Giving up responsibility

'Not Mine' - the hardest (and best) phrase I’ve learned

Hello! How are you doing today?

I’ve been talking with a friend about responsibility and how it can become a part of who we are, because it served a need in childhood and we (mistakenly) saw it as a way to get along and not stand out.

I learned early that being responsible made life easier for everyone. If I did well at school, no one worried. If I stayed quiet, no one shouted, or worse. If I anticipated what people needed, they were calmer, and that felt safer. So I got really good at it. I knew when to back down, when to step up, and how to keep the peace. But there was a cost.

For a long time, I thought this was my best trait. I thought it made me capable, reliable, acceptable and even lovable. But it also exhausted me. When responsibility is your first language, you start translating everything into it. You don’t just help, you hold it all, even when it’s not yours to own. You don’t just manage your life, you manage everything, everywhere, all at once.

Sometimes responsibility is absolutely necessary beyond the usual parameters of parenting. When our child is in crisis, there are moments where we have to hold it all for a while. We become the project manager, advocate, night nurse, and safety net - even when the world doesn’t understand why. We hold the appointments, the medication schedule, and the whole fragile scaffolding that keeps them safe and the belief that keeps us safe, too. That season of responsibility is real, and often unavoidable. But if we stay in that mode forever, we can start to disappear. The challenge is knowing when to shift - when to step back just enough so our child can grow, and so we can breathe again - and having the luxury of that moment. I don’t take it for granted that I’m not on active suicide watch anymore - that in itself feels like a kind of privilege.

Photo by Luis Villasmil on Unsplash

It’s taken years to unlearn that sense of responsibility and be okay with someone else holding it. I didn’t do it gracefully. I didn’t wake up one morning enlightened and serene (I mean, does anyone?). I gradually let go of it one piece at a time, often with tears and guilt and a lot of second-guessing. But before that, I had to feel safe enough emotionally to face the outcomes - especially because I was not in control of them.

The first phrase I learned was ‘not mine.’ Maybe it’s the Ramble equivalent of the Let Them Theory. Saying it out loud (but still quietly and to myself) felt like breaking some secret code. This problem? Not mine. This mood? Not mine. This expectation I’ve been silently carrying around since childhood? Definitely not mine.

At first, every ‘not mine’ made me tense up. But that tensing was all mine! My body was experiencing newness and that newness felt wrong. Who was I if this wasn’t mine? Who was I if I didn’t make it all okay, carry it all, fix everything? I often thought of that programme in the 70s or 80s where the children had to hold all of the toys - and a cabbage - until they dropped them. My level of responsibility was that!

And yes, sometimes there were ripples when I didn’t do what was expected. Some people didn’t like the change, and some things fell apart a little. But more often than not, there were no major shakes. Other people stepped in - or they didn’t - and I learned that some things were only staying upright because I was propping them up.

Learning to let go has become its own kind of language, one I still speak with a bit of a struggle but much more confidently now. I don’t rush to smooth every situation. I don’t carry things just because I can or because it helps me feel worthwhile. I trust that other people are capable of holding what belongs to them, even if they drop it sometimes. It’s theirs to hold, drop, juggle or ignore.

And today, as I sit here feeling like a cold is brewing, looking at a full calendar and just wanting to dive headfirst into a box set, I realise this is where all that learning lands. The old me would have powered through, ticked every box, ignored my body, and ended the day resentful. The new me recognises that I am responsible for some things - including how I show up - but I don’t have to force another 4000 things into a day that’s already full. There isn’t space! And really, what was I thinking believing I could?

Because that’s what all those years of unlearning were for - not to make me perfectly balanced or endlessly Zen, but to help me know when to stop. When to leave the email unanswered until I have more presence. When to soften my own expectations of what “healthy” looks like today. When to pick up the blanket and the tea and call that enough.

If you’re in the thick of learning this, please know that you don’t have to get it right every time. You can put one thing down and still hold five. You can test what happens when you let someone else carry something. You can be scared and do it anyway.

And one day, you’ll notice you didn’t even think about it - you just didn’t pick it up - and you’ll feel a shift in your body. There will be a lightness to it, which surprises you after so long being the responsible one.

So if today feels heavy, or if you’re tired, or unwell, or just done, maybe put something down. Say ‘not mine’ to one thing. Leave one plate spinning and see if it really does crash, or if it just wobbles and keeps going without you.

When your energy is low, it’s okay not to force brilliance. Meet the day where it is and yourself where you are. Let ‘good enough’ actually be good enough.

The world doesn’t collapse when we stop holding everything, and neither do we, but what falls away is the illusion that we were the only thing holding it all together. And yet, we’re still more than enough, whether we do that or not.

Thanks for reading today’s Ramble. I’ll be back tomorrow with another.

You can listen to today’s Ramble here:

If you’d like to join me and other parents who have been or are going through adversity and reconnect with you, Re:Selfing begins on October 6th. All the details are here.