A recurring theme in my life has been the belief that I only had myself. I didn’t know what it was like to have a rock-solid support system during difficult times, so I learned early on that I would have to figure things out alone. Over time, that belief became less of a coping mechanism and more of an identity. Asking for help felt unnatural. Accepting care felt indulgent. Relying on someone else felt like handing over a weapon I might desperately need later. Somewhere along the way, I equated self-reliance with strength. In this week’s blog, I want to talk about that discomfort many of us feel when someone tries to care for us, and the instinctive “thanks, but I got this” that comes out even when we very much do not got this.
When you grow up around dysfunction, trusting yourself often feels safer than trusting anyone else. I went to the other extreme in a few unhealthy romantic relationships, becoming hyper co-dependent, only to have that reinforce the same false belief: needing people was not attractive. So, I swung back harder into independence.
It felt safer to not need too much, not ask too much, not inconvenience anyone, but that version of strength came at a cost. It made closeness difficult. It made vulnerability feel like poor planning. It made relationships, romantic, familial, even friendships, feel curated instead of deeply lived. I had my own back, which I thought was enough, but it really wasn’t.
It meant isolating myself emotionally. It meant being rigid in how I functioned. It meant that the slightest disruption to my plans made me feel helpless because I had left no room for softness, support, or shared responsibility.
I prided myself on being a giver, an empath, a fixer. Yet beneath that generosity was often resentment, exhaustion, and the quiet martyrdom of “why do I have to do everything?”
Healing eventually forced me to admit something uncomfortable: if I wanted deeper relationships, less emotional fatigue, and a life that felt fuller, I had to learn balance instead of oscillating between unhealthy dependence and this militant independence. I had to believe that people wouldn’t abandon me and find me too sensitive, weak or helpless when I needed care.
I still haven’t mastered that balance, but I’ve gotten closer than I ever was. For years, my meals were solitary. It was usually me, Coco staring at me for scraps, and a BBC crime show in the background. Even lunch was often eaten at my desk while working. I was used to my own company and saw no issue with it. Then I moved to India.
Sharing meals is not optional in Indian homes; it is an expression of togetherness. My in-laws insist on waiting for me so we can eat lunch together. My parents do the same when I visit them. On days when I am delayed, my mother-in-law will drop what she’s doing and sit with me while I eat, chatting away and offering to warm my food. I have told her countless times that I am used to eating alone, but she refuses to accept that as a valid arrangement. I’ve gotten to the point where I no longer push her away when she sits with me, but I still don’t allow her to heat my food. Apparently, there are layers to receiving care.
I used to do the same with my own mother when she visited me in the States. I would insist that she not help with laundry, cleaning, or chores while I worked. My reasoning sounded practical enough: I didn’t want to get used to having support and then miss it when it wasn’t there. In hindsight, I was not protecting my productivity. I was protecting my self-sufficiency, because if I got comfortable being helped, then I would get complacent and needy.
I see it in my marriage, too. I don’t allow my husband to fuss much when I’m sick, but I’ve slowly begun asking him to accompany me when I need to drive into unfamiliar, chaotic parts of the city or when I need help navigating things that still confuse me here.
The biggest shift, however, has been with Coco, my senior dog.
As he ages, his needs are increasing: vet visits, grooming, medication, carrying him when he is tired. For a long time, I thought all of it had to sit squarely on my shoulders. Asking anyone for help felt like failing him; however, as Coco gets older, I am grateful that I don’t have to do it all on my own. If I had to, I would gladly do it, but right now support is available, and I’m willing to accept it with open arms. When needed, I ask family to watch him, walk him, pick him up from the vet, and even help financially with some of his rising healthcare costs. And every time I do, I am reminded that support does not diminish devotion.
Part of my resistance to receiving care has been transactional thinking.
If someone helps me, I owe them.
If I need too much, I become burdensome.
If I cannot return the favor equally, I have somehow failed.
It has taken me a while to understand that healthy relationships are not meticulous ledgers of give and take. They breathe. They stretch. They hold more in one season and less in another. That concept sounds simple on paper and far more confronting in practice.
Even now, while I have become more willing to accept practical care, emotional care still catches me off guard. I can share fears and worries but the joys I keep guarded. My vulnerability often gets dressed up as composure. Even when I open up, a part of me is still trying to appear strong, together, grateful, and unaffected. I still have the need to be useful in conversations where being there for the other person matters more. For now, I am aware of these subtle ways that I shun care, because healing is not always in the obvious breakthroughs. Sometimes it is in these embarrassingly small hesitations that reveal where we still do not believe we are safe enough to be held. And I’m still working through these layers that need peeling.
There are many of us walking around highly capable and deeply unsupported, not because support is absent, but because receiving it feels foreign. We find our worth in giving and providing instead of receiving. We swallow our cries for help and carry on wounded but full of pride. We say, “I’ve got it” when we’ve got nothing. We make receiving care awkward or wonder if there is an ulterior motive for someone to be this kind to us. If that’s you, then what will it take for you to put something down and trust that someone else will pick it up without judging or abandoning you?
This is my small corner where I share what I’m still learning how to hold. Somehow, you might find parts of yourself in it, especially the messy and quiet ones you don’t always show. If you see yourself here, you’re not alone, because we are all working on coming home to ourselves.
My 5-minute guide for when you’re feeling overwhelmed, stuck, or lost. Reset your energy and reconnect with yourself. Bonus audio guide included. Available here: Energy Guide
All the best,
Chaitni