Learning to Lean

For most of my life, strength meant standing alone. I learned early that safety wasn’t guaranteed, and if something needed to get done, I had better figure out how to do it myself. That kind of survival toughness became my second skin. It carried me through challenges, pushed me forward, and kept me alive. In fact, it took me further than I ever expected.

But at the end of the day, I’ve realized I don’t want to go at it alone anymore. It’s hard, and it’s exhausting.

The truth is, I’m only now starting to admit: carrying the weight of life on my own is heavy. I’m proud of my strength through independence, but I don’t want that to be my only story anymore. I want to trust another person so deeply that it feels like trusting myself. Still, there’s a voice inside that warns me: be careful—you’ve been hurt before. And yet, I’m learning that while strength can protect, it can also isolate.

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The Old Story: Independence at All Costs

I used to wear independence like armor. If I had a problem, I solved it. If I had a need, I fullfilled it. If I felt fear, I pushed it down and bit the bullet. People admired my resilience, but underneath, it was a lonely kind of survival.

The cost of self-reliance was subtle but constant:

• Not asking for help, even when I needed it.

• Guarding my heart, even in safe spaces.

• Bracing for rejection, so I never had to face it head-on.

And here’s the part that stings to admit: hyper-vigilance—the constant scanning for disappointment, danger, or betrayal—didn’t just keep me “safe.” It pushed people away. You can’t fully connect with someone if you’re always waiting for them to leave.

Research shows that hyper-vigilance, often rooted in trauma, can create a cycle of self-protection that actually erodes trust and closeness in relationships (van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score, 2014). What once shielded me ended up isolating me even more.

It’s not a bad story—it’s just incomplete.

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Redefining Strength

Strength isn’t only about surviving storms; it’s also about letting others stand beside you in them.

True strength doesn’t shrink when it leans—it expands. It’s not the lone oak bracing against the wind; it’s the forest of trees, standing taller because their roots are tangled together.

I don’t want to be remembered as the one who “made it alone.” I want to be known as the one who trusted, who believed, who leaned without fear.

Brené Brown puts it this way: “We don’t have to do all of it alone. We were never meant to.” Vulnerability—the act of leaning on others—isn’t weakness; it’s courage in motion.

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Practicing Trust

For me, this shift is daily and practical. It looks like:

• Asking for small favors, even when I could manage myself.

• Allowing others to see me tired, not just polished and “fine.”

• Choosing to believe people mean what they say, instead of bracing for disappointment.

These aren’t giant leaps—they’re small risks. And each time I take one, the old story loosens its grip.

The Harvard Study of Adult Development—the longest study on human happiness—found that strong relationships are the single most important predictor of both happiness and long-term health. Trust isn’t just emotional—it’s life-giving.

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The New Story

I’m not interested in telling the story of the girl who had to learn at a young age how to do it all on her own. That story served me once, but it’s too small now—and if I’m honest, I’m tired of it. I’m not ashamed of my experiences; I just know there is so much more to me than what I’ve lived through. Yes, those years influenced me, but they are not the whole of me. They are over now, and I am at peace with what once was.

The new story is bigger. It’s about a woman who has come so far from where she began. It’s about all my experiences combined, shaping a polished version of myself. A wise, resilient, and emotionally stable individual who took from the negative only what could be transformed into growth, and embraced every aspect.

It’s about the woman who trusts, who leans, who has faith in others without a doubt. It’s about living in connection, not isolation. It’s about strength that doesn’t just protect—it invites.

Maya Angelou once said: “I can be changed by what happens to me. But I refuse to be reduced by it.” That’s the heart of my story too.

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What part of your old story are you ready to retire?

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References

• American Psychological Association. (2018). The lifelong effects of early life adversity. Monitor on Psychology, 49(10). Retrieved from https://www.apa.org/monitor/2018/11/cover-adversity

• van der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. New York: Viking.

• Harvard Study of Adult Development. (2023). The good life: Lessons from the world’s longest scientific study of happiness. R. Waldinger & M. Schulz. New York: Simon & Schuster.

• Brown, B. (2012). Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent, and Lead. New York: Gotham Books.

• Angelou, M. (2009). Letter to My Daughter. New York: Random House.