At 63, I’m the youngest of four siblings. Most people imagine the youngest child as the one doted on or spared the family struggles, but that couldn’t be further from my reality.

We were raised in hell—our father was a drinker and a pack rat, and my parents were both emotionally and physically abusive to me and my sister. It shaped each of us as individuals, and we’ve carried that trauma into adulthood.

I have one sister, whom I’ll call June, who had a particularly worst part of her life—she was raped by our brother. Naturally, it changed her life. But it has become increasingly obvious over time that she’s decided not to keep up with things. June is 71 today and hasn’t worked since her 30s.

For decades, she lived on Social Security and an ex-husband’s pension. That pension simply ceased when he passed away, and now she’s looking to my other sister and me to pay her rent because she claims she’s “too old to be working.”

But the twist is this—June is still able to work part-time. She’s physically fit, mentally active, and healthy. But she won’t even consider applying for work, even when I told her that I’d only help pay her rent for another couple of months.

And then there’s Lisa, our other sister, who’s trying to make me feel guilty about offering assistance. Her response? “We don’t want to see her on the street.”

I’ve worked all my adult life—48 years, in fact. I worked double shifts until I was 52. I’m finally within reach of retirement, and I know I can afford to help out June, but the truth is: I don’t want to. It doesn’t feel right. She’s made no effort to help herself, and I’m angry. Not just at her, but at the life-long burden that this family arrangement keeps trapping me in.

To others who are going through something similar: I’m learning that establishing boundaries is not selfish—it’s necessary.

Support needs to have conditions when the recipient is not going to meet you halfway. I’ve decided that if June will work even a few hours a week, and if Lisa will split the cost, I might change my mind. But I am no longer shouldering this alone.

Families are complicated. Recovery is hard. And sometimes, love has to be paired with boundaries.