I Didn’t Know I Was Carrying So Much

Why overfunctioning is so difficult to recognize—and what finally helped me see it.

I used to think I was simply responsible.

Capable.

Dependable.

The one who could hold everything together.

If someone forgot something, I remembered.
If someone struggled, I stepped in.
If something felt emotionally heavy, I carried it.

I didn’t call it overfunctioning.

I called it love.

Not busy.

Not stressed.

Necessary.

You believe:

• “If I don’t do it, it won’t happen.”
• “They need me.”
• “I can handle a little more.”
• 
  “It’s easier if I just do it.”
  

None of those sound unhealthy.

That’s why it’s invisible.

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I thought I was carrying because I loved.

I wanted my family and friends to feel supported. Seen. Safe.

 This was my role, right?

I’m a mother, builder, creator, healer, an endless problem solver, a walking calendar, a reminder, a cook, a driver, a daughter, a sister, a friend..  and the alarm clock that’s always ever ready to sound the alarm before everything else collapses. 

And somewhere, perhaps without realizing it, I had begun believing that if I loved enough…

If I anticipated enough…

If I gave enough…

Someone would eventually notice.

Someone would carry me.

But love isn’t earned through exhaustion, through depletion, through endless giving from an empty cup. 

Eventually the cost came. Not all at once. Not flooding in. But slowly, and very consistently. 

Not just emotionally.

Physically. My body gave me signs, over and over again. Some more obvious than others, but consistently crying for help. Because while I was sitting here and helping everyone else, my body kept screaming, “What about me?”

Hormones out of sync.

Sleep that never truly felt restorative.

Digestion that was either bloated, constipated, or reacting to the smallest indulgence.

Hair collecting in the shower, on the bathroom floor, on my pillow.

Painful, delayed cycles.

A nervous system that never seemed to switch off.

An immune system that struggled to keep up.

Perimenopause arriving on top of everything else.

Not because stress “causes everything.”

Rather:

My body kept adapting to a life where it never truly got to rest.

And perhaps the hardest part wasn’t that I was carrying so much.

It was that I couldn’t recognize it.

How do you notice something you’ve done for years?

How do you question a role that everyone praises you for?

People thanked me for being dependable. 

No one questioned how much I carried. 

Mostly because I carried it well. 

And when you’re good at carrying, people often assume it isn’t heavy. 

They admired how much I could juggle.

They called me strong.

No one asked whether I was tired.

Including me.

Because overfunctioning doesn’t usually feel like self-sacrifice.

It feels like identity.

You don’t think, I’m carrying too much.

You think, This is just who I am.

A mother.

A helper.

A fixer.

The reliable one.

The one who remembers birthdays, books appointments, notices when someone is struggling, anticipates everyone’s needs before they’ve spoken them, and quietly absorbs the emotional weight in the room.

Eventually I realized something uncomfortable.

Love was always there. But somewhere along the way, fear quietly attached itself to it.

Fear that someone would be disappointed.

Fear that something would fall apart.

Fear that if I stopped carrying everything, perhaps I wouldn’t be needed in the same way.

That realization wasn’t about blame.

It was about freedom.

Because love and overfunctioning can look almost identical from the outside.

Both are generous.

Both are caring.

Both give.

But there is one important difference.

Love makes room for rest. 

Overfunctioning quietly tells you to keep going.

That was the turning point for me.

Not because I suddenly became better at saying “no.”

But because I finally started asking a different question.

What is actually mine to carry?  

I began to realize that not everything needed my intervention.

Some things needed my presence.

Some needed another person’s responsibility.

And some simply needed to unfold without me trying to hold them together.

Carrying had become my way of loving.

I had mistaken responsibility for love itself.

But perhaps tending was enough.

Homeopathy didn’t simply help my hormones.

It helped me stop treating my body as something that simply needed to keep up.

It helped me begin listening to the parts of myself I’d learned to ignore.

One of the things I love about homeopathy is that it asks a different question.

Instead of asking,

“What’s wrong with your hormones?”

it asks,

“What has your whole system been carrying?”

It doesn’t just look at hot flashes, painful periods, fatigue, anxiety or insomnia in isolation. It asks how your emotional life, your nervous system, your relationships, your history and your physical symptoms have become intertwined.

Sometimes the healing begins long before the hormones change.

It begins the moment a woman realizes she has permission to stop carrying what was never hers in the first place.

There isn’t a homeopathic remedy for overfunctioning.

Homeopathy doesn’t prescribe labels.

It looks at the unique way each woman has adapted to carrying life’s burdens.

Each of these patterns is unique. None is better or worse than another, and no single remedy fits every woman who overfunctions.

Some women remind me of the Sepia pattern…

The woman who has carried everyone for so long that she feels emotionally flat, detached, exhausted, even guilty for wanting space.

Some women remind me of Pulsatilla…

The woman who gives endlessly through connection, struggles to disappoint others, and quietly hopes someone will notice what she needs without her having to ask.

Others resemble Calcarea carbonica…

The dependable woman who keeps everything running, shoulders responsibility, and pushes through fatigue because stopping feels unsafe.

Some carry quietly like Natrum Muriaticum…

The woman who carries silently.

Strong. Private. Self-sufficient. Grieves alone.

Rarely lets others carry her.

And some reflect qualities we often see in Carcinosin…

Not because every overfunctioning woman needs it—but because it represents a pattern many recognize: early responsibility, people-pleasing, perfectionism, and difficulty knowing where their own needs begin.

These are just a few of the many homeopathic patterns I see in practice.

They’re also patterns I once came to recognize in myself.

Healing wasn’t learning to carry more gracefully.

It was learning what wasn’t mine to carry in the first place.

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• What are you carrying today that no one has actually asked you to carry?

• When was the last time your body whispered “I’m tired” and you answered, “Just a little longer”?

• If you put everything down for one day, what are you afraid would happen?

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Perhaps the goal was never to become someone who carries everything with greater strength.

Perhaps the goal is to remember that healing doesn’t begin when we finally have everything under control.

It begins when we allow ourselves to put something down.

Not because we’ve failed.

But because we were never meant to carry it all alone. 

And perhaps that’s the irony.

The moment we begin putting down what was never ours to carry, we finally have the space to notice the people who were willing to walk beside us all along.

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This article is dedicated to our Wellbee Ambassador, Farhana Johnston, whose work on The Wellness Wound and overfunctioning women inspired these words–—and reminded so many of us that healing begins with recognizing what we’ve been carrying.