I think one of the strangest things about growing up as a girl is how early we start feeling responsible for things that aren’t really ours to fix. Nobody sits us down and tells us to become the emotional support system for everyone around us. It just happens in small ways, almost invisibly, until it becomes second nature.
As kids, we’re taught to be the “understanding one.” To adjust a bit more. To not talk back too much. To apologise first because “you’re the mature one.” And we watch the women around us do the same thing. Mothers who hold families together, sisters who keep peace between everyone, friends who somehow become therapists for the whole group. It doesn’t look dramatic in the moment, but it adds up.
By the time we’re teenagers, we’re already doing emotional labour without even realising it. We’re the ones checking in on people, smoothing out awkward situations, comforting someone who never comforted us back. Even in friendships, girls tend to be the ones who absorb everyone’s feelings. You listen, you soothe, you reassure, you explain. And you tell yourself it’s normal — because it’s what you’ve always done.
Then adulthood quietly makes it heavier. Suddenly, you’re the one understanding why someone is distant. You’re the one giving benefit of the doubt. You’re the one adjusting timelines, dropping your needs, softening your tone. And it’s not because you think you’re a hero. It’s because somewhere inside your head there’s a tiny voice saying, “If you don’t fix this, it’ll fall apart.”
The funny thing is, people think saviour complexes come from ego. It’s the opposite. It comes from fear. Fear of conflict. Fear of disappointing someone. Fear of being the reason something ends badly. Fear of being called dramatic or difficult. So you overcompensate. You make yourself smaller so others feel bigger. You try to carry emotions that were never yours to carry.
And you don’t realise how draining it is until you’re exhausted by your own habit of caring too much. You catch yourself wanting to fix people who aren’t even trying to help themselves. You feel guilty for drawing boundaries, guilty for saying no, guilty for expecting something back. It’s ridiculous when you think about it, but the guilt still shows up before the logic does.
I don’t think women are born with this instinct. I think we grow into it because the world quietly expects it from us. We learn to be the emotional cushion so early that we don’t question it until we’re tired. And when we finally pull back, people are confused. “Why aren’t you as patient as before?” or “You’ve changed.” They notice the absence of the labour, not the cost of it.
But growing up also comes with realising that saving people isn’t your job. Understanding someone doesn’t mean you have to fix them. Caring about someone doesn’t mean you have to carry their entire emotional weight. And helping isn’t the same as healing — especially when you’re the one getting drained.
The saviour complex doesn’t go away overnight. It’s something you slowly unlearn as you realise you’re allowed to rest, allowed to have boundaries, allowed to not be the strongest person in every room. And maybe that’s what this stage of life really is — figuring out which responsibilities are genuinely yours and which ones you picked up before you even knew what the word responsibility meant.
I’m still learning it. Most girls I know are. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe growing up isn’t about becoming colder or harder, but simply becoming kinder to yourself than you used to be.