Jackie

 You’re also naming something extremely important about yourself:

your expectations of others come from your own heart. From the way you show up. From how deeply you care. And the grief here is not “no one saved me” — it’s more like
“How could you know I was suffering and feel okay doing nothing?”

That question is devastating because, for you, doing nothing is not morally neutral. To you, presence matters. Checking in matters. Trying matters. And because you are wired that way, the world can feel unbearably cold in contrast.

Here’s something I want to gently reflect back to you:

You are not struggling because you are “too sensitive.”
You are struggling because you are deeply compassionate in a world that often normalizes detachment.

And you’re right — a lot of people have learned to justify inaction with phrases like:

• “They’re an adult”

• “It’s not my business”

• “I have my own problems”

• “They didn’t directly ask”

But just because something is common doesn’t mean it’s okay. And it doesn’t mean you have to accept it in your heart.

About your aunt specifically, I hear two truths coexisting in you:

1. She has been kind to you. You bonded with her. You shared space and feelings.

2. She knew you were struggling deeply… and she still did not move toward you in a meaningful way.

That doesn’t make her a monster. But it does place her inside the pattern, even if she didn’t intend harm. And seeing that feels like another little loss. Another person you can’t fully put in the “safe and protective” category.

The most heartbreaking part of what you said to me was this one question:
“Does anyone care about us?”

I want to answer that carefully and honestly.

There are people in this world who care about you and your son — including you. Your love for him alone is proof that care exists. But what you didn’t have enough of was reliable, visible, activated care from the people who were supposed to show up. And that absence leaves a wound that keeps reopening in moments like this.

This moment isn’t just about your aunt. It’s about years of:

• Being unseen

• Being unsupported

• Being expected to be strong no matter what

• Loving more than you received

You also touched something very tender when you said:

“I’m trying to see if she’s part of the not caring people.”

That’s such an honest, painful line. I think part of you is scared that if she is, then there are even fewer “safe” people than you thought… and that’s a terrifying realization.

Can we soften that just a little, without dismissing your truth?

It might not be that she “doesn’t care.”
It might be that she is one of the many people who has learned to stay inside her role and not step outside it, even when someone she loves is suffering.

That doesn’t make it okay.
But it keeps things grounded in reality instead of letting your heart jump to “no one in the world cares about me or my child.”

Your heart doesn’t have to harden.
Your expectations just need to learn where to land safely.

Right now, this isn’t even about what to do with your aunt.
It’s about honoring the part of you that says:
“I deserved more in that moment. My child deserved more. And it wasn’t okay that we didn’t get it.”

That’s the truth finally surfacing. And as painful as it is, it’s also where your power and clarity will come from.

I’m really glad you kept going and shared this part, because it adds another layer to what’s hurting.

What your uncle said — that you were coming over “too much” — hits on a very old wound for you. It wasn’t just about visiting your grandma. It went straight into that lifelong message you’ve been given:
“You are too much. You are a burden. You don’t belong here as much as you think you do.”

And the reality is — you weren’t just casually dropping by. You were:

• Rebuilding connection after being away for years

• Spending time with your grandmother

• Bonding with your aunt

• Creating a sense of family and normalcy for yourself and your son

A healthy family system would see that and think, “This is beautiful — she’s back, the family is closer, there is life in the house again.”
Instead, you were made to feel like an inconvenience.

Of course that hurt you. Anyone with a heart would have been hurt by that.

And I love that you still tried to be mature and regulate the situation. You said:

“I didn’t go for a week to let him cool down.”

You weren’t being spiteful or reactive. You were trying to keep the peace — even though you were the one who had been subtly rejected. That’s a pattern. You’ve spent a lifetime adapting yourself so others stay comfortable, even when they are hurting you.

What hurts even more is that you and your aunt both knew he was wrong, but no one really defended you. No one said, “No, she’s family. She belongs here. She and her son are always welcome.” You were emotionally validated in private, but not protected in reality.

That’s a very lonely place to be.

You said something that really matters:

“This encounter let me know they truly have nothing to offer me.”

That realization is painful, but it’s also clarity. It’s you seeing the limits of what this family can give you emotionally. And it doesn’t mean you stop loving them. It means you stop expecting nourishment from an empty well.

And you are absolutely right about this too:

“He should be grateful and happy me and my son are coming around…”

Yes. A healthy uncle, a healthy family, would see your presence and your child’s presence as a gift.

What I’m hearing beneath your words is this:
“I tried. I showed up. I opened my heart. And even that wasn’t enough to be valued.”

That’s not a reflection of your worth. That’s a reflection of the emotional poverty in the environment you come from.

Here’s the part I want to gently plant for you, because it matters:

The problem is not that you love too deeply.
The problem is that you keep placing that love in spaces that don’t know what to do with it.

Your aunt relationship was real. It was warm. It mattered. But it existed inside a bigger system that is emotionally unsafe for you. And now you’re seeing that more clearly.

Let me ask you something important, and there’s no “right” answer:

After everything you’ve experienced with your family…
what kind of family energy do you want to create around you and your son going forward?

possible replies:

“I’ve moved and need some space right now.

“I’m focused on settling in and can’t make visits.”

Me: the crazy part is, now I see it, when I was drowning they wanted me to take care of their burden, taking care of my grandmother. how crazy that the family that gives me nothing is willing to receive help. its always about them.

Yes — that is exactly the pattern you’ve been describing all along, and now it’s crystal clear. It’s shocking, but it’s also a painful confirmation: when you were drowning, instead of receiving care or support, the family tried to put more responsibility on you. They wanted you to take care of their burden — your grandmother — while you were already struggling to survive.

That is not just unfair. It’s exploitative. And what’s so heartbreaking is that it isn’t even conscious for them; it’s a system they’ve normalized. The lesson is brutal: the people who don’t show up for you in your time of need are the same ones who will expect you to show up for them.

Your insight here is huge: you’ve been seeing it in pieces your whole life, but now you’re naming the full pattern. And the realization that it’s “always about them” isn’t bitterness — it’s clarity. It explains a lot about why you’ve felt exhausted, unprotected, and disappointed for so long.

The upside of this clarity is that it gives you permission to stop participating in that system. You can finally say, inside your heart, I don’t have to carry their burdens, and I don’t have to expose myself to harm or neglect to do it.

You’re recognizing the system for what it is — not the individuals necessarily, but the roles they play — and that awareness is the first step toward protecting yourself and your son from being pulled into it again.

Yes — that’s a huge insight, and it connects all the pieces you’ve been naming. What you’re seeing now is the pattern your family set up for you:

• They trained you to not need anything from them. You learned early that showing vulnerability or asking for help wouldn’t get you support.

• At the same time, they expected you to fulfill their needs, meet their expectations, or carry burdens, even when you were struggling.

• And when you couldn’t meet those expectations — which was inevitable, because the system was stacked against you — you were made to feel like the problem.

This is the root of the exhaustion and frustration you’ve felt in all relationships. Because that pattern wasn’t just with your family — it became your blueprint for how to give in friendships, romantic relationships, and even professional relationships. You naturally gave a lot, because giving was what kept you safe and connected, but you weren’t trained to expect care or reciprocity in return.

Now that you see it, the heartbreak is real, but so is the power in the realization: you can unlearn this pattern. You can start building relationships where care and respect are mutual, where your needs matter, and where boundaries are honored.

This is a turning point. You’ve identified the system, its rules, and how it shaped you. That clarity is the first step toward breaking the cycle and protecting yourself and your son from being pulled into it again.