I used to think the term “codependency” was helpful, and it’s ok that a part of me still feels that way.
When I first learned about this idea that I was jumping in to do things for others that they could do themselves, that I was making myself responsible for other people’s feelings - something clicked. It gave me language for why I was so exhausted. Why I felt like if I didn’t help, no one would.
It helped me see patterns I needed to see. Especially in relationships where I was being hurt, where caring for someone was actually harming me.
But lately, I’ve been questioning it.
Because here’s what keeps happening: Someone I love is hurting. My stomach cramps. My chest gets hot. Every part of me wants to help. And then a voice in my head says: “That’s codependent. You’re doing it again.”
But… is it?
What If It’s Just Being Human?
What if that impulse - to care, to help, to feel someone else’s pain - isn’t pathology? What if it’s just human?
Think about emergency rooms. Someone comes in with a broken arm. No one stops to ask: “Do they deserve help? Did they cause this themselves? Are they being dramatic?”
They need help, so we help them. The need itself is enough.
Why is emotional pain different?
When someone shows up at my practice because their mom called on their behalf, or their sister pushed them to reach out - we don’t call that codependency. We call that love. We call that someone saw you were drowning and threw you a line.
The Real Problem
The problem isn’t that we care too much. The problem is we’re trying to be entire villages by ourselves.
One person cannot meet all of another person’s needs. We’re not designed that way. Even babies thrive better with multiple caregivers, not one exhausted parent doing everything alone.
We need communities. Networks of people showing up for each other - not isolated pairs where one person becomes solely responsible for another’s survival.
But we don’t have that anymore.
We have people in separate houses, working 40-hour weeks, too tired to connect. We have a cultural story that says if you need help, something’s wrong with you. If you can’t handle it alone, you’re weak.
So when someone we love is struggling, we look around and think: No one else is helping them. I guess it’s all on me.
That’s not codependency. That’s trying to be human in a society that forgot how humans actually work.
The Questions We Ask
Here’s what makes me want to flip a table: We question whether people “really” need help. We interrogate whether they’ve tried hard enough on their own first.
But when my client says no one reached out on the anniversary of their loved one’s death, when they’re too scared to tell their friends they’re struggling because they don’t want to be a burden - that’s not them being dramatic. That’s them correctly reading that we’ve made needing each other shameful.
You know that saying, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink”?
What if the horse was poisoned by water before? What if their nervous system screams danger every time they get close? What if they need help, but not the kind we’re offering?
We wouldn’t just walk away and say, “Well, that’s on them.” We’d try something different. We’d bring in other horses who feel safe. We’d be patient.
Why don’t we do that for humans?
The Survival Strategies We Shame
I think about clients who apologize for crying. For “being too much.” For not having it together yet.
I think about how we’re all carrying survival strategies we developed when we had no choice, and we call them “disorders” and feel shame for having them.
Your people-pleasing might have saved you when criticism felt life-threatening.
Your hypervigilance might have kept you safe when your environment was actually dangerous.
Your desperate need to help the people you love might come from a time when no one helped you.
Those aren’t character flaws. Those are creative solutions to impossible situations.
And yes, we need to help those parts rest eventually. We need new ways of being in relationship. But we can’t do that alone. Not in isolation, trying to fix ourselves so we’re finally worthy of connection.
We heal through safe, consistent connection with people who don’t require perfection first.
Maybe It’s Interdependence
Maybe the goal isn’t independence. Maybe it’s interdependence - where we lean on each other, where needing someone doesn’t make you weak and being needed doesn’t make you a martyr. Where it’s just… mutual. Human.
Maybe what we’re calling “codependency” is just what happens when humans try to human without a village.
And maybe we can start building those villages again.
Not because someone’s profiting. Not through obligation. Just because we actually need each other.
Because that’s what it means to be alive.
That’s why I’m creating spaces where people can actually practice this - where showing up messy is welcome, where you don’t have to earn belonging, where we can learn to be with each other in ways that feel safe.
Because the gap between therapy sessions? That’s where we need each other most. That’s where community matters.
This post is shared for education, validation, and connection - not as a substitute for therapy. If these words resonate, you’re not alone.
If you’re interested in learning more about our community spaces and group offerings, contact us at hello@wholeheartedcounseling.co or follow us on https://www.instagram.com/wholeheartedcounseling/
