Hyper-Independence Is Not a Flex

Just a girl learning that soft doesn’t mean weak. Rest is powerful too.

There’s this story we get sold—especially as women, especially as women of color, and especially as women who’ve survived trauma—that we need to be everything, for everyone, at all times. That we must be strong. That we must be unshakable. That needing help is weak. That resting is lazy. That asking for softness means you're not "that girl."

So we become hyper-independent. Not because it’s our nature, but because it was our only option.

We raise our kids, climb the career ladder, manage homes, fix broken things, dry our own tears, fight our own battles—and we do it well. We get praised for it. Admired, even. People say, “You’re so strong,” and they mean it as a compliment. But deep down, many of us are tired of being strong. Of never feeling safe enough to fall apart. Of always having to hold it all together.

Let me say this plainly: Hyper-independence is not a personality trait. It’s a trauma response.

It’s what happens when we’ve been disappointed one too many times. Let down. Abandoned. Controlled. Abused. It’s the muscle we built when we learned we couldn’t rely on anyone but ourselves. It's the shell we formed when vulnerability was used against us. It’s the coping mechanism we wrapped ourselves in when the world kept asking for more and more of us but never offered anything back.

And sure, there’s a certain pride in being “the one who gets it done.” We wear it like armor. We become addicted to being needed. To having it all together. But at what cost?

Let me tell you what it cost me: my peace. My sleep. My ability to receive. My softness. My trust. My nervous system. My joy.

Because always being in masculine energy—doing, controlling, fixing, planning, pushing—it eventually catches up with you. You start to feel disconnected from your body, your needs, your desires. You start to feel resentful. Unseen. Tired in a way that sleep can't fix. You begin to crave safety, but have no idea how to let yourself feel it.

I’ve come to learn that strength without rest is just burnout. That self-sacrifice isn’t the same as love. That being hyper-independent may protect you, but it also isolates you.

And here’s the thing no one tells you: You are allowed to choose softness.

You are allowed to rest—not because you earned it by burning out, but because you are human. You are allowed to ask for help. To say “I don’t want to do this alone anymore.” To admit that sometimes, carrying it all doesn’t feel like empowerment—it feels like grief. It feels like a little girl inside of you who just wanted someone to show up for her.

Softness is not weakness. It’s wisdom. It’s the radical act of saying, “I deserve gentleness.” It’s saying, “I matter, too.” It’s giving yourself the love, care, and tenderness you so freely give to others.

I’m learning that I don’t have to perform strength to be valuable.

I can rest. I can cry. I can need. I can receive. I can soften. I can let go of this idea that I need to be in control of everything to be safe.

I can choose myself—not just the productive, impressive version—but the real, whole, messy, tender me.

And maybe this is what real healing looks like.

Not just pushing through pain with gritted teeth and a color-coded planner.

But sitting with yourself in the quiet moments and saying: “I love you enough to stop running. I love you enough to slow down. I love you enough to let you be soft.”

If no one has ever said this to you, let me be the first:

You are allowed to rest.

You are allowed to receive.

You are allowed to be held.

You are allowed to be soft and still be powerful.

You are allowed to stop performing strength and start living in truth.

Because real strength? It’s not in how much you can carry alone.

It’s in how deeply you love yourself to say, “I don’t have to do this by myself anymore.”

💛—Rochelly