Hyper-Independence
Growing up, I learned that it was impossible to get any type of emotional support from either of my parents. They were not exactly bad parents, especially given that they are from a different generation, and my mother practically grew up on her own without much contact with my maternal grandmother.
Whenever we relocated to a different country, I told my parents how much I missed my old friends and school, and how difficult it was to adjust to a different education system. They were never met with any type of validation. I was just told to be positive and to stop crying over things that were no longer there. Looking back, I think they denied emotional support not necessarily because they didn’t want to provide it, but because they themselves had not received much support when they grew up. You can only give something you have received yourself.
They did give me financial help until I finished college, so it wasn’t like they neglected me. However, it did leave some type of permanent imprint on my personality. I find it extremely difficult to ask for help or support, even when I desperately need it. I thought I was okay being all independent and strong, but as I get older, I realize that hyper-independence is not a virtue but a sign of trauma.
Get all day long’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
When I choose to do things on my own instead of asking for help, it is motivated by a fear I have come to internalize — a fear that I will be rejected or that the person who helps me will try to use it as some kind of leverage later on.
Underneath this tendency lies a deep insecurity: a belief that I am not worthy. I don’t deserve help, support, attention, or a sense of belonging. The pain intensifies when I see other people easily getting help in situations where I felt completely abandoned and neglected.
Yes, I am proud that I did it all on my own. I learned how to do things independently and to take initiative. However, what I have been suppressing for so long is that, in those moments, I felt so lonely and neglected. I felt like no one was there for me, and the people I expected to help me turned their backs on me. I thought I was okay, but I was not. When they did pay attention after too many cries, their intervention was half-hearted, callous, incomplete, forced, and calculated.
I try to overcompensate for this by helping others as much as I can. I try to be a good listener. It is my way of coping with the pain of feeling unheard and neglected. But I also realized this wasn’t working. I try to help others whenever I can, but I am never at ease receiving help myself. I ended up becoming an emotional dumpster, hearing other people’s difficulties and pain, while when I opened up, my feelings were not received with the same emotional support.
Even my counselor seemed to be more busy talking about hefslef and her diagnosis of me rather than listening to me. Perhaps she was trying to build some type of rapport. But I never went back to her session. I thought you always get back what you give, but it turns out that isn’t always the case.
