“I can do it myself.”

I learned this phrase young — and it’s always resting on the tip of my tongue, waiting for an opportunity to assert itself and prove to everyone… Well, what exactly? That I’m capable? That I’m independent? That I’m the pinnacle of the mythologized self-made person? Maybe all of the above.

When I was younger, I was praised for my independence. If you’re reading this, you’ll recognize all the common phrases: Pleasure to have in class, easy child, self-starter, self-motivated, and all the other praise they shower you with for being convenient and, more often than not, a chronic people pleaser.

“You’ll recognize all the common phrases: Pleasure to have in class, easy child, self-starter, self-motivated, and all the other praise they shower you with for being convenient.”

But for me, constant shape-shifting and self-reliance weren’t only about gold stars and validation from authority figures — though, with a chaotic home life, that felt good, too. I learned to be independent out of necessity. And soon enough, I internalized the belief that if I didn’t handle everything, no one would — and the shaky foundation of my life would collapse. Soon enough, my independence was all I could count on. 

It turns out that building a self-identity on the idea that you have to do everything alone is just as shaky. And in order to find solid footing, I had to reparent myself and learn to stop holding so tightly to the idea of control.

Like many other eldest daughters, parentified children, and people who navigated chaotic home lives in their formative years, this wasn’t easy. It’s still a work in progress. After all, tearing down the scaffolding of your self-concept is no small feat. But it starts with letting go of that easy, instinctual phrase: “I can do it myself.”

So you’re hyper-independent. Now what?

“Therapy speak” keeps popping up in our daily lives. For too many, it’s a tool to evade accountability or sound compassionate without having to be accountable — but sometimes, terms like “hyper-independence” help people name a state they’ve been living in without even realizing it. That was the case for me.

“For so long, I thought my independence was a good thing.”

For so long, I thought my independence was a good thing. I wasn’t intimidated by eating alone, traveling alone, or forging my own path. When met with the unsolicited opinions about my life, I brushed them off as overly concerned at best and codependent at worst. In my worst moments, my independence made me feel above most other people. But when I realized that my independence was a form of self-sabotage, I started to see how it was holding me back.

According to Sasha Blossom, an ASCH-registered holistic counselor practicing in South Africa, “Hyper-independence can seem high-functioning, but it often hides deep loneliness and a fear of intimacy.”

I know how quickly “I don’t need anyone” can turn into “I can’t trust anyone.” I came of age brandishing the former sentiment as a mantra. At first, it was useful. It gave me an innate sense of my own capability as a young teenager growing up in what felt like a prison of patriarchy. But after absconding to a women’s college where my gender was no longer a socialized limit, I slowly, without making a sound, began to slip into the latter.

“I know how quickly ‘I don’t need anyone’ can turn into ‘I can’t trust anyone.'”

Maybe it was a sort of proof to myself that I was not like my homesick peers, navigating the responsibilities of adulthood for the first time. I knew how to do laundry, pay bills, feed myself, and make sure the people around me were provided for, too. But I saw myself becoming the “mom friend,” and took a sharp pivot in the other direction. I didn’t know it yet, but this was instinct. I was resisting the familiar role that it had always been cast in: Taking care of other people. I wanted to take care of myself. And eventually, I believed I was the only one who could.

Understanding parentification

As Blossom puts it, “When children are raised in environments where their emotional needs are sidelined, they experience repeated let-down or betrayal,” she says. “They’re expected to manage adult responsibilities too early, and they often develop hyper-independence as a coping mechanism.”

This process is described as parentification. Many eldest children (specifically eldest daughters — shoutout to gender-based domestic expectations!) find themselves fulfilling the role of pseudo-parent. Sometimes this can be because of neglect or abuse, but it can also happen in the case of parents who are too busy providing to take on the emotional and logistical roles of the parent. But in whatever case, the slow creep towards hyper-independence is seductive. 

“Many eldest children (specifically eldest daughters — shoutout to gender-based domestic expectations!) find themselves fulfilling the role of pseudo-parent.”

Often, says Blossom, hyper-independence is “a kind of armor because relying on others doesn’t feel safe. This can especially be the case if a child is raised by emotionally immature or narcissistic parents, as there is a fundamental lack of attunement to the child’s needs and inner world in these contexts.”

But how does this show up? Hyper-independence isn’t just insisting I can build my furniture myself. It’s most visible in relationships. Or, more accurately, how you can sabotage relationships without even knowing it.

“You may unconsciously sabotage closeness,” says Blossom. “You might pick emotionally unavailable partners (it feels familiar) or retreat when someone gets too close. Trust feels unsafe.”

Blossom has also seen people struggle with taking on the same burdens and roles in their friendships. “You may become the ‘therapist friend’ but rarely share your own struggles,” she says. And for a while, I thought this was altruistic. I thought I was mature and brave for handling my emotions and problems myself, and lending my self-professed wisdom to my friends was proof of my generosity. But, before I even realized why I was souring to my role in my friendship, I had fallen into yet another trap.

“Often, parentified people aren’t good at feeling their emotions, so how can they communicate them?”

This is common, says Blossom. “You may feel resentful that others don’t reciprocate — but you’ve also never let them.” Often, parentified people aren’t good at feeling their emotions, so how can they communicate them? “Because, as a child, there was no space for your pain, your sadness (or even your joy, perhaps), those emotions now feel threatening or irrelevant. You ‘power-through’ instead of feeling through. And they often live in the body, showing up as symptoms or reactions.”

So, how to get out of this cycle of closing up and self-sabotaging your relationships? By teaching your inner child that they are safe and supported. One way to get there? Reparenting yourself.

What is reparenting?

You’ve heard of healing your inner child. Reparenting is a strategy often used by therapists and coaches to give your inner child what they need to keep them from projecting those needs subconsciously. It might sound ironic — how does more parenting help someone who has been parentified? But by allowing yourself more space to experience what you couldn’t as a child, you can start to heal.

“Reparenting is a strategy often used by therapists and coaches to give your inner child what they need to keep them from projecting those needs subconsciously.”

“Start reconnecting with the parts of you that weren’t allowed to be small, scared, playful, or held,” says Blossom. “This means learning to show up for yourself now in the ways your caregivers should’ve but didn’t/couldn’t. Setting boundaries, meeting your needs without shame and allowing rest and softness are acts of deep repair. You get to become the safe parent your younger self longed for.”

In practical terms, Blossom recommends:

The goal of this process is to grieve the childhood that was halted. Blossom recommends making space for “the support that wasn’t there and the emotional labour you had to carry too soon. Naming and nurturing the wound.”

“The goal of this process is to grieve the childhood that was halted.”

By understanding what you’re going through, you can begin to move on. And once you name the feeling — and learn how to feel it in your body, which can also come with therapy and reparenting — you can teach yourself that it is safe to reach out for help.

“Healing doesn’t happen in isolation. Find spaces, therapeutic or relational, where you can practice receiving support, slowly,” Blossom says. “Let people show up. Let yourself need them. Soothe through the discomfort of it. Let it be imperfect.”

In this final step, you’ll realize that just because you can do it yourself, doesn’t mean you have to.

Langa Chinyoka is a Contributing Editor at The Good Trade. She is a writer and strategist based in Los Angeles.