The invisible labour of being the glue of the family

You know that saying, “Every family has a rock”? Well, in mine, that rock is me — except I’m not sure if I’m granite or an overworked sponge that’s been wrung out one too many times. Being the glue of the family that holds everything together is like having a permanent second job, minus the paycheck. It’s a role that comes with its unique set of challenges and, while for many people it’s a badge of honour, it also leaves its fair share of battle scars.

“You’re the anchor that holds us down,” says my father; “You’re the only one who can get through to Dad,” says my sister; “Your father doesn’t open up to anyone else but you,” says my mother. I’ve heard every version — the ‘balancing force’ of a turbulent collection of personalities, who wouldn’t even be acquaintances had there not been any familial ties.

And it sounds so noble — being the strong, dependable figure. But behind the scenes, it comes with an invisible load of emotional labour that often goes unrecognised. I’m the default problem-solver, the peacemaker, and the keeper of everyone’s medicine schedules.

Just last week, I was dealing with the burst geyser in the morning, reminding my father of his cholesterol meds over lunch, and then, by dinner, I was on the phone convincing my mom’s cousin that no, her latest fight with her sister wasn’t my mom’s fault, and perhaps she should talk to her directly instead of dragging the rest of us into it. All this while preparing my work tasks for the next day.

Emotional labour may be hard to define but many women will relate. Being the go-to person in family matters is a lot of work. And there’s no bonus for it.

It started off innocent enough: a fight between parents in which I, a teenager at that point, played the mediator, trying to untangle crossed wires and have them communicate effectively. In the beginning, you don’t mind, because you feel needed. My parents were arguing about whether to attend a family wedding — Mom was keen, Dad couldn’t be bothered. It escalated into a full-blown debate about priorities, preferential treatment of certain in-laws over others and fights they had some 25 years ago. I found myself playing referee, suggesting they compromise by skipping the sangeet and attending the reception. They eventually agreed, and I felt like I’d just negotiated a major peace treaty.

So, that initial feeling of importance fades, and soon, you feel like a school principal trying to keep everything running smoothly and every kid in line with their fingers out of their noses.

I’ve had my fair share of mini breakdowns with my partner, behind closed doors, of course, because heaven forbid anyone sees the glue starting to crack. I started to resent the role that I had partly been given and partly taken upon myself. During these moments, I’d fantasise about disappearing for a week with no phone, no responsibilities, just me and a stack of novels. But every time, reality would kick in with a new problem.

How can you articulate that playing unofficial (and untrained) couple’s counsellor to your parents is exhausting and frustrating? How do you explain to someone that your brain is a never-ending to-do list that keeps growing?

You start to lose sight of who you are outside the role you play in your family. My identity had become so intertwined with being the dependable one that I forgot what our relationship was outside of these tiresome parts I was playing. I had not only lost them, but in a way, I had lost myself.

There was a point when I thought, “Where do I go from here? Is there a balance to be found in being the family glue without losing yourself?” I had reached a tipping point where my role as the family’s fixer-upper was straining my relationships with my parents and eroding my sense of self. It felt like my entire identity was being swallowed up by this role, and I was losing touch with who I really was.

Realising that my current approach was just not cutting it, I knew I needed a change. Constantly juggling problems and being everyone’s go-to person was not sustainable. It was impacting my mental health and my relationships, making me question if there was a way to be supportive without falling apart myself.

Firstly, it’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to tell your family that you need a break and that you can’t be the only one holding fort. I started to tag-team my parents’ squabbles with my sister, letting her take the lead more often. During one of the disagreements between my parents, my sister and I chose one parent each to call. We brokered peace in a communication style they each would understand. It worked. It was a new tactic I started to deploy more often.

I started doing the things I enjoy again. It sounds simple, but I picked up a book again and have since been devouring them at a speed that is causing tension with my bank account. Call it self-care or returning to a hobby (or picking up a new one).

Most importantly, I’ve let go of the idea that everything must always be fine. I realised in therapy my need to be the family glue came from a place of deep anxiety. Of what? I still don’t know; maybe it’s the lack of control. If you step back, the family may fall apart momentarily, but that’s okay. You are not responsible for other people’s relationships. They’ll figure it out, just like you (and I) did time and again.

Once you start giving to yourself as much as you give to others, you find that help is out there. Or simply that some things cannot be controlled. Sometimes, I still bite off more than I can chew and then choke. Thankfully, I now have people who can perform the Heimlich manoeuvre.