I want to be looked after. So why do I keep saying I’m fine?

You've spent the week looking after everyone. You sorted your nan's prescription, took your mum to her hospital appointment and made bone broth when your partner had the flu.

Now it's Saturday and you're the one who's ill. Your head's pounding and your throat is scratchy. Your partner pops their head round the door and asks if you're alright, and before you've even thought about it, you hear yourself say, "Yeah, fine. Just a bit of a cold."

So you make your own Lemsip, curl up on the sofa and spend the afternoon feeling a little bit hurt that nobody's fussing over you. Even though you've essentially just told them they don't need to.

Why nobody looks after you

When you're the capable one, people tend to take you at your word. You're organised and on it, the one everyone else leans on. From the outside, it really does look like you've got everything under control, so when you say you're fine, they probably believe you.

And if someone does offer to help, you might even feel mildly offended. "What do you mean, do I look like I'm struggling?" (in THAT tone). They back off, and they're unlikely to try again any time soon. Little by little, the people who love you learn that you don't need looking after.

Why letting people in feels so risky

Underneath, a part of you would love someone to notice. To bring you a cup of tea without being asked, or just sit with you for a bit. But admitting that can feel blinking uncomfortable.

Letting people see you're struggling can feel like a real risk. What if they think less of you? What if you're too much, or a burden? Many of the women I work with worry that if people saw the messier, more human side of them, they'd be liked a little less.

That fear can come up for all sorts of reasons, but it usually makes sense when we look back. Often nothing dramatic happened. Maybe your childhood looked pretty good from the outside, but there wasn't much room for needing things. So you learnt to sort things out on your own, and you were probably praised for being so grown up. Being capable might have been how you stayed close to people.

When these early experiences shape how safe our nervous system feels in relationships, it's what we call relational trauma. Broadly speaking, it means we're not totally free to be ourselves with the people we love, because it feels too risky. You don't have to call it trauma for it to have shaped you. And this isn't about blaming anyone. Parenting is a hard job, and most parents are doing their best.

What it costs

But keeping our more human side tucked away comes at a cost. It's hard to feel truly close to someone when they only ever see the capable version of you. Closeness needs a bit of vulnerability on both sides. Without it, relationships can start to feel one-sided, and you get fed up with always being the one who sorts everything out.

Meanwhile, the part of you that wants to be looked after doesn't go away. If anything, the longer it goes without care, the more it longs for it.

Sometimes that longing just leaves us feeling a bit sorry for ourselves, curled up on the sofa with a Lemsip we made ourselves.

Over time, it can also build into resentment. Why does nobody look after me the way I look after them? That resentment has to go somewhere. Sometimes it comes out as a snappy comment that feels a bit out of proportion, even to us. Or maybe we're not as helpful the next time they need us.

Letting a little care in

In counselling, we'd get curious about where your independence came from and what it has protected you from. We'd notice what happens inside you when someone offers care, including in our sessions, and practise letting a little more of it in, at a pace that feels safe.

Part of this is getting used to looking after yourself properly, too. Not just the bubble baths, but the less glamorous stuff: pacing yourself rather than saying yes to everything, and eating when you're actually hungry, not when the to-do list allows.

I'm not suggesting you stop being independent; it's probably one of your strengths. But I'd love for you to be able to say, "Actually, I feel rubbish. Could you make me a Lemsip?" And then let them. Maybe they'll even come back from the shop with an Aero mint (large, ahem).

If this sounds familiar, I'd love to hear from you. I'm a BACP Accredited counsellor working with women in Peterborough and online across the UK. You can get in touch here to book an initial call, and we can see whether working together feels right for you.