When the Puzzle Piece Finally Fits: A Story About Healing, Identity, and the Power of Being Seen

I want to tell you about a moment that stopped me in my tracks. You know the kind—the ones that leave you blinking back tears, trying to decide whether to laugh, cry, or sit very, very still so nothing slips away.

I was on a call with my mentor, Star. And yes, let’s start there: I still have a mentor. I still have coaches. Healing doesn’t end just because you’ve become someone other people look to for guidance. In fact, I believe the best guides are the ones who keep showing up for their own growth, even when no one is watching. Especially then.

Anyway, this conversation wasn’t planned to be life-altering. It was just a check-in. A “how are you really?” kind of call. But what unfolded? It was one of those rare, soul-shifting moments that rearranged something inside me. Because Star named something I didn’t even know I was ready to see. She held up a mirror, and in it, I saw a version of myself I had never quite understood. Until now.

The Girl Who Took Care of Everyone

She said:

“Maybe the reason you feel so compelled to help everyone…

To step into other people’s pain like it’s your assignment…

To rescue, to advise, to fix…

Maybe that’s not just compassion.

Maybe it’s what was wired into you when you were 10 years old.”

And in that moment, it hit me.

At 10 years old, my mom left to get treatment. My dad was working full time. And suddenly, without warning, I became the caregiver. The manager. The stand-in mom.

The one who made sure homework got done.

That meals were eaten.

That life kept going even when it shouldn’t have had to rest on my shoulders.

I never stopped being her.

Even as a grown woman, that 10-year-old still shows up.

She’s the one that kicks into gear when someone’s struggling.

She’s the one who can’t relax if someone’s hurting.

She’s the one who believes—deep in her bones—that if someone is in pain, it must be her job to do something about it.

And for years, I called that love. I called it compassion.

I called it being a helper.

And in many ways, it is all of those things.

But what Star helped me see is that it’s also a nervous system response.

It’s also trauma.

It’s a coping mechanism, disguised as a calling.

The Compulsion to Help: Love or Conditioning?

There’s a version of helping that’s healthy. That’s beautiful. That’s born from a wellspring of wholeness. And then there’s the version that’s born from urgency, from fear, from a shaky sense of “if I don’t do this, something will fall apart.” And for much of my life, I’ve been dancing in that second space without even realizing it.

I’ve stepped in before I was asked.

I’ve offered before someone even knew what they needed.

I’ve gotten entangled, enmeshed, and exhausted trying to hold the pieces together for people who never actually gave me that job.

Why? Because that 10-year-old inside me still believes that’s what love looks like.

But the truth is: love doesn’t always fix.

Sometimes, it witnesses.

Sometimes, it waits.

Sometimes, it trusts the other person’s process enough to let them fall and figure it out on their own.

And that’s the hardest lesson I’ve had to learn as someone who prides herself on showing up. Because not showing up in that hyper-responsible, over-functioning way? It feels foreign. It feels almost wrong.

But it’s not. It’s healing.

Codependency in Disguise

Here’s what I’ve come to understand: when you’re praised your whole life for being the strong one, the capable one, the dependable one—it becomes a part of your identity. You’re the one people call when things go wrong. You’re the one who always has the answer. And slowly, without meaning to, you start to believe your value is in your usefulness.

That was me.

Every relationship I had—friendship, romantic, even business—had this thread of “How can I help you? How can I make it better?”

And sure, some of that is beautiful. But some of it was about me needing to feel needed.

Needing to feel essential.

Needing to validate my own intuition by being “right” about someone else’s struggle and offering the solution.

That’s not service. That’s survival.

And until I saw it clearly, I couldn’t change it.

But now I can. Now I am.

The Gift of Being Seen

What’s wild is that it only took one sentence—one reflection—from someone I trust to shake loose something that had been holding me for decades.

That’s the power of mentorship.

That’s the power of coaching.

It’s not about someone giving you all the answers.

It’s about someone asking the right question at the right time.

Or saying the thing you didn’t know you were ready to hear.

In this case, Star gave me a gift I didn’t know I needed:

She saw the origin point of my over-functioning.

She helped me trace it back.

And by doing so, she handed me a kind of permission I had never given myself:

You don’t have to save anyone to still be someone.

Let that sink in.

Making Peace With the Pattern

Now that I’ve seen this pattern, I’m not trying to erase it. I’m trying to integrate it.

I still love that I’m a nurturer. I still love that I care deeply. That I show up. That I lead with my heart.

But I’m learning to do it differently now.

More slowly.

More intentionally.

More in alignment with my own regulation and boundaries.

I’m learning that not every cry for help is my assignment.

That not every broken piece is mine to repair.

That I can be present without being responsible.

And that’s liberation.

From Helping to Holding Space

So what do I do now, when I feel that tug in my chest? When I see someone hurting and that old urge comes rushing in?

I pause.

I breathe.

I ask myself: Am I being asked, or am I assuming?

Is this about them, or is this about me needing to feel helpful?

Can I offer support without taking over?

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Sometimes the answer is no.

And either way, it’s okay.

Because now I know: I’m not that 10-year-old anymore.

I don’t have to live from that place.

The Long Arc of Healing

Here’s the thing about healing—it’s sneaky. It doesn’t always show up where you expect it. Sometimes it’s not in the journal or the therapy session or the retreat. Sometimes it’s in a phone call on a Wednesday afternoon when someone mirrors something so precisely that it unlocks a decade’s worth of confusion.

That’s what this moment was for me.

And what I want to say to you—if you’re on your own healing journey—is this:

You’re allowed to love the parts of yourself that helped you survive, while also releasing the ones that are no longer serving you.

You’re allowed to grieve the girl who thought she had to do it all.

You’re allowed to rest, even if no one else steps in.

You’re allowed to be whole, even if you’re not helping anyone at this moment.

And you’re allowed to receive.

To be seen.

To be supported.

A Full-Circle Moment

You know, I talk a lot about my work as a coach. I love holding space for other people’s breakthroughs. I love helping someone reframe a painful pattern or reclaim a piece of themselves they thought they had lost.

But to be on the receiving end of that? To have someone hold space for me in that way?

It reminded me why I do what I do.

Because healing happens in connection.

In reflection.

In being witnessed.

And today, I’m not writing this from the place of the coach or the expert or the one with the plan.

I’m writing this as the woman who just found another missing piece of her own puzzle.

And for the first time in a long time, the picture is starting to make sense.