The Pull in Two Directions: Enmeshment, Obligation, and the Longing to Be Free

“When the people we love most make it hardest to become ourselves, a quiet but powerful internal war can begin”

Disclaimer: Mia is a fictional composite character created for illustrative purposes and does not reflect any specific client or real individual.

A story

Mia is twenty-four. She has a good job, is renting a small apartment she has decorated nicely, and is engaged in a few communities she enjoys being part of, with some friends she loves spending time with. On paper, she is doing well. But every Friday evening, when she parks outside her parents' house for dinner, something in her chest tightens.

It is not that she does not love them. She does, fiercely. But a conflicting feeling comes up for her whenever she is with family. During the evening, her mother will ask about her week, and Mia will find herself editing the answer in real time, softening anything that might worry, omitting anything that might disappoint. Later, her parents will retell a story from her childhood, warmly and with certainty, and Mia will sit quietly as they describe an experience she remembers entirely differently. Her version lives somewhere in her chest, unspoken. Naming it would mean asking them to hold something she suspects they cannot: that there were moments in her childhood where her experience was simply different from the one they remember, more uncomfortable and imperfect, and that sitting with that discomfort, rather than smoothing it over, was never something the family learned to do. It is not worth the weight of what would follow.

She will drive home two hours later feeling as though she has spent the evening wearing a costume, and playing the role of the dutiful daughter. It is not possible to be her real self while she is with her parents. The discomfort that brings up in them is simply not worth it for her.

She had been looking forward to spending Saturday with friends. But her mother rings that morning to say she is feeling low. So Mia cancels her plans and spends the day there instead, helping with tasks that are not especially important, trying to lift her mother's mood, listening as her mother unpacks feelings about other family members. That last part sits uneasily with her, leaves her feeling like a traitor to the people being spoken about, but she does not say this. She just quietly listens.

When she is with her mother, Mia feels a strong sense of obligation alongside a kind of suffocation, a longing to be somewhere she can be her whole self. She does not want to be her mother's primary confidant. She doesn’t want to always have to pretend her life is perfect and rosy to help her parents feel comfortable. She knows that. But this is the role she has always played, and she fears what might happen if she were to resist it.

The therapist Mia eventually sees asks her a question she has never been asked before: "What would happen if you just said no?" Mia stares at her for a long time. The thought brings up such discomfort that her stomach churns and she feels physically ill.

Disclaimer: Mia is a fictional composite character created for illustrative purposes and does not reflect any specific client or real individual.

What is actually happening here - Understanding Enmeshment

The relational dynamic that Mia is experiencing has been named enmeshment by therapists. The concept was first introduced by Salvador Minuchin, the structural family therapist, in his landmark 1974 work Families and Family Therapy, where he used it to describe families in which the psychological boundaries between family members were diffuse or effectively absent. Murray Bowen and others in the family systems tradition then extended and deepened the theory, placing differentiation of self at the centre of healthy development. Bowen's (1978) concept of differentiation of self, and its opposite, fusion, maps closely onto what Minuchin termed enmeshment, describing the difficulty of maintaining a distinct identity within an emotionally merged family system. Later, Jeffrey Young, identified enmeshment as one of his core early maladaptive schemas, understanding it to form when a child's core emotional need for identity and autonomy is not met in developmentally appropriate ways. The result, Young observed, is a person who has never developed a clear sense of where they end and the significant other begins. They may carry a deep, often unexamined belief that they cannot fully function as a separate self, but alongside that sits something equally powerful: a fear of what their individuation might do to the other person, and to the system as a whole. To become fully themselves risks creating a discomfort in the relationship that feels, to them, too costly to justify.

Defining Enmeshment: Enmeshment refers to a relational dynamic in which the healthy boundaries that help define two separate people have never been clearly established. Each person's emotional state comes to be treated as the other's responsibility, and differentiation, the healthy developmental process of becoming a distinct individual with your own thoughts, needs, and identity, comes at a perceived relational cost.

Enmeshment is not the same as closeness, though it often masquerades as it. In a safe, healthy relationship it is possible to say no to an invitation, to pursue your own interests, to hold a different view, and to share your perspective, even if it is painful for the other person to hold, without the relationship itself feeling threatened. In enmeshed relationships this is far less possible. In enmeshed families, having desires or opinions that differ from the other person's can feel like a form of abandonment or betrayal, of them, or of the system.

In my own work with clients, one of the things I notice most consistently is that enmeshment tends to produce not one psychological response but two. Two distinct parts of self tend to emerge and exist in constant tension with each other. The first is a part that feels a deep sense of obligation toward the family system, a pull to maintain the role that was assigned by the family system, to keep the peace, to remain the “good girl” or “good boy”. The second is a part that feels resistance to, and pulls away and withdraws from the expectations of family members. This part longs to be free from obligation, that can exist without performing, that is known without having to manage how that knowing lands. In some cases, a person gives in to one part at the expense of the other, becoming either the dutiful child who never quite individuates or the one who cuts ties and keeps their distance. But in many cases the two remain in tension, creating a strong push-pull dynamic accompanied by persistent discomfort, anxiety, and uncertainty about who they are and what they actually want. This is consistent with what schema therapy and family systems theory would predict: when a person's need for identity and autonomy has never been safely met, the psyche often does not simply comply or simply resist. Instead it holds both positions at once, one part working to maintain connection and keep the system stable, another quietly (or loudly) insisting on the right to exist as a separate person, and the friction between those two impulses becomes one of the defining features of the person's inner life.

In this article I want to explore these two parts of self, how they develop within enmeshed systems, why they so often end up in internal and external conflict, and what the path toward integration might look like.

The part that stays: obligation, compliance, and the role that was assigned (The Compliant Surrenderer)

The first part of self is the one that learned, usually very early in life, that their role was to stabilise the system through compliance. This part desires to be a good son, daughter, sibling or parent. To keep the peace, this part will absorb the anxiety, manage the disappointment of others, and remain reliably available to the people who need them. This is the part that cancels Saturday plans when a parent rings. The part that edits its answers at the dinner table. The part that sits quietly while its own version of events goes unspoken. It is often a part that does not respond when people say things that are rude, unkind or derogratory, and does not feel comfortable speaking up.

It is important to name this part with compassion rather than judgment. It developed as a genuinely intelligent adaptation to the environment the child was living in. In many enmeshed families, the child who learned to read the room did find that it met real needs: safety, peace, closeness, warmth, a felt sense of belonging. Being compliant placed considerably less stress on the young, developing nervous system, and any attempt to step outside of it was likely met with enough resistance, whether through a parent's distress, disappointment, punishment, or withdrawal, to remind the child that being compliant, being the good girl or good boy, being easy, was much safer. Because the developing child spent so much time operating from this part of self, it became deeply grooved, a well-worn default that persists into adulthood, sometimes long after the original conditions that produced it have changed. And when an adult child is in the presence of an adult parent, this part tends to become particularly activated, often within moments of walking through the door.

In schema therapy this part is referred to as the Compliant Surrenderer mode, the part of self that keeps the peace by setting aside its own needs, feelings, and identity in service of the relationship. But whatever we call it, most people recognise it immediately when it is described to them. It is the part of themselves they have been performing in relationships for as long as they can remember.

It is also worth noting that beneath the compliant part, quietly accumulating over time, there is often a growing sense of resentment. A part that has been setting itself aside for so long that it eventually begins to push back, not always in clean or measured ways. In schema therapy we would recognise this as the Angry Child part, the voice that finally says: what about me? Do I not matter? This part can emerge in ways that feel disproportionate or dysregulated, an outburst that surprises even the person having it, a sudden fury that seems too large for the moment that triggered it. But it makes complete sense. It is the self, having been quiet for a very long time, finally demanding to be heard.

The part that pulls away, and longs to be free from obligation and pressure (The Avoidant Protector)

Running alongside the compliant part, and often in direct conflict with it, is another part of self that often develops in those in enmeshed family systems. This is the part that feels exhausted. The part that fantasises about a weekend with no obligations, no calls to return, no moods to manage. The part that wants to simply be allowed to be itself. Therefore, it desires to pull away, detach and avoid.

This part is another way of surviving a system that never made space for a separate self. Every human being has a fundamental need to develop a distinct identity, to know what they think, what they want, and who they are apart from the systems they were born into. This is a basic human need, and a healthy part of individuation that occurs during development. However, in enmeshed families, attempts to individuate are often met with resistance or punishment. In adulthood, when real autonomy becomes possible, the urge to separate intensifies. If the family system resists this, it tends to surface as withdrawal, detachment, or a desperate urge to escape, and seeks out ways of creating distance. It may show up as a feeling of repulsion or dread at the thought of spending time with family, a strong desire to avoid phone calls, to evade family gatherings, to keep visits short and interactions superficial. Some people describe a physical response, a heaviness, a tightening in the chest, a sudden fatigue that descends the moment they pull into the driveway. These responses can be deeply confusing and shame-inducing, particularly because they exist alongside genuine love (and a sense of obligation). The person does not want to feel this way. But the body and the psyche, having found a route to safety, have learned to create distance, either emotionally or physically, in the only ways that seem available to them.

In schema therapy this part is referred to as the Detached or Avoidant Protector mode, the part of self that withdraws, distances, or numbs in order to create some separation from a relational system that feels overwhelming. Like the compliant part, it is a coping response, and a way of managing in what feels like an impossible situation.

The tension between them, and what it costs

Therefore, what often makes enmeshment so exhausting is not any single feeling but the relentless oscillation between these two parts. The person complies, and although they may feel momentary relief from keeping the system stable, they also often feel a surge of resentment, grief, loneliness, shame, exhaustion, and numbness. But if they assert themselves, perhaps by saying "no, not now", or by expressing their own point of view, they observe the disappointment or distress in others and then feel flooded with guilt. And so they find themselves withdrawing instead, creating distance and avoiding contact, but this too comes with its own considerable guilt. There is rarely a settled equilibrium. The system keeps them moving between these two poles, between compliance and avoidance, and the movement itself is depleting.

It is the direct consequence when a person has never found a workable answer to a particular question: how can I remain in connection with this person and also be my own self? In enmeshed relationships, those two things have come to feel mutually exclusive. Connection requires self-erasure. Pursuing individuation and selfhood risks disrupting the relationship and abandoning the other. Neither option is fully bearable, and so the person moves back and forth between them, belonging completely to neither.

In some cases, a person eventually collapses into one part at the expense of the other. They become the adult child who never quite separates, who organises their life around the family system, or a particular person in it indefinitely. Or they cut contact, physically or emotionally, and carry the guilt of that severance for years, either through full or partial estrangement. But in many cases, the two parts often remain in tension, producing a chronic distress that can present as anxiety or depression, and may result in someone seeking therapy.

The role of the parent of adult children in enmeshment

It is worth holding some compassion for the parent in this dynamic, because enmeshed parents are almost never acting from conscious intent to harm. Most feel a great deal of love for their children, but are driven by their own unresolved needs, their own histories in which love and merger were indistinguishable, their own schemas that were never identified or addressed. Many would be genuinely alarmed or distressed to learn how they are experienced by their child. Others, rather than recognising what is happening, interpret their adult child's attempts to create space as a form of rejection or abandonment, without understanding that the desire to individuate is not a withdrawal of love.

What can happen, then, is that as the adult child begins to differentiate, whether through therapy, a significant relationship, having their own children, or simply the natural pressure of adult development, the parent unconsciously responds by attempting to reinforce the existing dynamic. This is because the thoughts, feelings, and physiological reactions that emerge when an adult child starts to individuate can be deeply confronting for a parent who has come to rely on a certain status quo. Their own unmet needs, their own fears about connection and abandonment, are suddenly exposed. And so, often without any conscious awareness of what they are doing, they escalate. The calls become more frequent, the demands louder, and they may find themselves protesting to others in the family system. As their vulnerability increases, an angry part of themselves can emerge, producing emotional reactions that seem disproportionate to the situation. The emotional climate at family gatherings becomes harder to predict. This escalation may activate both parts of the adult child's experience simultaneously, and this often intensifies one or both of them. They feel the pull of obligation more strongly on one side, but an equally intensified urgency to escape on the other. It is this dynamic that gives the push-pull its almost rhythmic quality, and this escalation can be experienced as very distressing by the adult child, especially when they are developing a growing desire or need to individuate.

It is worth noting that not all parents, even those that struggle with enmeshment, respond in this way. Some, particularly those who have done their own reflective work, are able to tolerate their adult child's growing autonomy with grace, even if it is not without some discomfort. Where this is possible, it makes an enormous difference to the adult child's experience of individuation, and to the long-term health of the relationship.

The Goal: A Healthy, Individuated Self who Relates Compassionately with Others

The goal of therapeutic work with enmeshment is not to guide a person to choose between these two parts of self, to become either more compliant or more avoidant. It is to help them find what might be called a third position. That third position can be described as this:

“I love this person and desire to relate to them as well as I possibly can. I can be present with them, care about their wellbeing, and remain in genuine connection with them. And yet I am also a separate person with my own needs, feelings, perceptions, and identity.Both of these things can be true at the same time, and holding them together, however imperfectly, is what I am working toward. I do not need to erase myself in order to love them well. And I do not need to distance myself in order to be myself. I can be present in this relationship without losing myself in it”.

In practice, working towards this third position requires slowly learning new ways of being and responding. It requires learning to tolerate the friction that comes with differentiation, and the discomfort that is experienced when the other person expresses disappointment or discomfort. For someone whose nervous system learned early that managing others' emotional states was their primary responsibility, allowing the discomfort of disappointing the enmeshed family member to exist without immediately moving to fix it is genuinely new territory, and it is a new feeling for them to get used to. But as a person learns to sit with this discomfort, and they realise that the relationship still remains, and the feelings of distress they feel do pass, a new relational template starts to emerge, along with feelings of relief and empowerment. Simultaneously, the other person also learns that they can also tolerate the discomfort of the other person differentiating. They start to learn that receiving a no to an invitation does not necessicarily equal complete abandonment or neglect.

Healthy individuation also leads, gradually, to the discovery that complete avoidance is not the only alternative to compliance. The person begins to learn that they can express their own views, needs, and experiences within the relationship, and when met with backlash or distress, can respond thoughtfully rather than react automatically. They can hold their ground with care, name the impact that the other person's reaction has on them, and offer that vulnerability not as a concession but as an invitation toward a more honest and mutual way of relating.

This is the difference between healthy boundaries and complete detachment. A healthy boundary might sound like: "We won't be able to stay for the full ten days over Christmas, but we would love to come on Christmas afternoon, say from two until four. We will bring something to share." Complete detachment simply avoids or attends but remains absent in spirit. The boundary, by contrast, allows a person to remain in the relationship. It says: I am still here, and I am being honest with you about what I can offer.

In this way, a new relational template begins to form. The other person is invited to sit with the discomfort of encountering someone with limits, and in doing so, is given the opportunity to grow within the relationship too. This does not always land well, at least not at first. But it is the work of building a relationship that has genuine room in it for two whole people. And how the parent responds over time, whether they can tolerate and eventually respect the adult child's emerging self, will tell that person a great deal about what kind of relationship is ultimately possible between them.

One of the most useful reframes available in schema work is to help the client approach both parts of self with curiosity rather than shame. The compliant part is shaped by loyalty, attunement, and love, expressed in the only way the system made available. The avoidant part is a healthy developmental drive for individuation that was not allowed to safely express itself. As both parts are better understood, something new becomes possible: a way of being in the relationship that neither erases the self nor abandons the other.

In schema therapy, what we are ultimately working toward is the strengthening of what is called the Healthy Adult, the part of self that can observe these patterns with clarity and compassion, make conscious choices about how to respond, and engage with others from a place of genuine groundedness, care and compassion. It is the part that can be present without disappearing, connected without being consumed, and that can relate to even the most complicated family relationships with both honesty and care. This is not a destination that is arrived at cleanly or quickly. But it is, in the experience of many people who have done this work, profoundly worth the journey.

“Learning to be connected without being consumed is not a small thing. For many people it represents a fundamental shift in how they understand themselves, how they relate to others, and what they believe they are permitted to want. For those who have been taught that self-sacrifice is the highest virtue, it can be a particular revelation to discover that a grounded, boundaried self is not a selfish self. It is, in fact, the self that is most capable of loving well”.

A note on time

This work tends to be slow. Patterns that have been laid down over years of childhood do not dissolve after a few good sessions. The compliant part has deep roots. The shame and protective mechanisms that accompany the avoidant part have often been reinforced thousands of times. For this reason, progress looks less like sudden liberation and more like a gradual expansion of what feels possible. It may start with a phone call that ends a little earlier, a small assertion at a family dinner that does not immediately collapse into apology, or a decision not to visit a parent when the only motivation is obligation rather than genuine desire. Or it may look like the opposite: choosing to invite a parent for coffee after a long period of distance, and speaking a little more honestly than feels comfortable, rather than retreating behind the safety of withdrawal. Progress, in this work, can move in either direction, and it is guided by the individual circumstances and relational dynamics. What matters is that the choice is increasingly a conscious one, made from the Healthy Adult rather than from fear

Revisiting Mia’s Story:

Mia eventually got to a place where she could tell her mother she was busy on a Saturday and feel something closer to neutral about it. Not entirely comfortable. But not flooded, either. It took time. It required her to sit with some of her mother's disappointment without immediately moving to fix it. But it happened incrementally, through the patient work of learning that she could love her mother and also be herself.

About Kylie:

Kylie Walls, a registered Psychologist who offers compassionate and professional care for those navigating difficult relationships and seeking to reclaim their autonomy and well-being. With a focus on supporting individuals in overcoming trauma and finding paths toward healing, Kylie provides a safe, non-judgmental space for clients to address these challenges.

Feel free to reach out for guidance and support as you take steps toward a healthier and safer future. You can get in contact here:

You can read more about the enmeshment schema here:

Disclaimer: Any stories or examples provided are an example only and do not describe a specific client, person or event. Some of the information we provide on our website may be information related to health and medical issues, but it's not meant to be health and medical "advice". We provide this information for your general use only. While we try to provide accurate information, it may be historical, incomplete information or based on opinions that aren't widely held. Your personal situation has not been considered when providing the information, so any reliance on this information is at your sole risk. We recommend seeking independent professional advice before relying on the information we provide. Find the full terms of service here: Terms of Service | Kylie Walls Psychology

References:

Bowen, M. (1978). Family therapy in clinical practice. Jason Aronson.

Minuchin, S. (1974). Families and family therapy. Harvard University Press.

Young, J. E., Klosko, J. S., & Weishaar, M. E. (2003). Schema therapy: A practitioner's guide. Guilford Press.