Don't Need Me To Need You

Dear Aster,

You know how there are certain pieces of advice that are so timeless and sticky, whose precise words burn themselves into our memory and echo throughout the years?

When I was about ten, I had a gymnastics coach, who was like a second mom to me. We were really close, and sometimes she shared certain life wisdoms that were not related to gymnastics. The thing that I will forever remember her saying to me is this: always make sure to have enough of your own money to not have to ask a man to buy you panties. It was such a specific statement, and there was so much raw emotion in her voice when she said it, that I’ve always wondered if it was inspired by some personal struggle she was going through at the time.

I have always valued my independence; it is fitting then, that one of my greatest fears is being dependent on someone or something. Just like your fear sometimes hides behind different masks, my fear of dependency often presents itself as, what I call, the fear of large, moving objects. You know — blue whales, tsunamis, tornadoes, deep dark water, etc. This seems like a fear of not being in control of the situation, but really, it’s the fear of being subject to something bigger than myself. This is a fear of being dependent on that Other. It doesn’t have to be scary or menacing — it just has to be beyond my control and, in some way, possessing the agency that I lack.

The Good, The Bad, and the Unavoidable

I think that my need to be able to accomplish things by and for myself, my need to sustain myself without relying on anyone, has both positive and negative effects on my life. For instance, I can argue that it is due to my fear of dependency that I’ve been gainfully and steadily employed since the age of fifteen. Despite my parents’ eager willingness to support me at all times, I have always tried to take care of as many of my financial needs as I could.

However, like it or not, everyone is dependent on someone or something. There is no escaping it, and thus, there is no escaping the thing that I fear — no matter how much I try to pretend that I can. I rely on people emotionally. On you, on my significant other, on (grrr!) my parents. I hate that I feel dependent on y’all’s love, and yet I love y’all, all at the same time.

Financial dependency is no different, it seems. The past year has definitely brought about a rude awakening, showing me just how dependent I was on my career, and how quickly all shit could hit the fan. We are dependent on the banks we put our money into, and we are dependent on the people that employ us. There is no such thing as true independence, really. So my fear of relying on something other than myself, unfortunately, will never be soothed. However, perhaps I can embrace this fear and work to transfigure it into something more useful for my mental health.

A Hopeful Vision

There is beauty in dependency, I think. And strength. And stability. The moment you feel you can depend on someone or something is a sign that you have found a safe haven. It’s a sign that you feel confident enough in yourself to be vulnerable, even if it is for an indeterminate period of time. Relinquishing the fear of dependency would mean that you do not feel the need to prove to yourself and the world that you can do all the things on your own. It also means that you are willing to accept help, to collaborate, and to be loved. I want that. I am on my way, but there is still a long way to go.

I’ll leave you with an image. I have a recurring dream that is a perfect visual for my biggest fear: I swim through dark ocean waters, deep down, with sunlight barely visible far above me. And there are all sorts of sea creatures all around me — none that I can recognize or name, but all are huge, huge, huge — enough to swallow me whole. I am panicking and helpless, being jostled by strong currents, swept and carried here and there by a gargantuan fin or tentacle. I am literally at the mercy of these gigantic creatures. None of them mean me any harm, but I am dependent on them for survival — or that is how I feel in the dream, anyway.

Nine times out of ten, this is a nightmare. But every once in a while, the same exact scene does not make me wake up in a cold sweat. On those occasions, I am feeling quite peaceful, chilling with the sea gods. I admire their beauty and their overwhelming size. I enjoy being spun around, like an insignificant little piece of seaweed. I breathe in the salty water and just am. I think perhaps this other version of the dream is how I would like to approach my fear of dependency. The giants will never go away, but I can maybe learn to lie back and let them take me through the blue.

Love,

Your Orchid

P.S. All is fair in love and war. True or false?

[Currently listening to: “Down in Mexico” by the Coasters. Bang, bang, boom, baby!]