dependence

I never thought of myself as a brazenly independent woman.  Fiercely independent, yes; meaning that I cling to, even fight for my own self-sufficiency, the ability to stand on my own two feet; I take pride in it actually... perhaps a little too much so.  However, I have never thought of myself as a woman who was brazen about her independence, flaunting it, touting it, shoving it in people's faces, demanding attention or recognition for my accomplishments in that arena.  Perhaps, I should have looked more closely in the mirror to see my haughtiness; it certainly isn't very becoming.

As I lay in my bed or sit in a chair, hour after hour, staring at my leg all propped up and bandaged, with my very carefully manicured toes peeking out from the edge of my cast, part of me wants to scream at the top of my lungs and the rest of me is too tired to even cry. I am like a newborn. I am dependent on my mother and father to take care of me for everything.  My every meal must be prepared for me and delivered straight to my hands. I cannot stand and balance long on one foot, so showering is out of the question even if I could somehow manage to get up the stairs. Thankfully, my mother is gracious and a fantastic caretaker anticipating my needs and even willing to wash my hair in her kitchen sink! 

But I am very aware, painfully aware, of how much more work I create for them every day.  I am old enough that I should be getting to the place where I am able to start doing things to taking care of them and here I find myself, yet again, under their roof, and at their charity.  This morning I found myself in a conversation with my Dad, not unlike conversations we had in my late teens and early twenties, when he'd identified a problem and prepared a solution and I was still in a cloud.  That's me.  Still lost in that friggen cloud.

I never knew that I could be at war with my own independence; at arms with my own self-sufficiency. 






Do you do things that ultimately sabotage yourself without even knowing it?