When Receiving is Really Giving

“Interdependence is and ought to be as much the ideal of man as self sufficiency.”

Mahatma Gandhi

I was what people now refer to as a “free range child,” which is a pleasant way of saying that no one had any idea where I was for large portions of the day. I was the opposite of helicoptered. There were no adults circling overhead, monitoring my every move, solving my problems, or rushing in to protect me from disappointment.

My parents divorced when I was eight, and both eventually moved forward with their own lives. My sisters were older and beginning lives of their own, so I was largely left to my own devices. Most of my spare time was spent alone, making up imaginative games and inventing things to do by myself. I created my own entertainment because there was rarely anyone else around to create it for me.

That solitude helped develop my imagination and gave me a rich interior world. I learned how to turn an ordinary afternoon into an adventure, construct entire stories inside my mind, and entertain myself without needing anyone else’s participation. I do not remember thinking of myself as particularly lonely; being alone was simply the landscape of my childhood, so I learned how to make it interesting.

One Christmas, when I was around ten, my father dropped me off at my mother’s house several hours before she returned home. I spent much of that Christmas Evening  by myself. I do not remember creating a scene or demanding that someone recognize how sad that was. I simply accepted it and figured out how to pass the time because, even then, I understood that no rescue party was coming.

Eventually, I grew accustomed to being alone and even began to enjoy it. Solitude became less of a punishment and more of a refuge. I discovered that I liked my own company and did not require constant attention or reassurance. There were tremendous gifts hidden inside those early experiences, as I became capable, imaginative, resourceful, and fiercely independent. I never expected another person to save me, financially, emotionally, or otherwise, and I remain genuinely grateful for that.

There is great freedom in knowing we can take care of ourselves.

However, every strength casts a shadow, and self sufficiency is no exception.

When we learn early that other people may not be available, we stop expecting them to show up. Eventually, we may stop asking altogether. We tell ourselves that it is easier to handle things alone than to risk being disappointed, indebted, misunderstood, or forced to explain what we need. We become so competent at carrying everything that other people may never realize how heavy the load has become.

I have often found it far easier to offer help than to receive it. Giving allows me to remain capable and in control, whereas receiving demands something far more uncomfortable. It requires vulnerability. It asks me to acknowledge that I cannot, or perhaps should not, have to do everything alone.

Apparently, this instinct is so deeply embedded in me that it follows me into my dreams.

During the early morning of the 25th Anniversary of  September 11, I had an apocalyptic dream in which someone was threatening public safety. From a distance, I watched what appeared to be a nuclear bomb explode in the direction of New York City. Before deciding what to do, I immediately began trying to determine exactly what had happened and what danger might follow. I looked for higher ground because I feared the massive destruction could produce tidal waves.

When every engine and motorized form of transportation stopped working, I did not sit down and wait for someone to rescue me. I began searching for another way across a large body of water.

In the dream I had my dogs Becky and Buddy with me. Becky has died, although in the dream she was alive again, and I was so afraid of losing the dogs during the chaos that I placed them in strange holsters and wore them against my body. A small group of people traveled with me in an unusual vessel that could fly above the water, although it repeatedly rose and dropped without warning. We never knew whether it would remain airborne or crash into the water, where strange black sharks circled below us. (I know, fun dream, right?)

Even in the middle of an apocalypse, I was assessing the situation, anticipating the next threat, protecting those who depended upon me, and taking whatever chances were necessary to keep moving. Apparently, the world can end, engines can fail, tidal waves can form, sharks can circle, and I will still appoint myself head of emergency management.

When I awakened, I was struck by how perfectly the dream reflected the person I had learned to become. I did not expect anyone to save me. My instinct was to understand the danger, formulate a plan, protect those I loved, and find a way through.

There is something admirable about that kind of resourcefulness. It has served me throughout my life and allowed me to survive experiences that might have flattened a less independent person. Yet the dream also revealed the burden hidden inside that strength. Even while traveling with a group, I assumed responsibility for protecting what mattered most. I carried the dogs directly on my body, anticipated every possible danger, and trusted myself to find the way across.

Being self sufficient may look like strength, but taken too far, it can become a form of control. It can also become surprisingly selfish.

That may sound contradictory. We usually think of selfishness as taking too much from others, not refusing to take anything at all. Yet when we never allow people to help us, we deny them the opportunity to contribute, care for us, and experience the satisfaction that comes from giving. We decide, without asking them, that they cannot be trusted with our vulnerability or that their assistance is unnecessary. In protecting ourselves from disappointment, we may inadvertently keep others at a distance.

We also create an imbalance in our relationships. If I am always the helper and never the one being helped, I remain in the stronger position. I can feel generous, capable, and needed without exposing the parts of myself that are frightened, uncertain, or overwhelmed. The other person may receive my care, but never experience the intimacy of being allowed to care for me.

That is not true reciprocity, but rather generosity with a locked door.

There is also a quiet arrogance hidden within extreme self sufficiency. We assume that no one else can handle the responsibility as well as we can, that asking for help will only create more work, or that depending upon another person will inevitably lead to disappointment. Sometimes those assumptions are based on experience, but they are still assumptions. When we refuse every offer of support, we make the decision for everyone involved.

Perhaps the people who love us want to feel useful. Perhaps they want the privilege of showing up for us. Perhaps accepting their help is not an admission of weakness, but an act of trust.

Receiving does not erase our independence. It does not make us helpless, needy, or incapable. It simply acknowledges that love is meant to move in both directions. Other people are not always trying to rescue us. Sometimes they are merely asking to stand beside us, carry one small part of the burden, or help us find a safer way across the water.

I will probably always be the person who looks for higher ground, studies the horizon, secures the dogs, and begins constructing an escape vessel while everyone else is still asking what happened. That resourcefulness is part of who I am, and I would never want to lose it.

But perhaps the next stage of my growth is not proving that I can survive every imaginable catastrophe alone. Perhaps it is learning that I do not have to.