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When commitments feel like a threat

One way developmental autonomy abuse may still be affecting you

A Note From Megan | Publication Date: January 5th, 2026

I went down a bit of a rabbit hole towards the end of last week…

I was trying to figure out why I feel so allergic to making commitments, a pattern that has shown up repeatedly in my adult life.

Mostly, this resistance surfaces when the commitment is recurring and involves other people.

For example, I’ve been in my own mental health therapy off and on for a number of years now, and I still chafe at blocking off that hour every Monday afternoon—despite the fact that my therapist is amazing, and the work we do together is incredibly helpful.

Another example is when I offered to provide childcare for my friend, so she and her husband could start having date nights on a regular basis. In my heart of hearts I wanted to do this for her, and I adore her kids, but every time date night rolled around I was like, “ugh, why did I offer to do this?!”

Both of the above are examples of commitments I’ve made that are deeply aligned with my values, and yet, both of these commitments have resulted in nervous system activation that has repeatedly left me feeling mystified and a bit self‑recriminatory.

While I cognitively know certain commitments provide the vehicle for living out my values, actually being committed often feels viscerally constrictive, like I’m being entwined by invisible tentacles, intent on squeezing the life out of me.

Even as I’m typing this out—the actual felt experience that being committed creates in my body—I feel that sense of constriction starting to edge its way in, and I wonder, “where is this coming from?”

And then I remember… My autonomy was completely eradicated during critical developmental years.

I suffered, like so many who were raised in an authoritarian religion, from something I call developmental autonomy abuse.

What is developmental autonomy abuse?

When I talk about developmental autonomy abuse (DA abuse), I’m talking about the systematic erosion of a child’s ability to develop a sense of “I.”

(Disclaimer: I am not aware that developmental autonomy abuse is a clinical term used by other professionals, rather, it’s a term I’ve started using to describe the experience of folks who were raised in authoritarian environments).

In my opinion, DA abuse goes beyond being raised with “strict rules” or “strong values,” and bleeds into territory where adults, institutions, or belief systems persistently:

  • Override a child’s inner “yes” and inner “no”
  • Punish experimentation, doubt, or self‑expression
  • Treat obedience as morality, and compliance as love
  • Collapse “what I want” with “what god / authority wants from me”

In high‑control religion, this often looks like:

  • Being told what to believe, how to feel, how to vote, what to wear, who to date, and what your life is for
  • Having decisions about your body, your time, your relationships, and your future made for you, and framed as “God’s will”
  • Getting praise when you self‑abandon and guilt or shame when you assert yourself

Over time, children raised in these environments lose trust in their own perceptions, becoming increasingly incapable of identifying their needs or learning to set healthy limits.

So when I say my autonomy was “eradicated during critical developmental years,” I mean that the years that were supposed to be about forming a self were instead spent perfecting compliance.

→ That’s developmental autonomy abuse.

So while it’s not a clinical diagnosis, this term does provide language to describe a very real, patterned kind of harm that many of us raised in authoritarian systems will recognize immediately once it’s named.

How DA abuse may show up in day-to-day life

If your upbringing was structured to eradicate your individual autonomy, the experience of DA abuse will probably continue to haunt you in many of the small, mundane moments of your adult life.

Here’s how it may look:

  • Agreeing to a commitment and then feeling anxious, oppressed, or irritable when it’s time to follow through
  • Resenting authority, which may make work situations feel particularly fraught
  • Feeling like you need to “hold your cards close to the chest” lest anyone try to exploit you
  • Experiencing a spike of panic or rage when someone assumes you’re available without asking

On the outside, this can look like being flaky, resistant, or “overly sensitive” to normal requests.

On the inside, it often feels more like: “If I let people in too much, they’ll take more than I can safely give.”

That urge to pull back and tightly control your time, energy, and inner world makes complete sense when you consider how you were raised.

You were conditioned to view availability to the needs and expectations of others as a moral duty.

Which means, your time and labor were framed as things you owe—to god, church, and family— and saying no risked being labeled selfish or rebellious.

So now your nervous system:

  • Scans for signs that someone is violating your boundaries
  • Bristles when authority makes decisions that affect you without your input or explicit consent
  • Spikes when people automatically assume you’re available to them

These reactions are understandable. They’re your nervous system’s way of trying to protect of your newfound autonomy.

Other factors that may contribute

While developmental autonomy abuse is a huge piece of this for many of us, it’s not the only ingredient.

A few other factors can layer on and intensify the experience:

  • Neurodivergence
  • If you’re autistic, ADHD, AuDHD, or otherwise neurodivergent, you may genuinely need more flexibility, transition time, and unstructured space.
  • Fixed recurring commitments can feel like they slice up your executive function, your capacity to mask, or your sensory bandwidth.
  • Chronic illness or disability
  • When your energy or pain levels fluctuate, future commitments can feel risky.
  • You might fear letting people down, being judged, or pushing your body beyond what it can safely handle.
  • Capitalism’s grind culture
  • Many of us left high‑control religion only to find ourselves in workplaces that also demand constant availability, overwork, and “team player” self‑sacrifice.
  • That overlap can reinforce the belief that your time is not truly yours (because let’s be honest… it’s probably not).
  • Gendered socialization
  • If you were socialized as female, you may have been taught that your role is to be accommodating, nurturing, and endlessly available.
  • Additionally, female-coded care work is not only often unpaid, but generally unending, which can create ongoing pressure and the sense of being routinely taken advantage of.

If you recognize yourself in any of the above and you’ve experienced DA abuse, be aware that these intersections will have a compounding effect on your nervous system.

Which means: if commitments feel complicated for you, there are probably multiple reasons, and the multiplicity in and of itself can significantly contribute to your inner turmoil.

Essentially, you are not “too sensitive.”

You’re a person whose nervous system, history, and current reality are all trying to negotiate for a life where your time actually belongs to you.

Creating spaciousness after DA abuse

If you have a history of developmental autonomy abuse, it makes sense that even values‑aligned commitments can activate a sense of threat in your nervous-system.

So instead of trying to bully yourself into “just following through,” here are a few things I have been trying to create more internal and external spaciousness around commitments.

And hopefully overtime, commitments will start to feel safer to make and easier to keep.

1. Name what is happening in real time

When you feel pressure rise up, pause and name it: “A part of me is afraid this commitment will swallow my autonomy” or “My body remembers being volunteered without consent.”

Naming the pattern can loosen its grip.

2. Build consent into your commitments

Make commitments that are explicitly consent‑based and able to be revisited:

  • Start with a time‑limited trial: “Let’s try this for one month and then reassess.”
  • Name your capacity upfront: “I can offer childcare twice a month, not weekly.”
  • Be clear that no is allowed later: “If this stops working for me, I’ll let you know.”

3. Separate past coercion from present choice

Ask yourself: “What makes this commitment mine rather than something I owe?” and “What power do I have to adjust or step back if needed?”

This helps your body register that you are choosing.

4. Create buffers around the commitment

  • Add transition time before and after (especially if you’re neurodivergent or chronically ill).
  • Build in care rituals—a walk, tea, or sensory regulation practice.
  • Protect sacred non‑negotiable time elsewhere in your week.

5. Let some commitments be a “no” for now

Part of rebuilding autonomy is allowing yourself to not commit when something feels like too much, even if it’s “good.”

You are allowed to make room for your healing as a value in itself.

The goal here isn’t to love every commitment or to encourage you to make more commitments.

Instead, the goal is to relate to commitments from a place where your autonomy is honored—by you first—so that when you do say yes, it feels like alignment and not a form of self‑betrayal.

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