I was 17 when I called my ex-boyfriend to make peace before we both started at the same college. I was anxious and looking for relief, doing what I’d always done—working through things alone. My parents didn’t have the capacity to help me carry heavy burdens or teach me how to navigate relationships. I was feeling my way around in the dark.

When one of my parents picked up the phone that night, I stepped on a landmine. My mother was in tears. My adopted father took out a pistol and placed it on the coffee table, declaring he’d shoot my ex if he came to our house. I couldn’t believe my simple act had caused so much trouble.

He ranted and screamed while I tried to reason with him. “He’s not coming,” I said over and over. “I was just trying to make peace.” But he wasn’t hearing me. The landmine had tripped and he was exploding on me.

It was more than I could take. I said I wished I was dead and he said he didn’t care. I should have known better. I called my cousin and she came to get me. I still remember screaming with all my might when I finally got out of the house.

Looking back, I realize how difficult it must have been growing up with someone so fragile and on edge. One wrong step and boom. It was so much for a child to carry. I feel tremendous empathy for myself now. But at the time, I felt crushing responsibility for others’ emotions. It wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. But it became a pattern I learned—carrying responsibility for others’ emotions.

It’s a pattern I’m still breaking.

What I Wish I’d Had

This morning I processed some emotions about what others in my life are feeling. Growing up, I wished someone would show up for me in my pain. Help give me direction. Understand. Take some of the weight off. Especially after losing a relationship that felt like the end of everything. But they weren’t there. I still remember the searing pain that caused.

My husband once said we sometimes give others what we need ourselves. I see how true that is in my own life. When my adult children are hurting, I try to give them what I wish I’d received growing up. Do unto others, right? And up to a point, it’s not a bad thing.

The care I didn’t receive is something adults and children alike need. But the carrying of responsibility I sometimes do? That’s not what my adult children need. It’s hard to say, but necessary. Because when I carry versus just caring, it creates more problems.

Children Need Different Things Than Adults

I needed someone to care and help me carry things when I was a child. I needed guidance from a loving parent to show me how to make good choices. That was missing in my life—and sometimes I forget that children and adults need different things.

Children need parents to care AND carry. To be present and guide. To be attuned to their needs. Adults need care and presence too. But what young adults need more than anything is the knowledge that they can carry things on their own.

I struggle with not doing too much because I didn’t do enough sometimes when they were younger—teaching them to carry things on their own. But here’s a hard reality: I can’t go back and change what was. No matter how much I’d like to. I can’t make up for what was lost. Sometimes I catch myself overcompensating because I still feel that all-too-familiar weight of shame.

Now more than ever, it’s important I learn the difference between care and carrying—not only with my family but with everyone in my life.

The Religious Complication

Religion has played a huge role in my confusion about care versus carrying. The verses most of us know: “Bear one another’s burdens” but “each person must carry their own load.” And “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

I’m supposed to help others carry, right? Sacrifice like Jesus? This makes it even harder to understand the difference.

I think many of us are recognizing how religious systems create dependency—a codependent system that keeps us coming back for more guidance about our lives. A system promising that if we do what it says, it will go well with our souls. Sacrifice seems to be the ultimate requirement: money, time, self—all to serve God and the greater good.

After 20 years in a harmful religious system where our family was damaged, I learned that system didn’t serve any of us well.

What These Verses Actually Mean

When I asked AI for help in understanding these verses, here’s the response I got:

“Bear one another’s burdens” + “Each must carry their own load” (Galatians 6:2, 6:5)

These are in the same passage, three verses apart. Paul is making the exact distinction we’re struggling with:

• Burdens (Greek: baros) = overwhelming, crushing weight, temporary crisis. The kind of thing that would break someone alone. Think: grief, trauma, emergency.
• Load (Greek: phortion) = daily pack, normal responsibility, the weight everyone carries as part of being human. Think: their own choices, their own growth, their own pain they won’t address.

You’re supposed to help with burdens. You’re NOT supposed to carry people’s loads.

Others’ ongoing pain? That’s their load. Their fear of change? Their load. Their choice to stay stuck? Their load.

A crisis, a loss, an overwhelming moment? That’s when you step in with a burden. And then you step back.

“No greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13)

This verse has been twisted to mean “sacrifice yourself constantly, drain yourself empty, have no boundaries, give until you break.”

That’s not what it means.

Jesus said this right before he was crucified—a one-time, voluntary, specific act with a clear purpose. He wasn’t talking about slow-motion self-destruction through people-pleasing.

Laying down your life can mean:

• Sacrificing in a crisis (one time, specific, temporary)
• Taking a risk to help someone (bounded, intentional)
• Choosing love when it costs you something (your choice, not their demand)

It does NOT mean:

• Feeling stuck when others are down
• Abandoning your own healing so others can stay comfortable
• Giving up your dreams because others won’t do their work
• Mistaking your exhaustion for love

Here’s what Jesus actually modeled:

• He withdrew regularly to pray alone (boundaries)
• He didn’t heal everyone who wanted healing (discernment)
• He let the rich young ruler walk away sad (couldn’t force change)
• He told people “your faith has healed you” (they had to participate)
• He got angry and flipped tables (emotions aren’t sin)
• He told his disciples he had to leave so they could grow (sometimes leaving IS love)

The question isn’t “Am I being selfish?”

The question is “Am I helping them become self-led, or am I enabling their stuckness?”

When I absorb their misery and try to fix it, I’m actually preventing them from facing their own stuff. I’m the buffer between them and their own growth.

These words hit home and brought relief. That seemed to be exactly what Jesus promised—lifted burdens, not more added.

The Difference Between Care and Carrying

CARING:

• I see your pain
• I’m present with you
• I listen without needing to fix
• I ask what you need
• I offer help IF you’re doing your own work
• I speak to MY experience: “I’m noticing I feel heavy when you’re struggling”
• I can feel compassion AND maintain my boundaries
• Your feelings are yours, mine are mine
• I stay grounded in my own body while being with you
• I let you experience consequences of your choices
• I trust you to handle your own life
• I’m available, not responsible

CARRYING:

• I absorb your pain into my body
• I try to fix/solve/rescue
• I think about solutions for you constantly
• I feel responsible for your emotional state
• I give advice you didn’t ask for
• I speak to YOUR pain: “Don’t be so hard on yourself”
• I lose my boundaries trying to make you feel better
• Your feelings become my emergency
• I leave my body and live in your problems
• I try to shield you from natural consequences
• I don’t trust you to figure it out
• I’m exhausted, resentful, depleted

The test:

• If you feel LIGHTER after the interaction = you cared
• If you feel HEAVIER after the interaction = you carried

The key difference:

• Caring keeps you IN your body
• Carrying pulls you OUT of your body and into theirs

You can care deeply and still let people carry their own loads. That’s actually the most loving thing you can do—it respects their dignity and capacity to handle their own life.

A Daily Practice

If this resonates with you here is a simple practice below. Be patient with yourself like I’m learning to be patient with myself. Patterns don’t change overnight. Awareness is key. One step at a time, creating a new path.

---

The Responsibility Reset

For when you’re feeling responsible for someone else’s pain

The 3-Question Practice

When you notice yourself carrying someone else’s emotional weight, pause and ask:

1. WHOSE is this?

• Place one hand on your chest
• Ask: “Is this MY feeling or THEIRS?”
• Notice what’s actually in YOUR body right now
• Name it: “This heaviness/anxiety/guilt is [mine/theirs/mixed]”

2. CAN I actually fix this?

• Ask honestly: “Do I have the power to solve this for them?”
• The answer is almost always: NO
• Even if you could help, ask: “Will my helping actually help, or just enable?”
• Remind yourself: “They are the only one who can do their work”

3. WHAT’S mine to do right now?

• Ask: “What’s actually MY responsibility here?”
• Usually it’s one of these:
  • Stay present without fixing
  • Speak to MY feelings, not theirs
  • Set a boundary
  • Do nothing and let them have their experience
  • Take care of MY nervous system
• Choose ONE thing. Do that. Stop there.

The Physical Release

After answering the three questions:

1. Open your hands (literally—palms up, arms extended slightly)
2. Say out loud or internally:
   • “This is not mine to carry”
   • OR “I care, but I can’t fix this”
   • OR “Their load, not my burden”
3. Lower your hands slowly as if setting something down
4. Place hands on your thighs or belly—feel YOUR body, YOUR boundary
5. Take three slow breaths—each exhale releases what isn’t yours

Quick Version (30 seconds)

When you don’t have time for the full practice:

1. Hand on chest: “Whose is this?”
2. Open palms: “Can I fix this? No.”
3. Lower hands: “Not mine to carry.”
4. Three breaths: Release

Remember

• Burden = temporary crisis you help with
• Load = their daily responsibility
• Caring ≠ Carrying
• Presence ≠ Fixing
• Boundaries ≠ Abandonment

You’re not your parents. You’re not abandoning anyone. You’re letting them be responsible for themselves while you stay responsible for you.

When to Use This

• Before/after difficult conversations
• When someone shares their pain and you feel the urge to fix
• When you notice tension in your body around someone else’s mood
• After someone rejects your help and you feel guilty
• When you catch yourself problem-solving for others in your head
• Every single day if needed

I’m learning that the heaviest thing I carry isn’t other people’s pain—it’s the belief that I’m supposed to. That if I don’t fix it, I’ve failed. That boundaries mean I don’t care.

But caring without carrying? That’s actually harder. It requires me to trust that others can handle their own lives. It means sitting with the discomfort of watching someone struggle without rushing in to rescue them. It means believing that my presence matters more than my solutions.

I’m not perfect at this. Some days I still absorb everyone’s heaviness and forget where I end and they begin. But now I notice it faster. I have tools. I can reset.

And that’s enough. One step at a time, creating a new path.