Hyper-Independent:

The Unpaid Job No One Talks About

Since I was young, I often heard my mother sigh “If you want it done right, you should do it yourself.” She usually said it out of exasperation but the phrase stuck with me like quiet instruction. I remember rolling my eyes as a teenager and somewhere along the way, it became a belief I lived by. I grew ambitious, mapping my goals with precision and perseverance convinced that success meant doing everything alone. Looking back, I realize I didn’t have much guidance when it came to learning or been shown the right path to take in life. Asking for help often felt like waiting for disappointment. Independence became my safety net and my definition of strength.

Today, I catch myself doing everything from changing light bulbs, drilling shelves into the wall, fixing broken things, troubleshooting software and diving into side projects far outside my professional world in healthcare. Motherhood only intensified it. I became the multitasking queen, juggling it all with silent determination. Even when I felt like I was drowning, the idea of asking for help never crossed my mind. Then one day, I stumbled upon an article about hyper-independence and it stopped me cold. What if my relentless self-reliance wasn’t strength but something deeper and far more complicated?

When I first read about hyper-independence, I thought, “Oh great, even independence has a diagnosis now.” But the more I read, the more it felt like someone had been secretly documenting my life. Psychologists describe hyper independence as a fight-or-flight response wearing lipstick apparently a protective habit born from moments when trusting others didn’t feel safe. Somewhere between “I’ll handle it” and “Never mind, I’ll just do it myself,” we quietly decide that self-reliance equals survival.

In my case, it didn’t start as a philosophy but more as a reflex. Every time I depended on someone and ended up disappointed, I added another invisible badge to my “I can do it alone” collection. Soon, asking for help felt as awkward as flirting in a foreign language.

Research on attachment theory (John Bowlby, Mary Ainsworth, and later trauma specialists like Bessel van der Kolk) calls this an avoidant coping pattern which is a way of staying safe by staying self-contained. The logic goes: if no one gets close enough to let you down, you’ll stay in control. It sounds empowering, right? Except it’s exhausting.

Because being hyper-independent is like running a one-woman company called Me, Myself & I Incorporated. You’re the CEO, janitor, emotional support department and IT technician altogether on unpaid overtime. You fix everything, organize everyone and still apologize if something breaks.

And society loves it. “She’s so strong,” they say, which often means, “She hasn’t asked for help once, bless her overworked heart.” Somewhere, strength became synonymous with self-neglect.

Apparently, psychologists have a name for people like us: avoidantly attached individuals with high self-efficacy and low trust calibration. Translation: we’d rather lift a washing machine alone than ask someone to hold the door.

Studies in psychology show that this kind of radical self-reliance messes with our biochemistry. Chronic independence can reduce oxytocin ( the hormone that makes us feel safe and connected). So while you’re busy proving you don’t need anyone, your brain is quietly whispering, “But… we kind of do.”

The solution isn’t to swing to the other extreme and suddenly depend on everyone like a rom-com heroine who can’t open a jar. It’s to practice interdependence which is the middle ground where you can trust others and yourself at the same time.

Start small. Let someone carry a grocery bag. Say “yes, please” instead of “no, it’s fine.” Accept that some people might not do it your way and that is okay. (They might even surprise you and hang the shelf straight.)

I still catch myself debating whether I can ever practice interdependence without hearing my mother’s voice echo, “If you want it done right, you should do it yourself.” That sentence has lived rent-free in my head for decades, redecorating every time I try to let someone in. Maybe she wasn’t wrong, doing things yourself can build discipline and confidence. But doing everything yourself? That builds walls.

I’m learning that asking for help doesn’t erase competence but expands it. Connection doesn’t mean losing control; it means trusting that not every task or emotion has to be carried solo. Sometimes strength is finishing the shelf installation alone. Other times, it’s letting someone else hold the other side of the plank while you take a breath.

Hyper-independence taught me resilience but interdependence is teaching me peace.

Softness isn’t the absence of strength, it’s strength without the armor.

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