You’re Too Much—and Not Enough
The Double-Bind That Shapes So Many Women—and Shatters So Many Relationships
I wanted to follow up my previous post,
with my thoughts on the embedded double-bind that was present in the example I provided in that article, though fairly extreme in nature. This double-bind is something I see frequently in my work with women and couples. My sincere hope is that naming it will help begin the process of dismantling the loop.
The Scene That Pulls Us In
You learned it early—maybe from a mother whose love felt laced with measurement.
Maybe from a father who praised you when you smiled small but punished you when your feelings got too big.
Maybe from the silence that followed your sadness.
Maybe from the praise that came only after performance.
Either way, the message stuck:
“You’re too much. And not enough.”
Too needy.
Too emotional.
Too sensitive.
Too sexual.
Too ambitious.
Too opinionated.
Too angry.
Too alive.
And also…
Not thin enough.
Not easy enough.
Not chill enough.
Not sexy enough.
Not grateful enough.
Not good enough.
A double-bind.
A system error.
A silent war inside your skin.
So you did what so many high-functioning women do:
You made yourself smaller—but better.
You mastered your tears. Perfected your timing. Smiled on cue. Softened your voice. Curated your needs. You became exactly who the room could tolerate—while still silently fearing if anyone could love the rest of you.
The Internal Bind, Externally Replayed
Here’s the part no one tells you:
You didn’t leave the double-bind behind.
You just brought it into your relationships.
That feeling of always being too much and not enough doesn’t disappear when someone chooses you. It intensifies. Because now the stakes are higher.
Now you need to be loved while being strategic.
Now you need to express your anger while sounding “reasonable.”
Now you need to feel seen without being “needy.”
Now you need to bring all of yourself into a system that was never designed to hold it.
And when your partner withdraws, misunderstands, or criticizes you, it confirms what you’ve always feared:
You overwhelm people. And you disappoint them.
So what do you do?
You over-function.
You explain, apologize, contort. You try to get smaller faster. You try to soothe before he leaves. You try to prove you're not too much this time.
Until you snap.
You get loud.
You get sharp.
You go big.
And he looks at you with that face—the one that says, “This is exactly what I was talking about.”
And just like that, you're back in the loop:
Proving you're lovable by erasing your edges.
Exploding when your edges get too hungry to hide.
And then hating yourself for both.
Relational Anatomy: How This Pattern Breaks the System
When one partner holds this bind, the entire relational system starts to orbit it.
Your partner might begin to expect you to be “too much”—so they shut down preemptively.
You sense the shutdown, panic, and turn the volume up.
They call you “reactive.” You call them “disconnected.”
And both of you start playing roles you resent.
Or maybe your partner romanticizes your intensity—until it threatens them.
They want the fire, but not the fight.
The passion, but not the power.
So they reward your softness and punish your boundaries.
And in the end, the system collapses—not because you were too much, or not enough.
But because no one in the relationship knew how to hold both at once.
The Paradigm Shift: You Are Not the Problem—But You Are the Pattern
This is where traditional therapy often fails you.
It teaches you to name the wound, trace it back to childhood, understand it.
But it doesn’t always teach you what happens when you stop playing the part.
Because here’s the truth:
The moment you stop apologizing for your sensitivity… someone may leave.
The moment you stop over-functioning… something may break.
The moment you set a boundary without explanation… someone may punish you for it.
And you need to know that ahead of time.
Not so you go back to performing.
But so you don’t confuse consequences with confirmation.
Read that again.
The Middle Is Where It Gets Messy
This is the part they don’t write Instagram captions about.
Not the awakening.
Not the clean boundary.
The aftermath.
The blank stare when you don’t apologize.
The tension in the room when you don’t explain yourself.
The coldness that follows your clarity.
The subtle—or not so subtle—ways the system starts to push back.
Because your healing doesn’t just liberate you.
It threatens the dynamic that depended on your compliance.
You’re no longer easy.
You’re no longer predictable.
You’re no longer willing to buy love with self-erasure.
And that comes with consequences.
You may be called selfish.
You may be met with withdrawal.
You may even be left.
Not because you’re too much.
But because your fullness reveals their limitations.
This is the in-between.
Where you’re not who you were,
but not yet held as who you are becoming.
It’s tender here.
It’s confusing.
You will be tempted to go back—to shrink, soften, soothe.
Don’t.
Because this isn’t punishment.
It’s proof.
Proof that the old role is dying.
Proof that your power is real.
Proof that the relationship—if it survives—will have to evolve.
This is the price of wholeness.
And the beginning of something true.
This Isn’t About Getting Bigger— It’s About Anchored Selfhood
Let’s be clear: reclaiming your voice doesn’t mean raising it.
You don’t need to dominate to stop disappearing.
You don’t need to harden to be whole.
Aggression is still a reaction.
So is silence.
But assertiveness—true, grounded assertiveness—is something else entirely.
It’s not loud. It’s not performative. It’s not for effect.
It’s the quiet authority of standing in your own sacred ground.
Of knowing what you know.
Of saying what’s true.
Of letting someone misinterpret you—and not chasing after them with explanations.
It’s not about shrinking to stay safe.
It’s not about swelling to be heard.
It’s about standing right-sized—on your own two feet, in your own body, in this moment.
Assertiveness says:
“I’m not here to win. I’m here to be real.”
And that kind of presence doesn’t just change conversations.
It changes systems.
Where We Go From Here: Four Moves That Change the Game
Grieve the Loop Before You Leave It
Don’t skip this. Let yourself feel the cost of contorting, of performing, of proving. The bind worked—until it didn’t. And there’s real grief in that.
Let “Too Much” Be a Compass, Not a Curse
Every time you get called “too much,” ask: For who? And why?
Then get suspicious of the systems that label your bigness as burden.
Stop Translating to Be Understood
You don’t need to speak in lowercase to be heard. You don’t need to sanitize your rage or seduce someone into empathy. If they can’t hold your truth in its natural language—they’re not listening. They’re managing.
Expect Systemic Pushback—and Stay the Course
Your growth will make people uncomfortable. It should.
But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
You’re not betraying the system by changing.
The system betrayed you by needing you to stay small to survive.
Closing Reflection:
You were never too much.
You were just more than they were taught how to love.
And you were never not enough.
You were just born into a system that feared your wholeness.
So this isn’t about becoming more lovable.
It’s about becoming more you.
Loud. Soft. Sharp. Tender. Angry. Devoted. Wild. Whole.
Because the truth is:
You’re not a contradiction.
You’re a complete damn sentence.