The Paradox of Growing Up Too Fast: When Childhood Responsibility Creates Adult Fragility (Part 3)

Click here for Part 1

Click here for Part 2

Codependency: The Invisible Trap

Here’s the cruelest part: People are often drawn to relationships that recreate the dynamic we grew up with.

We find partners who need us. Who are struggling, or chaotic, or emotionally unavailable. We become the caregiver again. The fixer. The one who holds everything together.

Because that’s the only role that feels safe. That’s the only way we know how to be loved—by being useful.

But we sometimes resent it. Because a part of us is still that kid, waiting for someone to take care of us. Waiting for someone to notice that we’re struggling. Waiting for someone to make space for us or give us permission to have needs.

And when our partner/s do try to care for us? We don’t trust it. We push it away. We minimize our needs. We say “I’m fine” when we’re falling apart.

Because we learned, a long time ago, that having needs makes us a burden. That being “too much” means being abandoned.

So we stay small. We stay useful. We stay exhausted.

And we wonder why we feel so alone in relationships, even when we’re not alone.

When Substances Become the Only Safe Support

And sometimes, when the pain gets too overwhelming, when relationships feel too unsafe, when our own emotions feel too untrustworthy—we find something that does feel reliable: substances. Or habits like scrolling social media or shopping or playing video games. 

Alcohol. Cannabis. Stimulants. Benzodiazepines. Sleep meds. Minecraft. Finding the next new thing to learn or read. Whatever quiets the noise, numbs the pain, or helps us finally feel something other than exhausted or on edge.

Here’s what makes this particularly complicated for neurodivergent adults with childhood trauma:

You’re managing multiple layers at once:

• The trauma (hypervigilance, emotional dysregulation, relationship patterns)
• The mood and emotion-based disorders that developed from the trauma (depression, anxiety, anger)
• The neurodivergence (ADHD executive dysfunction, autistic sensory overwhelm, emotional intensity, dopamine chasing)

And substances? They seem to help with all of it. 

At least at first.

Alcohol quiets the anxiety, softens edge, makes social situations feel less overwhelming. It’s the only time you can relax, the only time your nervous system isn’t screaming danger or discomfort or overanalyzing.

Cannabis takes the edge off the sensory overwhelm, slows down the racing thoughts, makes it possible to exist in your body without feeling like you’re crawling out of your skin.

Stimulants (prescribed or not) help you focus, get things done, feel capable again—like the competent person everyone thinks you are. They help you be consistent in executing and being the way you are on your best days. They calm the mental noise, the distraction, the inconsistencies. 

Benzodiazepines, other sedatives or sleep medication finally, finally let you rest. Let you stop monitoring. Let you feel safe enough to sleep.

One client described it this way: “I grew up watching my dad drink to manage his feelings. I swore I’d never do that. But then I realized—I don’t trust therapy and group therapy requires too much vulnerability. I don’t trust relationships. I don’t even trust my own emotions. A drink is the only thing that’s ever actually made me feel better. It’s the only support system that doesn’t ask anything of me, doesn’t judge me, is under my control.”

The painful irony: Many people with this pattern grew up in homes with parental substance use. They watched substances destroy their family. They became hyper watchful, hyper responsible, the one who saw patterns and stayed in control.

And now, as adults, they find themselves reaching for the same coping mechanism they once feared. Not because they’re weak or broken, but because:

• They don’t trust relationships to be safe or supportive. Every relationship has felt conditional, transactional, or dangerous. Substances don’t reject you. They don’t criticize you. They don’t leave. 
• They don’t trust their own emotions. Their feelings were ignored, minimized, or punished as children. Now their emotions feel overwhelming, untrustworthy, dangerous, unpredictable. Substances make emotions manageable—or make them disappear entirely. 
• Substances help them maintain the image of competence. They can keep performing, keep showing up, keep being the responsible one everyone relies on – without anyone knowing they’re barely holding it together. Substances become the hidden support system that allows them to keep up the mask of “having it all together” when everything inside is falling apart. 
• They’re overwhelmed by the cumulative weight. Invisible Weight. Unrecognized Trauma + mood disorders + neurodivergence + masking + hyper responsibility = exhaustion. Substances offer relief when nothing else does.
• They’re self-medicating undiagnosed or under-treated conditions. Many neurodivergent adults don’t get diagnosed until their 30s or 40s or later. They’ve been struggling their whole lives without understanding why. Substances become the only thing that helps them function. Until they end up in treatment for anxiety, depression, bipolar disorder or substance abuse.

The research backs this up: Neurodivergent individuals, particularly those with ADHD and autism, have significantly higher rates of substance use disorders (Sizoo et al., 2010; Kaye et al., 2019). Childhood trauma further increases this risk (Evren et al., 2020). The combination of neurodivergence, developmental trauma, and mood disorders creates a perfect storm of vulnerability.

And here’s what makes it even harder: The shame. The guilt. The self-hatred.

“I became what I feared most. I’m just like my parent. I should be stronger than this. I’m the responsible one. I don’t get to fall apart.”

But using substances to manage overwhelming pain isn’t a moral failing. It’s a survival strategy. It’s what happens when you’re carrying too much, for too long, without adequate support.

The problem isn’t that you’re weak. The problem is that you were never given the tools, support, or safety. So you found the tools that were available.

Managing substances and behaviors in this context isn’t just about “getting sober” or “not drinking.” It’s about:

• Building relationships that feel safe enough to trust
• Learning how to be in a group as a peer, without having to come across as the leader or a role
• Learning to trust your own emotions (and that they won’t destroy you)
• Addressing the underlying trauma, not just the symptoms
• Getting proper support for neurodivergence; including informal accommodations in your life and work
• Challenging the belief that you have to manage everything alone
• Finding nervous system regulation strategies that actually work for your brain
• Grieving what you didn’t get, and learning to receive care now

Why Neurodivergence-Aware Therapy Matters

Here’s what often happens when neurodivergent trauma survivors (especially survivors of parentification) with this pattern seek help:

They go to a therapist or doctor who doesn’t understand neurodivergence. The provider sees the depression, the anxiety, the “overreactions” to criticism. They diagnose generalized anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder/depression (sometimes bipolar disorder), maybe borderline personality disorder. Maybe they even see the substance use problems. They suggest CBT, mindfulness, abstinence from substances, “challenging your thoughts.”

But it doesn’t work. Or it works a little, but something’s still missing. Decades pass, numerous therapists, medications and treatments are tried. The individual begins to internalize that the problem must really be them.

But traditional mental health treatment often fails neurodivergent trauma survivors (especially survivors of parentification) because it assumes neurotypical emotional processing, pathologizes neurodivergent traits, and misses the underlying trauma.

Because the treatment is treating the symptoms without understanding the foundation: relationship trauma and neurodivergence. Your brain processes emotions, sensory input, and social cues differently. And you experienced developmental trauma that taught your already-sensitive nervous system that the world is dangerous and your feelings don’t matter.

Traditional therapy:

1. It assumes neurotypical emotional processing. “Just challenge the thought” doesn’t work when your brain processes emotions more intensely and for longer periods (Conner et al., 2020).
2. It pathologizes neurodivergent traits. Your need for explicit communication isn’t necessarily “rigid thinking.” Your sensitivity to tone isn’t “overreacting” (even if your response is problematic). Your struggle with emotional regulation isn’t a character flaw.
3. It misses the trauma and/or neurodivergence. When therapists see “emotional dysregulation” in a neurodivergent person, they often attribute it to mood disorder or personality disorder or developmental trauma or neurodivergence, without considering which is underlying which and whether all or none are present. 
4. It doesn’t account for masking. Many neurodivergent people have spent their whole lives masking—hiding their true selves to appear “normal.” Traditional therapy can inadvertently reinforce this masking by suggesting you “manage” or “control” your responses rather than healing the underlying wounds.

Neurodivergence-aware therapy or coaching looks different:

• It validates your experience. Your sensitivity is real. Your struggles are valid. You’re not broken or defective.
• It’s explicit and structured. Instead of expecting you to intuit the therapeutic process, it makes everything clear: “Here’s what we’re doing today. Here’s why. Here’s what to expect.”
• It addresses both the neurodivergence and the trauma. It doesn’t treat them as separate issues but as interconnected parts of your experience.
• It works with your nervous system, not against it. It uses somatic approaches, polyvagal theory, and trauma-informed techniques that respect how your brain and body actually work.
• It challenges internalized ableism. It helps you recognize when you’re judging yourself by neurotypical standards and offers permission to need what you need.
• It recognizes masking as a trauma response. And it helps you slowly, safely, learn to unmask—to be yourself without the constant performance of “normalcy.”

Recent research emphasizes the importance of adapting therapeutic approaches for neurodivergent clients, particularly those with trauma histories (Kinnaird et al., 2019; Rumball et al., 2021). Standard protocols often need modification to account for differences in sensory processing, communication styles, and emotional regulation.

If you’re looking for support, look for therapists or coaches who:

• Explicitly state they work with neurodivergent adults
• Understand the intersection of neurodivergence and trauma
• Use approaches like EMDR, somatic therapy, IFS (Internal Family Systems), or polyvagal-informed therapy
• Are willing to be explicit, direct, and collaborative in their approach
• Ideally, are neurodivergent themselves (lived experience matters)

Is This Even Real? (A Critical Look)

Let me be clear: 

This post/essay is drawn from my personal and professional experiences as a clinical mental health and substance abuse counselor and informed by research. 

But the combined information is my working theory. My way of sorting and understanding what I see and live for the past 10-30 years. Not a way to diagnose yourself. Not a universal truth. Not medical advice. Research has not caught up to the messy reality of lived experience yet. So take this writing with a grain of salt and start building a team of professionals around you to help assess and apply what is known to your personal situation. 

Here’s what we know for sure:

• Parentification is real and well-researched. Kids who are forced to take on adult responsibilities struggle with relationships, boundaries, and emotional intimacy as adults (Hooper et al., 2011).
• Growing up with parental addiction creates specific patterns of hypervigilance, anxiety, and codependency (Kelley et al., 2019).
• Emotional neglect is real. Kids who grow up without emotional validation struggle to identify, trust, and express their emotions (Webb, 2012).
• Neurodivergent people experience emotional dysregulation more frequently (Conner et al., 2020; Mazefsky et al., 2013).
• Childhood trauma affects neurodivergent people differently and may increase vulnerability to PTSD and complex trauma (Haruvi-Lamdan et al., 2020; Rumball et al., 2021).
• ADHD symptoms and emotional dysregulation can be worsened by childhood trauma (Biederman et al., 2021; Hirsch et al., 2023).
• Neurodivergent individuals have higher rates of substance use disorders, especially when trauma is present (Sizoo et al., 2010; Kaye et al., 2019; Evren et al., 2020).

Here’s what we don’t know:

• We don’t have specific research on the intersection of parentification, emotional neglect, and neurodivergence.
• We don’t have data on how common this pattern is.
• We don’t have controlled studies comparing neurodivergent and neurotypical responses to parentification.
• We need more research on how RSD and trauma sensitivity interact and compound each other.

The verdict:

My theory is clinically useful; it resonates with lived experience and clients tell me it helps them make sense of their struggles and move forward. I adapt it as clients give me feedback and as I learn more.

But it’s not yet proven by research.

I’m not claiming this is scientific fact. I’m saying: the information in this three part series is a pattern I see repeatedly in my practice. It is refined daily in conversations and therapy. And for the people who live it, having a framework to understand can be life-changing.

Why You’re Not Broken

If you recognize yourself in this, here’s what I want you to know:

You’re not too sensitive. You’re likely responding to developmental trauma in a nervous system that was already more sensitive to emotional input.

You’re not emotionally immature. You’re likely carrying unhealed wounds from a childhood where your emotions didn’t matter.

You’re not overreacting. Your nervous system is likely doing exactly what it was trained to do: scan for danger, brace for abandonment, try to fix everything before it falls apart.

You’re not broken. You’re probably exhausted. There’s a difference.

What Healing Can Look Like

Healing isn’t about “getting over it” or “being less sensitive.” It’s about slowly, carefully, teaching your nervous system that it’s safe to feel things. That you’re allowed to have needs. That you won’t be abandoned for being “too much.” And don’t forget: Talk to a professional! No blog post, book or social media post is personalized medical advise. 

Here are some ideas of what might help:

• Neurodivergence-aware trauma therapy. Working with someone who understands both neurodivergence and developmental trauma. Who gets that your brain works differently and that’s not a flaw.
• Nervous system work. Somatic therapy, polyvagal-informed approaches, massage, anything that helps your body regulate a sense of danger.
• Reparenting yourself. Learning to validate your own emotions. To meet your own needs. This isn’t self-indulgent—it’s survival.
• Grieving. Acknowledging what you didn’t get. The space to be a child. The permission to have feelings. The care you deserved. You can’t heal what you don’t mourn.
• Boundary work. Learning that you can say no, have needs, take up space, and still be loved. This one’s hard. It takes practice.
• Unmasking work. Slowly, safely learning to be yourself without the constant performance of “normalcy.” This is terrifying and liberating in equal measure.
• Explicit communication. Asking people to be explicit about their emotional state and intentions. “I’m not mad at you, I’m just tired” can prevent hours of spiraling.
• Challenging codependency. Recognizing that your value doesn’t come from what you do for others. That you’re allowed to receive care, not just give it.
• For those from homes with addiction: Consider support groups like Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACA) or Al-Anon, where the specific patterns of growing up with addiction are understood and validated.
• Understanding the difference between RSD and trauma. Learning to recognize when you’re experiencing neurological sensitivity versus trauma response—and addressing each appropriately.
• Addressing substance use with compassion. If substances have become part of your coping, working with providers who understand neurodivergence, trauma, and the reasons you needed that support in the first place.

The Bottom Line

Here’s my theory: 

When a neurodivergent child is forced to parent their parents and manage everyone’s emotions while their own emotions/needs are ignored, they grow up to be competent, responsible-looking adults who struggle with depression, anxiety, anger, and extreme sensitivity to criticism. They develop behaviors like distraction or substance use to manage because they were never taught differently.

They look inconsistent, unpredictable or emotionally immature at home or to those close to them, but they’re actually carrying unhealed developmental trauma in a highly sensitive nervous system, without the information, tools or compassion to understand or communicate what is happening. It often leads to an adult who looks highly competent and responsible in some areas and emotionally immature, dramatic, irresponsible in others. Especially when emotional or when they deplete their executive functioning resources (like arriving home after a long day at work).

Is it proven? No.

Is it clinically useful? Yes.

Does it need more research? Absolutely.

But for the people who’ve lived it, this theory offers something invaluable: a way to understand why they can manage a crisis at work but fall apart when their partner uses the wrong tone. Why they’re so competent and so fragile at the same time. Why they feel so much and so little, often at the same time.

I wrote this for you. After sitting with the pain and confusion of countless numbers of you who feel lost and abandoned in your search to understand and find relief and healing.

You’re not broken. You’re not too sensitive. You’re not emotionally immature.

But you do need help. And there are real problems. 

You grew up too fast in a nervous system that was already working overtime. You learned to manage everyone else’s emotions before you learned you were allowed to have your own. All while juggling life. 

And now you’re learning, slowly, to give yourself what you didn’t get then: permission to feel things. To need things. To be cared for.

That’s not immaturity. That’s courage.

That’s healing. 

References:

Biederman, J., Petty, C. R., Spencer, T. J., Woodworth, K. Y., Bhide, P., Zhu, J., & Faraone, S. V. (2021). Examining the nature of the comorbidity between pediatric attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica, 143(4), 310-320.

Conner, C. M., Golt, J., Righi, G., Shaffer, R., Siegel, M., & Mazefsky, C. A. (2020). A comparative study of suicidality and its association with emotion regulation impairment in large ASD and US census-matched samples. Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, 50(10), 3545-3560.

Dodson, W. (2022). Emotional regulation and rejection sensitivity. ADHD Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorders, 14(1), 1-5.

Evren, C., Evren, B., Dalbudak, E., Topcu, M., & Kutlu, N. (2020). Relationships of attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder symptom severity with severity of alcohol-related problems in a clinical sample of men with alcohol use disorder. Psychiatry Research, 286, 112848.

Haruvi-Lamdan, N., Horesh, D., & Golan, O. (2020). PTSD and autism spectrum disorder: Co-morbidity, gaps in research, and potential shared mechanisms. Psychological Trauma: Theory, Research, Practice, and Policy, 12(3), 247-255.

Hirsch, O., Chavanon, M. L., & Christiansen, H. (2023). Emotional dysregulation subgroups in patients with adult attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD): A cluster analytic approach. Scientific Reports, 13(1), 4166.

Hooper, L. M., Tomek, S., & Newman, C. R. (2011). Childhood parentification, attachment, and adult romantic relationships. Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment & Trauma, 20(7), 711-730.

Kaye, S., Gilsenan, J., Young, J. T., Carruthers, S., Allsop, S., Degenhardt, L., van de Glind, G., & van den Brink, W. (2019). Risk behaviours among substance use disorder treatment seekers with and without adult ADHD symptoms. Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 205, 107407.

Kelley, M. L., Braitman, A., Henson, J. M., Schroeder, V., Ladage, J., & Gumienny, L. (2019). Relationships among depressive mood symptoms and parent and peer relations in collegiate children of alcoholics. American Journal of Orthopsychiatry, 89(2), 125-133.

Kinnaird, E., Stewart, C., & Tchanturia, K. (2019). Investigating alexithymia in autism: A systematic review and meta-analysis. European Psychiatry, 55, 80-89.

Mazefsky, C. A., Herrington, J., Siegel, M., Scarpa, A., Maddox, B. B., Scahill, L., & White, S. W. (2013). The role of emotion regulation in autism spectrum disorder. Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 52(7), 679-688.

Rumball, F., Happé, F., & Grey, N. (2021). Experience of trauma and PTSD symptoms in autistic adults: Risk of PTSD development following DSM-5 and non-DSM-5 traumatic life events. Autism Research, 14(10), 2122-2132.

Sizoo, B., van den Brink, W., Koeter, M., Gorissen van Eenige, M., van Wijngaarden-Cremers, P., & van der Gaag, R. J. (2010). Treatment seeking adults with autism or ADHD and co-morbid substance use disorder: Prevalence, risk factors and functional disability. Drug and Alcohol Dependence, 107(1), 44-50.

Webb, J. (2012). Running on empty: Overcome your childhood emotional neglect. Morgan James Publishing.

Katie Ferrell is an AuDHD Licensed Mental Health Counselor (LMHC) and consultant with NVLD who specializes in neurodivergence, behavioral medicine, and executive functioning in adults. Through Exploring Divergence, she provides neurodivergent-affirming, trauma-informed therapy and consultation in Washington and Vermont. Visit www.exploringdivergence.com.