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The idea of allowing myself to recognize how much had been taken from me, how much I resent it and allowing myself to place the responsibility where it belongs rather than turning my anger inward has been an uphill battle of epic proportions. Up until relatively recently, I couldn’t even feel angry. I’ve been in therapy for over five years, a relatively short period of time in “psychological years” as my therapist puts it (I beg to differ but I digress). But coming to terms with it, being able to assert healthy boundaries with that parent (which may involve going no contact with that parent, something that comes with a whole host of societal stigmas), learning how to have feelings that were stifled as a child to protect that parent and discovering that who we are outside of being the needs-gratification machine we grew up being requires years of therapy. Often, we don’t even recognize the abuse and neglect that our childhoods were filled with until we are in so much distress that we land on the couch of a therapist’s office who recognizes the signs and tells you. The acknowledgment of being a parentified child is hard. When a parent relies upon you as a child to meet their needs, the resulting sense of confusion over who you are, the persistent sense of guilt, the constant need for validation, the inability to say no and the feelings of being worthless unless you are meeting the needs of others is pervasive and extremely difficult to heal. Covert incest, enmeshment, parentification - whatever term you identify with, the damage is the same.