My Strength Was Independence — Until I Remembered Love

I was in the fifth standard when a small moment quietly changed the way I lived my entire life.

It was early morning. I was asleep when I heard unfamiliar excitement filling our home. I woke up and saw my uncle, who had returned from Singapore for the first time. He had brought gifts for everyone. There was a camera for my father, a large box of chocolates for me, sarees for my mother, and beautiful accessories for my aunts.

In the middle of all that joy, my eyes rested on something placed on a shelf. It looked delicate and important. A black strap hung from it, inviting my curiosity. I did not know it was a camera. I only knew it was something beautiful. In my innocence, I ran and pulled it down by its strap. Before it could hit the ground, my father rushed forward and caught it. He held it tightly, making sure it was safe. Then he came close to me and said words I had never heard from him before.

“Don’t touch anything which is not yours. It is a bad habit.”

His voice was firm. Unfamiliar. I froze.

I did not understand what I had done wrong. I only knew that something inside me had been shaken. I quietly walked away and cried, carrying a hurt I did not yet have the language to explain.

Until that day, everything in our home had felt like it belonged to all of us. I had never known separation. I had never known boundaries in that way. But that day, a new understanding entered my world.

There are things that are mine. And there are things that are not.

And somewhere deeper, a more painful question took root.

If things can belong… where do I belong?

From that day on, I began to change.

I became careful. Watchful. Self-contained.

I stopped touching what belonged to others. I took great care of what belonged to me.

Slowly, without realising it, I began to build a life where I depended only on myself.

Ownership became my protection. Independence became my identity.

If I owned my things, I did not have to answer to anyone. If I needed nothing from anyone, I could not be hurt. I allowed very few people into my space. And when I did, it meant they were truly close to my heart.

This way of living made me feel strong. It made me feel special. It made me feel in control. It also made me feel alone. But I told myself that loneliness was a small price to pay for safety.

When I lived in hostels, this independence helped me survive. It helped me protect my dignity. It helped me stand on my own feet.

I wore my independence like armour. And for a long time, I called it my strength.

But life has a way of revealing the truths we hide from ourselves.

After marriage, I began to see the quiet contradictions within me.

I liked to organise and arrange the spaces of others, but I resisted when they entered mine. I wanted closeness, yet I protected my distance. I wanted love, yet I guarded my walls. I began to see that what I had called strength was also fear.

A fear born from a moment when a child first felt separate.

A fear of losing belonging.

A fear of being less important than something that could be owned.

And one day, I saw my father not through the eyes of that hurt child, but through the eyes of compassion. I saw a man protecting something valuable to him. Not a man rejecting something valuable. Not a man rejecting me.

In that moment, something inside me softened.

Dad, I forgive you. I forgive the hurt I carried. I forgive the meaning I gave to that moment.

And more importantly, I forgive myself.

I forgive myself for believing that I had to stand alone to be safe. I forgive myself for the loneliness I created to protect my heart. I forgive myself for mistaking distance for dignity and isolation for strength. Because the truth is, independence was never my greatest strength. My greatest strength was always my capacity to love.

Today, I understand that true independence is not the absence of need. It is the freedom to choose connection without fear. It is the courage to remain open. It is the willingness to belong without losing yourself.

The little girl who once walked away crying believed she had lost something that day. But she did not. She was only beginning a journey.

A journey that would one day bring her back home - Not to independence, but to love.

The freedom from having the strength of being independent helps me to discover the skill of listening and stand for others.

The skill I am creating for myself from this strength is listening and being a stand for self and others.