The Exhausting Truth About Growing Up Between Two Homes

I've been reflecting on a pattern I see repeatedly in my practice—one that's so deeply woven into the fabric of who we become that most people don't even recognise it's there. It's the burden carried by children who grew up navigating split loyalties between parents, and how this early wound shows up decades later in ways that can feel utterly confusing and overwhelming.

Let me paint you a picture that might feel familiar.

The Impossible Choice

You're six years old, standing in the doorway with your little suitcase, about to go to Dad's for the weekend. Mum gives you a hug, but there's something in her eyes—a sadness she's trying to hide. Dad arrives and you can see he's excited to see you, but when he mentions missing you while you were at Mum's, that familiar knot forms in your stomach.

You love them both. But somehow, loving one feels like betraying the other.

This is the split loyalty pattern, and if this resonates with you, you learned something devastating as a child: that your love was somehow dangerous. That choosing to be present with one parent meant hurting the other. That your job—as a small child—was to manage everyone else's emotions while somehow finding a way to exist without disappointing anyone.

Here's what no one tells you: that pattern doesn't just disappear when you grow up.

The Adult Aftermath

What I witness in many adults clients is people who are still running this same impossible programme. They've become masters at reading rooms, anticipating needs, and shapeshifting to avoid conflict. They live what I call a "double life"—showing different versions of themselves to different people because somewhere deep inside, they're still that child trying to keep everyone happy.

The hypervigilance that kept you safe as a kid—always scanning for emotional threats, always worried about who you might disappoint next—becomes an exhausting way to live as an adult. Your nervous system never got the memo that you're allowed to just... be yourself.

And here's the part that breaks me: many of these adults end up struggling with addiction. Because carrying all that guilt, all that responsibility for other people's emotions, is simply too much for one person to bear. The substances become a refuge—a way to finally stop scanning, stop worrying, stop carrying everyone else's feelings for just a few hours.

The Truth About Guilt

If you recognise yourself in this pattern, I want you to understand something crucial: the guilt you carry isn't yours. It never was.

You were a child doing your best in an impossible situation. The fact that your parents' relationship created conflicting loyalties wasn't your fault, and it wasn't your responsibility to fix it. But children naturally assume responsibility for things beyond their control—it's how we're wired to make sense of a confusing world.

That guilt you feel about putting your own needs first? That exhausting sense that you're responsible for everyone else's emotions? That fear that being honest about your struggles will "destroy" the people you love? Those are all echoes of that original wound.

The Revelation

Here's what I've learned from working with people carrying these wounds: recovery—whether from addiction, anxiety, or simply the exhaustion of living for everyone else—isn't just about stopping destructive behaviours. It's about learning that you can be honest about your struggles without being responsible for how others react to that honesty.

It's about understanding that the structure and boundaries you never received as a child are things you can give yourself now. It's about recognising that the hypervigilance that once protected you has become a prison, and that there are gentler ways to move through the world.

Most importantly, it's about learning that you can love people without sacrificing yourself on the altar of their emotions.

What This Looks Like in Practice

The path forward isn't about blaming parents or dwelling in the past. It's about recognising these patterns with compassion and slowly, deliberately, choosing differently.

Start with awareness. Each morning, ask yourself: "What guilt am I carrying that isn't mine?" And each evening: "When did I take responsibility for someone else's emotions today?" These simple check-ins help you catch the pattern in action.

Practice self-compassion. When you notice yourself falling into old patterns, try these gentle reminders: "I'm learning to love people without sacrificing myself" or "I can care about others and still prioritise my recovery." Remember that "honesty is a gift, even when it's uncomfortable."

Reframe difficult conversations. Instead of avoiding honest discussions because you're terrified of others' reactions, try this mantra: "I am responsible for my honesty, not for your reaction." This simple shift can be revolutionary for someone who's spent their life managing everyone else's emotions.

It means learning to ask: "Is this guilt based on something I actually did wrong, or something I learned to feel as a child?"

It means practising the radical act of saying "I need to think about that" instead of immediately saying yes to every request.

It means understanding that if someone can't handle your honesty about your struggles, that's information about their capacity, not evidence that you should keep lying to protect them.

The Quiet Revolution

What I've witnessed in my practice is nothing short of miraculous: when people start to untangle these patterns, when they begin to separate their worth from their ability to keep everyone else comfortable, they don't just recover—they come alive.

They stop living double lives. They stop carrying guilt that was never theirs. They learn that love doesn't require self-sacrifice, and that the people who truly care about them want their honesty, not their performance.

This isn't easy work. These patterns run deep, woven into the very fabric of how we learned to survive. But it is possible. And it starts with recognising that the impossible choice you faced as a child—to love one parent without hurting the other—was never really a choice you should have had to make.

You can love everyone in your life without losing yourself in the process. You just need to learn how.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________

If you recognise yourself in these patterns and feel ready to explore how they might be shaping your life, I'm here to support that journey. Sometimes the most radical thing we can do is stop carrying burdens that were never ours to begin with.