Interdependence: A New Kind of Freedom
I’ve spent a good part of this lifetime figuring out what’s mine and what belongs to others. I’ve learned (am still learning!) to set boundaries, question the difference between caring and over-caring, and challenge the belief that being kind and good means saying yes or rescuing others.
As an empath, I used to think my helpfulness was all love and generosity. But looking more closely, I see how it was sometimes driven by obligation or fear, even a need to feel useful or in control. Helping would give me a sense of purpose, but also could set up dependency in ways that weren’t healthy, for them or for me.
And then… I became a mom.
Having children was like throwing kerosene on a simmering fire. Suddenly, my need to help, fix, or control wasn’t theoretical; it was daily, visceral, and tied to so much love, as well as a good dose of fear.
When my kids had big emotions or struggled, it would sometimes trigger something in me—my own discomfort, my own unresolved stuff. And in trying to “help” them from this place, I was really only managing my own anxiety instead of meeting their actual needs.
Looking back, I see how those interventions, however well intentioned, undermined their confidence. My kids didn’t need me to protect them from the struggle; they needed me to help them learn that they could handle the struggle.
But to support that, I had to learn to handle me first.
Every person, every child, deserves the space to struggle, to find their own way, to flail and to fail, and ultimately, grow in their capacity to problem solve, be resourceful, and learn to trust themselves.
That’s how confidence is built. That’s how trust is earned, both in the world and within ourselves.
But, ouch… the very thing I most wanted to give my kids —resilience, confidence, self-trust —was being eroded by my unconscious attempts to control their path.
At the same time, I was wearing my fierce independence like a gold star. It made me capable and resourceful, both traits that helped me travel across Southeast Asia for two years with nothing but a journal and a backpack in my 20s. But that same independence also taught me to muscle through hard things… alone. To keep going without asking for help. To feel ashamed of needing support.
This false sense of separation has threatened to keep me small and fearful, and that’s not how I want to live and love.
Earlier this month I read this quote from A Course in Miracles, and it stopped me in my tracks:
“The presence of fear is a sure sign you are trusting in your own strength.”
Wait, what? I thought the whole freakin point was to rely on my inner strength!
But I can also recognize in this quote how my strength was a form of armor that enabled (and even justified) my controlling the sh*t out of things and has at times kept me separate from love and from the guidance that’s always available when I’m not so busy trying to do everything myself.
So now, I’m softening.
Yes, I can do hard things. But I don’t have to do all the hard things alone. I’m exploring what it means to practice healthy interdependence, to trust myself, and then let that grow into trusting others, allowing love in, and knowing that my strength doesn’t come from control, but from connection and inner peace.
While I’ll never abandon my independence, I’ll root it in something deeper, and know I can invite it in when I need it, but not rely on it as armor or a coping strategy.
And really, the best gift I can give my kids is not protecting them from struggle, but taking responsibility for myself and modeling the messy, brave work of being human.
