we all crave freedom — freedom to choose, to love, to travel, to work in a way that feels right for us. freedom to live on our own terms, without having to justify our decisions to anyone else.
growing up, my parents would share stories from their childhood. simple ones — going to school, playing with siblings, visiting relatives. what stood out in all of them was the sense of connectedness. there was always a thread of community running through everything. maybe it was the way they told the stories, or maybe it was just the culture itself.
my parents grew up in india, where community is baked into daily life. sometimes it’s literal — multiple generations living under one roof, neighbors who are practically family. but more than that, it’s a mindset. your choices are rarely just your own. you think about how your decisions affect the people around you, and that awareness shapes how you move through the world. sometimes to the point where it feels like you don’t have a choice at all.
over time, that model started to shift. people began to crave the opposite — complete independence. the goal became to answer only to yourself. freedom started to mean detachment. and in many ways, that’s liberating. independence allows for self-discovery and space to grow.
but lately, i’ve been questioning whether that version of freedom is always what we need.
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hyper-independence can be isolating. it convinces us that needing others is a weakness, or that doing everything alone is the ultimate form of success. it teaches us to be guarded, to rely only on ourselves, and to treat connection like a risk rather than a comfort.
this shows up in all kinds of ways — not just in how we navigate daily life, but in how we approach relationships. more and more, there’s a resistance to things like marriage or long-term commitment. for some, that choice comes from intention and clarity — a life designed deliberately and on one’s own terms.
but for many others, the hesitation feels more like a defense mechanism. a protection from disappointment, from letting someone in and being let down. it's the fear of being vulnerable, of becoming dependent, of being fully seen. we start optimizing for risk-avoidance instead of depth. staying detached feels safer than investing deeply and watching it fall apart. and over time, that guardedness starts to look like freedom. we convince ourselves that not needing anyone is strength — when often, it’s just a way of shielding ourselves from being hurt.
hyper-independence often stems from lived experience. maybe you grew up feeling like your needs weren’t fully met, or learned early on that asking for help came with conditions. maybe it formed in the aftermath of a relationship where vulnerability wasn’t met with care. eventually, it settles into an underlying belief that self-sufficiency is the only safe option. and the world around us reinforces that belief. we praise nonchalance. we admire people who seem emotionally low-maintenance, who never ask for too much. independence becomes a badge of honor, while depending on others — even in healthy, reciprocal ways — starts to feel like failure.
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it’s not just personal experience shaping this belief — it’s cultural and structural too. we live in an age of economic uncertainty, digital overstimulation, and nonstop self-optimization. freedom used to mean having choices. now, it often means having control — over our time, our productivity, our image, our outcomes. we measure success by how efficiently we manage ourselves, and connection starts to look like an interruption. freedom becomes less about expression, and more about avoidance — avoiding obligation, risk, or anything that might slow our momentum. stillness starts to feel like weakness. interdependence becomes something we unlearn.
and beneath it all, there’s capitalism — quietly commodifying our independence. we’re taught to be our own brands, our own businesses, our own safety nets. relationships are flattened into transactions. rest becomes something we feel we have to earn. self-worth is tethered to how little help we need. in a world that constantly asks us to do more, be more, and need less, softness becomes an act of resistance.
the longer we live in that headspace, the harder it becomes to recognize when we actually do need someone. it builds a wall — not out of bitterness, but out of habit. and while there’s power in being able to stand on your own, true strength often lies in letting yourself be known. in trusting others. in making space for connection that’s mutual and safe.
and this guardedness doesn’t just show up in how we move through our day-to-day lives. it’s especially present in how we relate to others. lately, i’ve noticed a growing aversion to building long-term relationships — not just romantic ones, but deep friendships, family ties, even community. part of that comes from how uncertain things feel. we’ve watched relationships unravel in real time, seen people ghost or disconnect with no explanation. we start bracing for loss before it happens.
but it’s important to remember that this hesitation isn’t a personal failure. it’s the result of living in a world that’s trained us to keep moving, to protect ourselves, to minimize risk at all costs. we’ve normalized detachment as a form of empowerment. we don’t want to seem too invested, too emotional, too reliant. and yet, when no one wants to be the one to go first — to care more, to try harder — we all lose.
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so what do we do instead?
maybe we start by remembering that connection isn’t something we fall into.
maybe real freedom isn’t detachment at all. maybe it’s the ability to let people in — to invest deeply, to stay open, to build something lasting even when it’s scary. it’s knowing you can stand on your own, but still choosing connection. that kind of interdependence doesn’t take away your freedom. it completes it.
– manvi :)