Ice is pattering softly on Blanche’s roof. I dread having to walk Sam today and I worry my little egg on wheels may suffer damage on what is now day two of a North Texas winter storm. Something loud awakened me at 5:30; I feared a broken water pipe or gray tank drain.
I’ll manage if there’s a problem. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about owning Blanche, it’s that I can deal with whatever happens. She is coated in icicles, but she is cozy inside for now.
I have been ruminating about hyper-independence for about a week.
Hyper-independence is defined and explored here. In my case, this trauma response manifests as reactions and mannerisms I have constructed to keep other people at a distance. When that distance feels like it is closing, that is, when I become too attached to someone or I feel like they expect more of me than I am currently capable of giving, I shut down emotionally and shut them out as firmly as possible.
I have, using various grounds and methods, sabotaged a couple of friendships in the last two months. I can tell myself it was in their best interests; this is true and reasonable. Neither of those people needed to have me in their lives. However, the truth is more insidious; I chose to sabotage those relationships out of fear. While I may feel I protected them and I may feel I protected myself from being hurt or potentially losing myself in some way to the relationship, I am saddened that those individuals are no longer part of my life.
Whence comes this hyper-independence and what does it involve?
When I met the man who would become my second husband, I wouldn’t let him pay for my lunch at “working lunches.” I insisted on equal expenditure in as many areas as possible while we dated. I was exhibiting this as a reasonable response from my first marriage and I have mentioned this independent mindset here. Still, I wasn’t “hyper-independent.” I still appreciated being cared for and loved, being needed, and needing others. I just wanted to establish that I was capable of taking care of myself.
This new wrinkle, this absolute adamance that I don’t need anyone, damn it! is born of both the utter dependence that was cultivated in me in the second marriage and the subsequent, disappointing relationships following the marriage. While those brief, later relationships were not life-altering like my marriage, they reinforced my belief that I a) couldn’t trust anyone to be honest with me, b) could anticipate them dictating or manipulating my behavior in some way, or c) could become so attached that I would disappear, yet again, into the love.
In short: If I get attached, I will lose myself and I can’t allow that again. Ever.
The result is a woman who is so scared of effacement in the space of a love relationship that she refuses any such relationship or anything that might lead to such.
How can I apply my experiences with Blanche to resolving my hyper-independence? On the surface, that experience can strengthen the desire to remain in my cocoon. I can manage, I will figure this out, I don’t need anyone, etc.
However, that promises a lonely existence. While I consider myself plain at best, I know some small sample of the male population thinks otherwise, so I believe statistics are in my favor to find a partner of sorts, if and only if I can get past my fear.
Progress on Ice
I climbed out of Blanche this afternoon and stepped onto the ice with Sam. My new neighbor (M) was working outside, bundled up in many layers with a hat and hooded coat. Sam was a little uncertain but quickly settled.
M and I chatted briefly while some poor guy tried to get his F350 up an icy incline, then Sam and I made our way carefully to a dog-walk area. Later in the day, two other single women who live here greeted me and helped me break through the inch of ice on my truck so I could get Sam more kibble from the cargo area. On my way to the dumpster with trash, another resident stopped me, and we chatted amiably.
As much as I don’t love living on a windy hill in what amounts to a gravel parking lot in the burbs, the friendly banter and sense of community just felt—good.
It felt comfortable and comforting.
And that scares the absolute you-know-what out of me. It’s so easy to run away again. The idea of hiding in Blanche full-time is also comforting.
I figure, however, that much like the slow, steady learning process of Blanche ownership (and there is still so much more to learn), this little community and the upcoming, rather extensive family time with my grandchildren and their parents will be healing for me. Maybe, just maybe, I will let friends and family in enough such that eventually I can stop feeling unlovable and let love in again.
Maybe I can thaw and learn that I can deal with the vagaries of relationships just as I have learned to deal with those of my home on wheels.
Last Updated on March 28, 2023 by Lee Ellis
Top picture, the serenity of winter personified. The lower one, the whimsical nature of winter. Blanche kind of look like an egg and has the curvature of our ancestors’ caves. Wonderful to see the camaraderie of the RV community, which many have chosen to be able to see as much as possible of our so beautiful and diverse country.
“Our ancestors’ caves.” Indeed. I wonder how much of our DNA contains that memory. I grew to hate vaulted ceilings and “great rooms.” I spend significant time in two large homes now when I take care of the grands. They are beautiful homes and I am completely discomfited by them. High ceiling, large echoing rooms, cold floors. Never again. If I am ever in a house, I want it to be old, small, and “soft.” (“Lived in”)