I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be independent lately, especially when independence is conflated with values of strength and weakness.
I wear my independence like a badge of honour. I pride myself in being able to lift myself up after a bad fall (both literally and figuratively), and carry on with minimal tears. I pride myself in being able to make difficult decisions, relying only on my own instincts and experiences. I feel, as the word of the day goes, empowered. Yet sometimes, being independent also feels incredibly lonely.
I envy those who are able to expose their vulnerabilities with little hesitation. It seems such a relief to be able to share your fears and frustrations without automatically assuming that the other person is going to bail, or worse, wield these vulnerabilities against you.
Even more so, I worry that once I start vocalising my fears I won’t be able to stop, a verbal diarrhoea of insecurities tumbling out. Will they look at me differently, or think any lesser of me? Will I become reliant on the opioid of validation? How does anyone know the acceptable bounds of sharing anyway?
Humans are inherently social beings. We thrive on interpersonal exchanges and crave intimate relationships. We look to others for comfort and safety, and no doubt there is strength in numbers. But more than any other creature, humans also have the wicked ability to emotionally manipulate and hurt. Where animals can inflict grievous physical harm with their fangs and claws, humans can, on top of bodily abuse, plant doubt and destroy from within. Even when the let-down is unintentional, the volatility of other people means that there really is no one that you can count on except yourself.
So then, is strength when you don’t need to look to others for reassurance and support, or is strength the ability to trust over and over again even though people have proven themselves to be unreliable?
Édouard Boubat, the French photographer said, “You cannot live when you are untouchable. Life is vulnerability.”
On the one hand, I am inclined to believe that the French over-romanticises everything. On the other hand, the act of opening up often invites the other to do the same. The mutual admittance of fallibilities removes any power imbalance, and untethered by doubt, the relationship is able to grow.
I am still prone to backtrack, justify, or laugh it off whenever my fears and frustrations bubble over. Being vulnerable will never come easy to me, and I wonder frequently if my independence is just a paper tiger after all. Nevertheless, I am learning to let the warmth of the people around me soothe my wariness – these same people who though are flawed and unpredictable, often just have hearts full of love and kind- intentions