You know why I hate the word codependent? (And although I have taken on that label, I still truly do.) It has the word “dependent” right there in the word. Weak, wussy little “dependent.” It practically whines at you: “I’m so helpless. I can’t do anything for myself. Waaaa! Someone do it all for me, I’m just not capable!” And that’s so not the way I’ve seen myself. In fact, the only word with “dependent” in it that I’ve ever associated with myself is “independent,” which adds that nice little “not” before its dependent. I don’t need help, no sir, not me. I can (and have, and will) do it all myself.

In years past I would do anything rather than ask for help. I’d spend countless hours pouring through books and scouring the Internet rather than ask someone else a question. I’d wander through stores, frustrated, but determined to find that item on my own. I’d drag myself out when I was sick (always hiding how bad I was feeling, of course) to get myself what I needed or follow through on work I’d committed to do. I’d drag that furniture up the stairs; no team lifting for me, I’m strong enough. Sometimes I’d get creative about breaking the furniture down if it truly was too heavy for me to carry on my own; I could manage those smaller pieces. Independent. That’s been me.

Part of recovery has been coming to recognize the ways in which I am overly dependent (which I conveniently deny or mask with my I-don’t-need-nobody hyper-independence) and the ways in which I’m overly independent. I’ve had to learn that carrying furniture up the stairs by yourself is not necessarily a good kind of independence (ask my back how I learned that one) and that (gasp!) it’s okay to ask for help when I need it. I’m getting much better at remembering, and at helping my children learn that asking for help when we need it isn’t a sign of weakness. In fact, they are (thankfully) often better at it than I am.

This weekend, my son Austen and I went to a birthday party for a friend of his. On the way to the party, we stopped to get a present and a card (because I’m organized and think ahead like that). We had something in mind, but as we rushed through the store, we couldn’t quite find it.

“Darn, buddy,” I said, “I was pretty sure this place would carry it, but I don’t see it. Maybe we’ll have to get him something else. Can you think of anything else he might like?”

“Or we could ask for help,” Austen suggested brightly.

Oh, true. Out of the mouths of babes…

“You’re right,” I said, “That’s an excellent idea. We should ask for help.” And guess what? We found what we needed.