There is a specific kind of child who gets described as "so mature for their age." The one who manages the household logistics, who knows not to bother Mum with that right now, who becomes the person a parent cries to after a hard day. Who mediates, translates, holds things together.

Adults who were that child often carry two things simultaneously: a sense that their childhood was basically fine, and a background hum of exhaustion, difficulty asking for help, and something that feels like resentment toward people who expect too much of them.

They are often confused about why.