Hi, my name is Tara and I’m an overfunctioner.
2021 hasn’t been an easy year for many of us, myself included. If I’m honest, I’ve really been going through it this December. I’ve come to several interesting realizations about myself and the relationships that I have with others as I start to take inventory of the past year and some of the learnings that have come from it.
Last night I decided to take a deep dive into some old journals of mine. I wanted to see what kind of patterns I’ve been repeating, what I’ve learned and what are still big challenges to me. What I saw kind of astounded me. There were some patterns — harmful patterns — that I have exhibited.
Worrying a ton about other people’s problems and letting them take over my life. Wanting to be able to help others resolve these problems, even when they clearly aren’t ready to, which is a boundary issue for myself and I’m not super proud of it. Even suggesting therapy for some people who are struggling when they quite simply weren’t there yet. And yet, I was owning it as my problem.
The same could be said for me in my line of work. I coach and teach others, and sometimes those other people simply aren’t ready for the change. Not yet. And they need to fall on their face to get there.
As I’m speaking with a friend of mine this morning I’m reflecting on some of what I came across.
“Oh yeah,” my friend says. “That’s a lot of overfunctioning.”
Huh? What is overfunctioning?
I scurry to my browser and to my horror and joy simultaneously I discover something that has been missing from my vocabulary and from my perception for a very long time.
Classic characteristics of over-functioning include being overly focused on another person’s problems or life situation, offering frequent advice or help to the other person (usually unsolicited), actually doing things that are part of the other person’s life responsibilities (and believing that “if I don’t do it, then it won’t happen”), feeling anger when help is not “appreciated” or the UF [underfunctioner] doesn’t change (or even want to), the OF believing he/she knows a better way for an UF to be living, and frequently feeling overwhelmed, stressed, and neglecting self-care. Over-functioning can be seen as a type of “enabling”, even though the intent is the opposite.
Holy. Crap. This is me. 110%.
But wait! There’s More!
OFs are usually the people that seek counseling and would love for the UF in their life to do the same. When [families have] these issues, the UF usually complains that the OF is “nagging” and “never satisfied” and the OF just wants the UF to have more motivation.
On the other side of the spectrum, underfunctioners can often self-sabotage, struggle with addiction or mental illness, are often viewed as the “problem person” in the family and can appear unmotivated.
This hit me like a ton of bricks. Let me explain why.
I’m an only child who was raised by two parents who are…eccentric. Wacky. A little much. They divorced when I was 25 and my father had a psychotic break. My mom, unable to do anything for my dad as he grasped for help from her in unhealthy ways (and she’s the first to admit she’s “not good” with mental illness), moved back to Connecticut to be closer to my grandmother.
So there I was, with my dad, who was suicidal, manic and bipolar. What was I to do? I was the only family member for thousands of miles.
So I tried to help. I had to swoop in during moments where his life was actually on the line as he tried to jump off the top of buildings or attempted to overdose in hotel rooms. Sometimes he’d disappear for days on end from group homes and my entire life went on hold as I tried to force him to stay alive, like a puppeteer holding up marionette strings and asking him to “just get help” and “enjoy life.” Although he was always angry when I found him he still clung hard to me. He told me I was his reason for living and that he didn’t deserve a daughter like me and didn’t know why I stuck around. He felt terrible about his behavior. And yet, he’d keep making attempts and I’d keep on chasing him.
After three exhausting years of watching him float in and out of hospitals, he made an attempt to jump off the roof of a building in a city a few hours from me. I was on the phone with police for three hours as negotiators tried to get him down and they refused to let him talk to me because he might try to say goodbye to me and then jump.
Eventually, a friend of his tried to lure my dad back from the edge of the roof with a hot cup a coffee (forever a weakness of my dad’s) and tackled him. He was safe. I, however, was far from okay.
My two closest friends who were immense support for me the entire journey with my dad took me out for dinner, and I decided that night I needed to stop trying to be such a helper. It only seemed to make matters worse. He was also estranged from his two brothers who had also tried to help, and shared with me that he was “always a problem,” and that there wasn’t much I could do.
So, I cut the strings. I wrote my dad a letter, said I needed some space and I let go. He was livid, hurt and felt abandoned. Still, I knew I had to do it.
We didn’t speak for almost 2 years. And in that time he did an immense amount of growing. He started attending group therapy sessions, he was consistent about taking his medication. He was finally discovering who he actually was without my mom and without me.
And today, he’s living on his own in an apartment. He’s in my life in a healthy way. I maintain boundaries, as does he. We have so much more respect for one another now. It’s not perfect, because what is, but it’s a wonderful new relationship for us.
I’ve discovered that my overfunctioning didn’t end there. In fact, it just changed hosts.
As I thumbed back through my journals I discovered my overfunctioning continued to extend over other relationships: friends with addiction problems, friends in toxic relationships, even my own relationships (especially if I was with an underfunctioning person). It could extend to my employees who couldn’t seem to get their life together, or those who simply didn’t want to get their life together.
And, much like my dad, once I tried to help and felt under-appreciated or exhausted they’d end up coming back EXPECTING me to do things and that I should want to help even though they didn’t want it?!
What was I doing wrong here?
These people in my life didn’t want my help because it wasn’t mine to give.
There’s support and then there’s responsibility. I was trying to make myself responsible for fixing people’s problems, when really, the offer of support is enough. And when I don’t try to own someone else’s problem, it’s going to require them to deal with it themselves — the appropriate party, not me. Which, for underfunctioners like my dad was, can feel like abandonment. But in reality it’s a way to stop the vicious cycle and start to build optimal functioning. I’m not trying to save their souls and they’re not expecting me to.
So as this year wraps up I’m checking myself. I’m dropping the reigns from my hands. The only remedy for overfunctioning is to allow yourself to see what’s truly your responsibility and what isn’t. I’m certain I’ll still mess up and that I’m going to overstep my bounds, but with this awareness I have the ability to call myself in.
This has been an awakening for me. And if you find yourself always being the helper to those who don’t want it, I hope this can feel like an invitation to dig in to allow yourself more freedom, less expectation and better health in your own relationships.
