Dependence is a Beautiful Thing

 

I’ve pretty much embodied the western vision of the Strong, Independent Woman since I was fresh out the womb. 

I’m not even kidding. 

At four years old, I decided that I was going to be a doctor after my uncle, who was studying to become a naturopath at the time, inspired me. I clung tightly to that vision from four years old to sixteen years old. As the tiniest child, I was already picturing the future where I would simultaneously be the best doctor, the best mother, and the best version of myself for myself and for others. I took that vision seriously... much too seriously for an elementary schooler. Picture Baby Abbey, messy curls, sunscreen skin and all, diligently going over her kindergarten homework to make sure it was perfect. Surely future medical schools would want to know about my weekend journal assignment.

It wasn’t until my sophomore year of high school when a surgery video in health class (that I wasn’t even looking at, I might add) made me go into actual shock that I gave up the dream. 

Turns out I’m much too squeamish for medicine. 

When I was nine years old, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. My parents helped me out with injections, insulin control, and blood sugar management for the first few months before I lovingly rejected their help. A few months later, I became my own doctor (a far cry from my original dream), nurse, nutritionist, and, often, therapist. 

I never looked back.  

In fifth grade, a classmate of mine spread a rumor that he was going to ask me out if another girl he was interested in said no. I was deeply offended not by the rumor itself or because I was the second choice, but rather by the mere thought that this gentleman caller believed that I would be interested in wasting my thriving elementary school years in a relationship with him. As if. So, I told him as much as we stood single file in the hallway. I made my stance expressly clear and then pulled the ol’ “talk to the hand” move when he tried to respond. 

What can I say? I have a dramatic side.

At fourteen years old, I went hard into SIW territory. A friend of mine invited me to join a club at my high school that focused on advancing the status of women and children worldwide. I’m so appreciative of that experience because it opened my eyes to the many local and global injustices against women that I hadn’t known previously. It also challenged me to step outside of my comfort zone and do things that I never thought I could. However, after a few years, my female empowerment pendulum swung a little too far in one direction. Little by little I started to close off and become untrusting, especially with men. I doubled down on my belief that I could be self-sufficient and started heaping the weight of my life and the world on my shoulders alone. 

This has certainly impacted my professional life. Most days, I would rather endlessly google than ask someone for help. More significantly, this way of being has impacted my personal life by inflaming my fear of being vulnerable.

Fairytales have never done me any harm. They’ve brought me joy and hope even when I was well aware of the complexities of real-life relationships. But the vision of the Strong, Independent Woman? Now that’s done some damage. 

I don’t think this issue of independence is exclusive to women, however. Men have been carrying this expectation since pretty much the beginning of time and I hope that we can all agree it’s done them some serious damage too. 

The women and men that I admire most aren’t the Sasha Fierce’s or... whatever the male equivalent is (though they are down to jam out to “Run the World (Girls)” from time to time). They are the ones who feel secure enough in their own skin to need others. They know what they are and aren’t capable of. They demonstrate humility by asking questions without worrying if those questions sound stupid. They admit when they don’t know something. They ask for help. They let people into their heart and mind even if what lives in those places is controversial. They recognize their vulnerabilities when they can and let others lovingly call them out when they can’t. They exist in trusting relationships where they feel safe to submit and to let someone else carry their burdens. They sit with others in their mess as much as they let others sit with them in theirs. They are uninhibited in their joy and honest in their suffering. They don’t have anything to prove. 

I am not this person, but I’ve met these people. I’m friends with these people. And these are the people that I want to be more like.

I want to be clear that healthy dependence doesn’t derive from insecurity or people pleasing or a lack of respect on any side. In fact, healthy dependence, I believe, derives from the opposite – from knowing where your identity lies and through that choosing to trust another person and letting them show up for you. The latter feels much harder to me.

As I was writing the previous paragraphs, I thought back to my experiences with moving. I have always had major issues with people who make assumptions about a woman’s physical strength and their worth by extension. Because of this, I’ve historically felt the need to prove that any physical labor a man can do, I can do too. I moved twice during my junior and senior years of high school and I toiled hard to show the men what I could do during both moves.

I think I was largely successful. 

But here’s the thing: Is it so wrong to acknowledge that most men can lift heavy things a little more easily than I can? That’s not to say I can’t (or won’t) do it but it is to say that there’s freedom in acknowledging the truth and not feeling threatened by it. In a similar vein, is it wrong to acknowledge that most women have higher pain tolerances than men? I don’t think so. Though I’m obviously speaking in generalizations here and recognize that there’s a whole spectrum of truths, my point is that we should all feel valued for the diverse strengths that we bring to the table and be able to recognize that we each contribute something wonderfully different. It’s why we need each other. 

About a month and a half ago, I found a hidden camera in my bedroom closet. The next day, I found out that the person who placed it there was someone close to me. It has been devastating and traumatic. My friend joked with me that my life is becoming a TV show and honestly, I’m inclined to agree. It’s getting a little out of hand at this point.

I’ve been able to conceal my pain during past hardships a lot better than I’ve been able to with this situation. I could figure things out for myself in the past, even when things got hard. I’ve carried the burden. I’ve fixed the problem without relying on others (or at least painted over it enough for it to be workable). I’ve said quick prayers and felt relief and then instantly gone back to playing my own savior. People in my life haven’t had to worry about me because they haven’t known that they had anything to be worried about.

Spoiler alert: This approach doesn’t work. Eventually, it all comes crumbling down.

Enter the rubble I now find myself in. This event in my life has leveled me. I am intimately aware of how much I need Jesus and the friends and family he provides. I know that navigating this on my own would be life-threatening at best, life-ending at worst. I’m grateful that I don’t have to do it alone. 

I can’t see much light in the situation right now, though I believe fully in hope and healing at some point in the future. However, I am grateful that this situation has forced me to depend on others by asking for help and letting people take care of me. 

It feels important for me to share this, because my tendency would ordinarily be to double down and isolate, afraid to let anyone catch a glimpse of my broken heart. 

Never in my life have I craved protection more, emotionally and physically. I’ve leaned into any morsel of safety and comfort hard. It is good to have faith-filled watchdogs on my side and it is so hard when they are not there. 

For example, I’ve been doing a lot of solo travel recently. This past week, I drove to a rural community in Eastern Oregon near the border of Idaho for work. It was a quick trip, but I was dreading being alone. I was afraid and paranoid while I was there, keeping my eyes peeled for cameras or people lingering just a touch too long. The only reason I could show up and get through it was because people were praying. God literally gave me what I needed to put one foot in front of the other. It wasn’t glamorous and, honestly, I was hoping that He would be a little flashier in his displays of protection, but I digress. 

I think I'm done with solo travel for a while though. Next time, I hope God provides a snuggly human with a baseball bat to come with me ;)

Not only have I been forced to ask for help in every aspect of my life recently, but I’ve also been forced to be more honest about how I’m feeling at any given moment. I can’t pretend to be okay because I am so far from it most days. I’m usually a pretty exclamatory texter, but I remember responding to texts a few days after it happened and thinking, “I literally don’t have an exclamation point in my body.” Too bad for my friends because they’re still having to forego my hilarity.

But through this, I’ve started to see the beauty of dependence. It’s actually super cool if you ask me. I find that dependence is perhaps the most beautiful demonstration of God’s love that there is. To depend means to trust which allows you to both give and receive sacrificial, unconditional love. I want to depend more even though it is so hard for me. I’m tired of seeking independence as the ultimate goal. It’s a relief to have an excuse to loosen my grip and let other people take care of me for a little while. And boy do I need them. Seriously, give me a call if you’re ever so inclined to sit with me on my floor as I cry into a cup of tea because those are the vibes right now.

I often think about my future husband and family. I think about them more now than a few years ago because, like, I’m still a spring chicken and all but summer is looming if you catch my drift. I’ve spent a lot of time worrying that I have no skills to be a wife because I’m too independent, too closed off, too uncomfortable with vulnerability, and too skeptical of the love that is given to me. I still struggle with all of those things, but this experience is shifting the tide a bit and teaching me what it looks like to rely on others and find safety with them even, and perhaps especially, when I feel skeptical.

One of my biggest prayers throughout this process is that I would become more trusting, not less. I continue to pray that the Lord would use this to accomplish that purpose because it could so easily go the other way if I let my fears take hold. 

Maybe some of you are already supremely balanced and really good at being competent, capable human beings who also totally know how to lovingly rely on others. If that’s you, amazing. But if you’re reading this and you’re like me where independence becomes a crutch, will you consider what it looks like to depend? Where can you let go of things in your life? Where can you let other people in? Where in your life can you stop worrying about how you come across and start showing up exactly as you are?

I am on this journey with you. As proof, it’s taken me five weeks to write these four pages. The words and ideas have not come easily and I’m sure my perspectives will become more nuanced over time, but I believe there may be something here for us if we want to uncover it together.