I set goals. Then, I separated each goal into small tasks. Then, I started to tick each small task individually until the goal was achieved. And the next. Setting goals helped me find myself.
Setting Boundaries
After leaving the toxic partner, you must communicate your boundaries with those you engage with. Remember, you show people how to treat you by accepting that your boundaries are being crossed. At first, setting boundaries is uneasy, but I won’t lie to you. You will be too harsh on some people and not enough on others. You will put boundaries everywhere or nowhere at all. And that’s okay! We all start somewhere. You can begin by setting communication limits with toxic people or ex-partners. Specify times where you are and aren’t available to socialize, especially from those who drain you. Prioritize your alone time or time with positive influences. Good vibes only. Let people know when you feel overwhelmed, and don’t engage in negative conversations. Set limits on how much time you want to spend physically close to individuals. Let’s say you are at a family supper, and people hug and kiss you over 30 times because that’s just the polite thing to do. If you don’t feel comfortable, you communicate it. Sentences like “I’m sorry, I would prefer to keep my bubble” might help them comprehend that you don’t want to be touched at this time. Reinforcing your boundaries is hard, and guilt will overwhelm you at first. Just keep doing it. Remind people that it is non-negotiable and that you look out for yourself first now.
Support System
Healing is hard enough as it is. You can’t afford to try to heal alone. Friends, family, or mental health professionals can provide the necessary validation and encouragement for your journey. You may want to reconnect with family members you lost touch with. You might try volunteering, meeting new people, or checking in on your friends. Joining clubs that align with your passions or hobbies can be super helpful, too. On some forums or social media, groups that focus on healing exist. You can join most of them easily. Find a mentor in your field of interest that might support you in reaching your goals. Also, you can start a blog or a web journal. Anonymously, no one will know it’s you, and that’s sometimes how people support you the most. Finally, engage in support groups or trauma counseling. Speaking to a professional can equilibrate your thoughts and remove some shame or negative feelings you might be dealing with on your journey. Ultimately, there are many ways to cope with your difficult situation, but surrounding yourself with positive people who care about you and want to uplift you is a true blessing in such a journey.
Embracing Your Healing Journey
Healing requires time and self-compassion. It is hard. It hurts at times. Most of the time. Now is the time to focus on your self-care and activities that uplift you. Practicing mindfulness, journaling, therapy, creating a daily routine, spending time outdoors to ground yourself, and setting goals can also provide direction and purpose. You may want to open to change as old patterns may have a key role in your toxic relationships. I also enjoyed exploring spirituality, limiting screen time, and trying yoga. Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous. At first, I didn’t think It would help. It allowed me to see clearly and calmly without negative influences. I got myself a pet. Zootherapy can be quite the charm in these situations. I redecorated using free online DIY’s; I created my vision board- Focusing on my growth and getting out of my comfort zone as much as I could, cultivated hobbies that fulfilled me, like painting and writing, and started my business from the ground up. I volunteered in my community and took on a fitness journey. Which brought a lot of anger and sadness but also helped give me an outlet for it. Take as many breaks as you need. The healing you must do is not linear. Enjoy the mess, and let go of the rest!
In conclusion, healing after a heartbreak is an arduous journey that requires patience and self-love. Acknowledging that you have emotions and that they are valid, as well as giving yourself the right to feel them, is key to this journey. Recognizing manipulation, seeking closure, establishing boundaries, and building a network to support you will help you embrace the experience with resilience. Engaging with a trauma-informed coach can further empower you on this route. They can provide helpful tools and insights to reclaim your life and power. Embracing the steps helps you emerge stronger and more self-aware. This enables you to grow into healthier relationships in the future. Trusting yourself and rediscovering yourself is essential to meeting your true self.
“Okay, but why didn’t he just leave?” That question says more about our culture than it does about him. The uncomfortable truth nobody wants to face is that men who stay in abusive relationships don’t do so out of weakness but because many of our world’s cultures share one thing in common. They’ve over-socialized men into being “good.” And when we say “good,” we’re not talking in the moral sense. Most cultures around the world teach men that to be considered “good,” they must be obedient, guilt-ridden, and valuable.
They must be strong; they must be the support, if not the foundation.
Many men are raised with the implicit belief that their value is measured by how much pain they can endure without crumbling. Crying? “That’s weak, bro; she’ll have an ick.” Leaving your crazy girlfriend who is delusionally jealous over you? “Bro, you’ll never find someone that’ll love you like that; don’t be stupid.” Setting boundaries? That’s selfish and controlling. And the worst part? They wouldn’t dare let a woman pay for them, not because they’re selfish, but because society teaches men that their worth lies in providing and only providing. Consider a man who has been raised on such a blueprint, placing him in a relationship with someone emotionally abusive or emotionally unstable, and you’ll witness the unfortunate tale of many men in our world today: enmeshment disguised as love and codependency dressed in heroism.
“If you love her hard enough, sacrifice long enough, and stay still enough, your partner will finally stop testing you.” “You can’t be a victim; you’re a man after all.” So, he practices stoicism as if it were a duty and slowly withers away on the inside. If the charming prince falls off his horse, it had better be the last thing he does.
This isn’t about blaming women or glorifying male suffering; it’s about dismantling the myth that endurance is noble. “Leaving is retreating; it’s giving up. Men don’t give up.”
According to a 2021 report by the CDC, one in seven men experienced severe physical abuse from an intimate partner. That’s no typo. Emotional abuse? It’s even more common, yet significantly underreported because men are conditioned to internalize, rationalize, and stay silent about it. There is no hotline in their imaginations. No language, no mirror that reflects their sorrow back to them with compassion. Here’s a tip: if you’re a man reading this and any of it feels familiar, start by writing down the simplest details that don’t sit well, not for anyone else, but for yourself. It’s how your brain learns to allow you permission to detect patterns.
Next, speak to someone whom you trust. Someone who genuinely listens, not someone who will encourage you to “man up.” If possible, seek professional help, whether through counseling or clinical therapy. Although they may not be apparent, your emotional wounds are genuine. You’re not broken, nor are you weak. You’ve been following a script that punishes your self-preservation and rewards your silence. But the truth? Suffering is unnecessary for love. Your ability to endure suffering like a resilient punching bag has never been what made you valuable. Stop sacrificing yourself to win “love”.
Leaving is the most courageous thing a man can do, especially when he’s been taught that staying is proof of love, because it isn’t; nor is it loyalty; it’s torture. You don’t need to prove your manhood by surviving your partner’s chaos. You prove it by choosing peace over performance. People learn to love you the way you love yourself, and that is only evident through the boundaries you set. That’s the kind of strength we should start applauding.
Enmeshment with a parent—especially one with borderline tendencies—rarely feels traumatic at first. It often feels like closeness, like love. Like the kind of bond that’s “special” or “unbreakable.” But beneath that closeness is a quiet, suffocating erasure. The child becomes the parent’s emotional mirror, expected to reflect only what keeps the parent stable: obedience, cheerfulness, and silence.
She learns early on that having her own needs can trigger distress, guilt, or even rage. So, she adapts. She reads every mood, anticipates every shift, and becomes hyper-attuned to others—so much so that simply being around people can feel exhausting.
She doesn’t question it—at least, not at first. But there’s always something slightly off. A strange pressure. A subtle fear of disappointment. If someone could observe enmeshment from the outside, it might look like a parent’s form overlapping a child’s—a clear outline for the parent, while the child appears faded around the edges.
Over time, the child learns that keeping the parent happy is her role in the family. She’s praised when she’s agreeable, accommodating, and quiet. She begins to derive her self-worth from how effectively she keeps her parents calm. But the moment the parent acts out—often explosively, as part of the disorder—the child internalizes it as her failure. “I must have done something wrong.” A deep feeling of shame follows—the kind that makes a child want to disappear.
As she grows into a teenager or young adult, the child struggles to form an identity separate from the parent. Any attempt to individuate—through friends, partners, or career choices—may be met with sabotage. The parent criticizes her new relationships, finding fault with anyone who might pull her away. The emotional control may come cloaked as a concern: “I’m just worried about you.” But the incessant phone calls, shame, guilt, fear, and subtle criticisms are all efforts to pull her back in.
Playing this role starts in childhood but continues into adulthood. She may attract partners who mirror the emotional instability of the parent who rages or silences her needs. She becomes people-pleasing and self-sacrificing. She may appear outwardly capable and responsible but feel internally depleted—anxious, self-doubting, unsure of what she wants or needs. Her sense of worth is buried under years of adaptation.
This deep, chronic stress often takes a physical toll: hormonal imbalances, autoimmune conditions, adrenal burnout, and chronic anxiety are not uncommon. As Dr. Bessel van der Kolk famously said, “The body keeps the score,” even though the mind works hard to suppress the pain.
The hardest part is that this adult child won’t realize what’s happening until she’s utterly depleted—emotionally threadbare from meeting everyone else’s needs but her own. The process begins quietly at first, but eventually, she hits a wall of exhaustion so profound that even adapting no longer works. When the body, soul, and nervous system can’t carry the weight anymore, the door to healing can finally open.
And even then, it isn’t easy. Attempts to reclaim boundaries or create distance from the parent may be met with intense resistance. Guilt trips, manipulation, self-harm threats, sudden illness, or emotional collapse are common tactics from the enmeshing parent—often unconscious but still incredibly damaging.
The journey to healing starts with information, clarity, and support. Reclaiming the self after enmeshment means grieving a lost childhood, facing the anger that’s been pushed down for decades, and learning how to manage the relationship with the BPD/NPD parent in self-protective ways. It’s a complex and shaky road—but it’s worth it. A good therapist can offer specific tools for navigating contact with BPD/NPD parents. More importantly, they can help the adult child develop internal safety—something she never had.
It’s not a linear path. There are setbacks. But with patience, persistence, and self-compassion, it is possible to feel whole for the first time.
Realizing that being loved should never require losing your voice is one of an adult child’s most freeing awakenings. And if you’re beginning to whisper “I want more,” even to yourself—you’ve already started.
If you look at the term “enmeshment,” you’ll notice it contains the word “enmesh”- a term that refers to weaving together or forming a close connection. This means that when someone is enmeshed, they become so deeply intertwined with another person that they might lose their sense of identity. Either person may have abandoned themselves to feel more connected to the other person. They may even have difficulty deciphering when one person begins and the other ends. Boundaries become fuzzy or nonexistent. Individuals become emotionally dependent on the other person and may find themselves so involved with the other person that they become hypersensitive to the other person’s emotions. They often enmesh because they seek validation and don’t want to be abandoned.
Loss of Self = Suffocation, Confusion and Guilt
Enmeshment can occur in romantic relationships, families, and even friendships. However, with all enmeshed relationships, there is excessive emotional closeness, so one or both can feel suffocated and confused. Individuals may experience profound feelings of guilt when attempting to assert their independence. The distinct characteristics that differentiate an individual from others can become compromised, subsequently resulting in analogous feelings of depression, powerlessness, fear of rejection, and more.
Parental and Romantic Enmeshment
Some people enmesh with a parent or caregiver when they’re young children. In some of these instances, the parents may have BPD or NPD, be an alcoholic, or have another mental health condition. They often expect the child to meet their emotional needs, and the young child may have enmeshed with their parent to receive love and protect themselves from further abuse or neglect. In turn, individuals in romantic relationships often enmesh because they have previous relationship trauma or an intense fear of rejection and don’t want the relationship to fall apart. In some social norms, individuality is discouraged, and families experience generational patterns of codependency.
Devastating Effects of Enmeshment
No matter how someone finds themselves deeply connected with another person, it’s important to recognize that this can sometimes lead to feeling lost, less confident, or unsure of one’s own identity. Many people in these types of close relationships might feel overwhelmed by their struggles, often experiencing anxiety, sadness, or stress.
Overcoming Enmeshment
Being in an enmeshed relationship can be emotionally and physically painful, stressful, and challenging to get away from. Enmeshed relationships often feel close, but they are unhealthy and unsafe. Enmeshed partners cross boundaries and encourage one another to lose themselves for the sake of the relationship. These relationships are disingenuous and foster dependence. To overcome enmeshment, you must learn to be comfortable with yourself. You must know your value and don’t put others above you. You must protect your peace, be authentically you, and learn how to regulate your own emotions (and only your emotions). You must focus on yourself and not need outside validation. You must treat yourself with respect and love and know that you are not responsible for anyone’s emotional state, and they aren’t accountable for yours.
Break Enmeshment Patterns Today!
You must strive for higher self-esteem and focus on making healthy connections without losing yourself. Some people can do all of the above independently, whereas others have to utilize a combination of tools like journaling, meditating, or group meetings. Sometimes, individuals have to enlist the help of a trauma-informed therapist and/or a trauma-informed life coach who can help them develop tools to separate from their enmeshed partner. Either way, you can overcome enmeshment patterns. It may take time, but you can do it.
When It Looked Like Love—But Felt Like Suffocation
Let’s be honest: it looked like love. That’s what made it so hard to name.
The constant texts, the “just checking in” calls, the guilt trips disguised as concern. For years, you believed that’s what a close mother-daughter relationship was supposed to look like. But somewhere deep down, it didn’t feel like love—it felt like suffocation.
This is the enmeshed mother-daughter experience, and if you’ve lived it, you know how heavy it is.
What’s the Enmeshed Meaning?
Enmeshed relationships are a pattern of relationships in which personal boundaries are blurred or even nonexistent. Instead of two separate individuals with their own thoughts, needs, and identities, enmeshed relationships are marked by emotional fusion. In an enmeshed dynamic, your sense of self is wrapped up in the other person, often so tightly that it feels impossible to know where they end and you begin.
Enmeshment isn’t closeness. It isn’t a connection. It’s control, disguised as love.
It’s a relationship where your mother’s emotions are your responsibility, her needs come first, and yours aren’t even recognized. It’s being told you’re “too sensitive” when you speak up, and “ungrateful” when you pull away.
It’s being groomed to disappear inside her, and calling it love.
How NPD and BPD Fuel Enmeshment
If your mother had traits of Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), you would become an extension of her ego. Maybe you were her golden child—the one expected to reflect her brilliance, success, and perfection. When you performed, you were praised. When you pushed back, you were punished.
If your mother had Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), you became the emotional stabilizer. You never knew what version of her you’d get. You were her everything one moment, and the scapegoat the next.
You learned to scan every room for her mood before you spoke. You became fluent in her needs before you even knew your own.
These patterns don’t just cause tension. They cause relational trauma—the kind that makes you question your right to exist as a separate, whole person.
You Were Never Meant to Carry That
You were a child. You deserved to be seen, not used. To be supported, not smothered.
Instead, you were expected to be a caretaker, confidant, and emotional buffer—and punished for stepping out of line.
And still, the world told you how “lucky” you were to be so close. No one saw the price you paid.
But now, you do. And the anger you feel when the truth starts to surface? Let it ignite.
That anger is a compass. Let it point you back to yourself.
Reclaiming Your Self Is Not a Betrayal
Healing begins with awareness, by naming the patterns, by getting to know your rage and grief, by reclaiming the parts of you she exploited, and discovering the parts she never allowed to exist.
Maybe you’ve spent years trying to explain yourself, hoping she’d finally understand. But healing isn’t about getting her to see you. It’s about finally seeing yourself clearly, fully, and without apology.
And if she says you’ve changed? You have because you’re finally choosing you.
What Healthy Closeness Feels Like
Healthy closeness honors autonomy. It feels safe and respectful. It holds space for who you are, not what someone needs you to be.
Maybe it’s hard to imagine what that kind of closeness feels like.
Maybe you’ve never known it.
Maybe you’re still grieving that.
That’s okay.
It may feel unfamiliar at first. But unfamiliar doesn’t mean wrong.
It means you’re learning to live free.
You Get to Choose Something Different
Whether you’re just starting to see the pattern or deep into this process, know this: it was never your job to be everything to someone who couldn’t see you as a separate person.
That’s not love.
That’s enmeshment.
And you get to choose something different.
Enmeshment can occur in all sorts of romantic, platonic, and familial relationships. It happens when one individual becomes consumed with meeting another person’s needs, so much so that they lose touch with their wants, values, and goals. A failure to meet the needs of the other person (or a perceived failure) can even result in feelings of anxiety and distress.
Enmeshment in Romantic Unions
Enmeshment often occurs among couples, as one partner feels overly responsible for managing the other’s feelings, problems, and responsibilities, ultimately prioritizing their partner over themselves.
They may also put their partner on a pedestal and fear letting them down, doing something their partner would disapprove of, or upsetting them. While healthy relationships involve partners who want to make each other happy, enmeshment weaponizes this desire.
Enmeshment in romantic relationships also typically harbors the concept of “no me, just we.” In other words, the couple fails to have independent friends or hobbies outside the relationship. They do everything together or nothing at all.
Enmeshment in Familial Relationships
Enmeshment in families most often happens in close families (both in terms of connection and location). It can occur between parents and kids, among siblings, or between various family members. In enmeshed families, boundaries blur so much that they disappear altogether, displaced by over-involvement in someone else’s everyday life and decision-making.
A few of the ways this might present include the following:
Merging Without Enmeshment
Healthy relationships require two (or more) people to connect without engaging in enmeshment. The way to foster this type of balance includes the following:
Enmeshment is never a good dynamic, whether between families, friends, or star-crossed lovers. Recognizing that it’s happening is the first step in rebuilding your relationship with a healthy, balanced foundation at its core.