I used to think I was better off alone.
From a very young age, I learned not to be a burden. As the eldest daughter in my family, I found myself shouldering a significant share of both my family’s physical and emotional responsibilities. When my parents got divorced, my entire world flipped upside down.
Though it wasn’t a surprise, the one thing I took away was you can’t rely on anyone for anything because no matter what, they’ll always end up disappointing you, the same way my dad ended up disappointing my mom, and the same way he eventually disappointed me.
Because of this, I internalized the belief that self-sufficiency was my safest refuge. I convinced myself that solitude shielded me from the risk of disappointment and spared others the weight of my struggles.
With these problems in my family, there was no need to worry anyone with mine. As I grew older, this became a default mode.
Though I’ve always considered myself self-reliant, I’ve started to question whether I’m too independent. I keep to myself and refuse to rely on anyone because the thought of relying on someone else for love, security, or fulfillment makes my stomach churn.
This manifests in the way I build my own relationships. The maximum number of close friends I have at any given time is three—any more and I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. When you’re as independent as I am, you can always rely on yourself. You’re your own best friend, your own best company. You’re whole, completely, on your own.
When things go wrong—as they inevitably do—the only person I have to blame is myself. If a relationship is no longer serving me or making me happy, that’s okay because I always have a soft cushion to fall back on when things don’t work out.
My introverted, hyper-independent tendencies are only bolstered by the hyper-capitalist motivational videos and Instagram therapy infographics. This content encourages us to “focus on yourself,” to “protect your peace,” and to cut ties with relationships that don’t serve you, redirecting time and energy toward personal development. It seductively whispers “you don’t owe anyone anything,” portraying a solitary life as not only glamorous, but morally commendable.
This narrative only validates the toxic trait of excessive self-isolation and independence. It fosters a belief that prioritizing personal development at the expense of relationships isn’t only acceptable, but admirable. It reinforces the idea that detaching oneself from connections and obligations is a path to success and well being.
When your Instagram is filled with friends posting and reposting these graphics, it becomes hard to resist doing this yourself.
While I may not actively cut off my friends to enhance my own well-being, I still avoid responding to their texts. I’m burdened by a sense of fear I might harm those who have grown to care about me—the same way I care for them. I convince myself I’m doing them a favour by distancing myself until I sort out my own issues. I tell myself they’ll be okay because they have other friends, and I’ll be okay because I’m independent—I have myself and I don’t need anyone else.
This overwhelming fear tempts me to isolate myself in a room where the only thing I interact with is my own reflection, away from the complexities of my relationships.
The worst part of this isn’t being alone though. The worst part is it turns me into a martyr.
Despite this self-loathing, I see myself as a hero sacrificing love and connection to shield my friends from the instability I bring. Alone in my bedroom, I tell myself comforting lies: others can and will survive without me because I’m, say it with me, independent.
This fallacy, hidden by a guise of independence, leads me to ignore my friends’ messages. Years of love, connection, and effort thrown out the window, just like that.
My actions lean toward self-destructive tendencies rather than a calculated pursuit of self-improvement. Yet, I’m starting to realize the distinction between self-destruction and my false sense of independence is blurrier than I thought.
The absence of others means protection from inadvertent harm. There’s no one there to hurt you and, even better, there’s no one there for you to hurt.
But no one is better off alone.
I’ve realized being hyper independent is a form of self-protection for people who are deeply emotional. People think hyper-independence is isolation—which sure it manifests that way—but really, it’s a fear of connection. When someone else enters my life who I want to share my love with, I will do so very deeply and with a very big and whole heart.
It’s not easy to share that love with other people. It takes a lot out of me, and the risk of being heartbroken if they don’t reciprocate—something I’m no stranger to—is paralyzing. By pushing people away, I protect myself from that heartbreak.
But what is life if not caring about other people?
Life is about sharing your love, being heartbroken and learning from it. Learning from every experience, recovering from the heartbreak, and knowing you’re stronger for it.
I used to think the stitches would rip every time I wore my heart on my sleeve. If my heart was broken so many times, I wouldn’t be able to heal from the cuts that would fade into scars. There’s only so many times something can break before the cracks become permanent.
But life amounts to nothing without its scars. Each scar is a story, a piece of your story, a piece of your past, and a piece that makes up your future.
It’s a harsh and dehumanizing tragedy that we’re taught to heal in solitude under the guise of independence.
Looking back, my own journey toward improvement has been shaped by the presence of others, most notably the individuals who I love, care for, or who have simply been there during my messy moments. We’re all the sum of our scars and scars are so beautiful because of the story they tell.
Reflecting on my 17-year-old self, I find it almost miraculous and simultaneously tragic to witness such profound changes. Between who I was then and who I am now lie countless instances of failure, growth, and redemption, each marked by moments of intense vulnerability observed by the very individuals I wish could only see my best self.
While being alone is undeniably challenging, it’s deceptively easy—it demands nothing of us.
Though that fear of connection is not gone, and it’s terrifying to rip yourself open and leave your guts at the mercy of the people you choose to love, it’s better than being alone.
Trust me when I say, I learned it the hard way.
Tags
Growing, Heartbreak, Independence
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