Peter Attridge, PhD, LMFT
““I've always been independent.”
“I don't like having to depend on anybody.”
“I learned a long time ago that I can only count on myself.”
“I don't need anyone.”
Usually, when someone says these things, I understand what they mean. They are often telling me about their strength, and how they have learned to solve problems, take care of themselves, pay their bills, raise their children, survive difficult circumstances, and keep moving when life gets hard.
There is a lot to admire in that and also, something else. Tiredness. The person who is proud of being independent is exhausted. The person who says, “I don't need anyone,” is lonely. The person who insists, “I'll handle it myself,” is quietly overwhelmed. And the person who believes needing someone else is a weakness may have built an impressive life while simultaneously making it very difficult for anyone to get close enough to share it.
This is where an important distinction becomes useful:
Autonomy and independence are not the same thing.
In fact, healthy psychological development generally requires autonomy without requiring isolation. We can become increasingly capable of directing our own lives while still needing other people. We can make our own decisions without believing we have to make every decision alone. We can have boundaries without building walls. We can become responsible for ourselves without becoming responsible for everything.
In other words, growing up does not mean graduating from relationships.
The Myth of the Completely Independent Person
We love the idea of independence. Being self-made, having pulled ourselves up by our bootstraps, with no help at all is aspirational for many people. As appealing as this idea is, there is also something deeply unrealistic about it.
We human beings are profoundly relational creatures. We are born extremely dependent. Babies do not calmly announce, “I've got this,” before making their own breakfast. They require someone to feed them, comfort them, protect them, and change them. And then, as we grow, we become capable of doing more things ourselves (even though 12-year-olds will complain differently).
We learn to walk. We learn to feed ourselves. We learn to make decisions. We eventually learn how to drive, work, manage money, navigate relationships, and hopefully operate a washing machine without turning everything pink.
That increasing capacity is part of healthy development, and the interesting thing is that we are not actually becoming independent in the sense that we no longer need anyone. We are becoming autonomous.
And those are very different things.
So What Is Autonomy?
Autonomy is essentially the ability to direct your own life. It involves developing a sense of agency: I can think, choose, decide, act, take responsibility, and live according to my values.
An autonomous person can say:
“This is what I believe.”
“This is what I want.”
“This is something I don't want.”
Autonomy is not about never listening to anyone. It is about being able to listen to others without surrendering your ability to think and choose for yourself. A teenager who eventually learns to make decisions without asking parents about every minor detail is developing autonomy. An adult who cannot make a decision without getting six opinions from friends, family, coworkers, Google, Reddit, AI, and possibly the cashier at Target may be struggling with autonomy.
There is another possibility that is often not thought about. The person who refuses to ask anyone for advice because “I don't need anybody” may also be struggling with autonomy.
Why?
Because autonomy does not mean doing whatever I want without anyone else's input. It means having the capacity to make thoughtful choices while remaining connected to others. It means that other people's opinions can matter to me without becoming the authority over me.
That is a much more mature form of freedom.
This distinction matters because both extremes can look similar from the outside. One person constantly asks everyone else what they should do. Another refuses to ask anyone anything. Both may have difficulty tolerating the uncertainty that comes with making a choice. One gives away too much authority; the other refuses to receive anything. Healthy autonomy sits somewhere in the middle.
Independence Can Become a Disguise
Independence is not inherently unhealthy. There are times when independence is exactly what we need. A young adult needs to learn how to manage money. A person leaving an unhealthy relationship may need to establish financial independence. Someone recovering from an overly enmeshed family may need to develop more separation. A person who has always depended upon others to solve problems may need to practice solving some problems themselves.
Those are healthy movements toward greater autonomy. The problem comes when independence becomes an identity rather than a skill.
“I am independent” can quietly become:
“I don't need help.”
“I don't trust people.”
“If I need someone, I am weak.”
At that point, independence stops being freedom and starts becoming self-protection. Too much self-protection can be remarkably convincing because it can start to look like strength. A person may appear confident, capable, and completely put together while privately thinking, “If I let anybody see how much I actually need them, they might leave.”
So they don't ask, they don't lean in, and they don't disclose. They become very good at carrying their own backpack, and eventually, they wonder why nobody ever offers to carry it with them.
There is an important question underneath all of this: “Am I independent because I am capable, or because needing someone feels unsafe?” Those can look remarkably similar from the outside. The difference is what happens when help becomes available.
The Strange Freedom of Needing People
One of the things I have noticed in therapy is that people sometimes confuse dependence with connection, and they are not the same.
Dependence says, “I cannot function without you.”
Connection says, “I can function, but I don't have to do everything alone.”
A healthy marriage is not two completely independent people living parallel lives under the same roof. It is also not two people who cannot function without each other. Instead, healthy marriage involves two people who are increasingly capable of being themselves and increasingly capable of belonging to one another.
They can say:
“I need you.”
“I disagree with you.”
“I can handle this myself.”
“I'd like your help.”
Those statements are not contradictions; they are, however, signs of maturity.
The goal is not to eliminate dependence. The goal is to develop interdependence.
Interdependence means that I remain a whole person while recognizing that my life is connected to yours. Your struggles affect me; my choices affect you. Your strengths contribute to me; my strengths contribute to you. Sometimes I carry you; sometimes you carry me.
And occasionally we both sit down because apparently neither of us has any idea what we are doing.
This is one of the places where autonomy becomes especially important. If I cannot be myself without you, I am not truly free. But if I believe I must always protect myself from needing you, I am not particularly free either. Interdependence allows both people to remain persons while still belonging to one another.
The Desert Fathers Had Some Strong Opinions About This
The early Christian monks who went into the Egyptian desert were not exactly poster children for modern independence. They left behind ordinary society to pursue a life of prayer, discipline, and simplicity. Yet one of the things they discovered was that simply getting away from other people did not eliminate the problem of the self. Apparently, you can move to the desert and still bring yourself with you.
Who knew? (Clint Black did, but I’ll let you find that song for yourself.)
The Desert Fathers frequently warned about what they called self-will—the tendency to assume that our own desires, judgments, plans, and preferences should govern everything. Abba Dorotheos of Gaza wrote extensively about the danger of clinging to one's own will. His teaching was not that a person should stop thinking or become a mindless follower. Rather, he saw the surrender of self-will as a way of becoming less enslaved to the constant demand that reality conform to our preferences.
That idea has an interesting psychological parallel because there is a difference between saying:
“I can make my own choices.”
and:
“Everything must happen according to my choices.”
The first is autonomy. The second may simply be control trying to look like autonomy.
The Desert Fathers understood something psychologists continue to encounter: sometimes what we call freedom is actually our attachment to having things go our way.
I want the relationship to work this way; I want my spouse to understand me; I want my children to make the choices I think are best….
I want life to cooperate.
Good luck with that.
One of the great challenges of maturity is learning that autonomy does not mean controlling reality. It means learning how to respond to reality with freedom.
Wisdom Is Found in Relationship
Wisdom is portrayed not simply as having information but as something worth seeking, receiving, and living by. The biblical tradition repeatedly presents wisdom as something that requires humility—the recognition that I do not already know everything.
That is important because autonomy without humility can quickly become arrogance. We can become so committed to making our own decisions that we stop allowing anyone to speak into our lives. We don't need advice, or correction. We don't need community and don't need anyone to challenge us.
Eventually, we have achieved the magnificent freedom of being wrong completely by ourselves.
The wisdom tradition offers a different vision. A wise person remains capable of receiving because they listen, seek counsel, recognize their limits, and understand that other people may see something they cannot.
This does not eliminate autonomy. It strengthens it.
Because the autonomous person can hear another person's perspective without automatically submitting to it or automatically rejecting it.
They can say:
“That is worth considering.”
Or:
“I understand what you're saying, but I don't agree.”
Both responses require freedom.
In this sense, asking for advice can actually be an act of autonomy. I am not handing you my decision. I am allowing your perspective to become part of the information I use to make my decision. There is a difference between surrendering responsibility and accepting help.
Boundaries Are Not Independence
Sometimes people hear “you need boundaries” and interpret it as “you need to stop needing people.” That is not what healthy boundaries mean.
A boundary says, “This is where I end and you begin.” It does not say, “I don't need you.”
In fact, good boundaries often make relationships more intimate because they create enough safety for honesty. I can tell my spouse that I am angry without attacking them. I can tell my parent that I disagree without cutting them off. And perhaps most importantly, I can remain connected to you without becoming you.
That is autonomy.
A boundary creates differentiation, not disconnection. It allows me to say, “You are you, and I am me,” while still being able to say, “And we matter to one another.”
This is also why autonomy and connection are not opposing goals. In a healthy relationship, the ability to remain distinct can actually make closeness safer. I do not have to disappear into you in order to love you, and you do not have to disappear into me in order to love me.
The Person Who Never Asks for Help
There is a particular kind of client I have seen repeatedly over the years who is competent and manages everyone and everything around them. If there were an Olympic event for carrying too much while insisting everything is fine, they would have several gold medals.
Eventually, however, something gives and they become anxious, resentful, and exhausted. They become angry, distant, and disconnected. And when someone offers help, they say, “No, I'm fine.”
Everyone knows they're not fine, but the person says, “I am independent. I can handle this.”
Sometimes therapeutic work is not teaching someone how to become more capable. They are already extremely capable. The work is teaching them how to receive.
Receiving help can be surprisingly vulnerable. When I help you, you may feel indebted. When I see your weakness, you may fear judgment. When you depend on me, you may worry that I now have power over you. So you choose independence because it feels safer.
But safety and intimacy are not always the same thing.
Sometimes the path toward a deeper relationship involves risking the possibility that someone else might actually be trustworthy.
And receiving is not passive. It requires discernment. Healthy autonomy means I can decide whom I trust, what help I accept, and where I still need to say no. The goal is not to become dependent on everyone. It is to become capable of appropriate dependence with the right people.
Autonomy Allows Us to Belong
The more secure we become in ourselves, the more capable we often become of genuinely belonging to others.
Paradoxical, right?
If I know who I am, I don't have to make you agree with me. If I can tolerate disagreement, I don't have to control you. If I can take responsibility for my emotions, I don't have to make you responsible for them.
This is also where the idea of systemic therapy becomes relevant. In another article, “Why Systemic Therapy Matters,” I wrote about the fact that we are not the only car on the road. Our lives intersect with other people, and those people influence us just as we influence them. Autonomy does not mean pretending the other cars aren't there. It means learning how to drive your own car while paying attention to the traffic around you.
That is part of what makes relationships so complicated. We are individuals, but we are also participants in systems. Our choices affect spouses, children, parents, friends, coworkers, and communities. Becoming more autonomous does not mean becoming less connected to those systems. Ideally, it means becoming more thoughtful about how we participate in them.
This is particularly important in marriage. A healthy marriage does not require two people to eliminate themselves for the sake of the relationship. Nor does it require two people to protect themselves from one another.
Instead, marriage asks something more complicated: “How do I remain myself while giving myself to another person?”
That is a much richer question than, “How do I stay independent?”
And it is one of the reasons I appreciate the Catholic understanding of the human person.
Catholic thought has long emphasized both the dignity of the individual and the fundamentally relational nature of the human person.
We are not isolated units. Neither are we interchangeable parts. We are persons who become ourselves in relationships.
What Healthy Autonomy Looks Like
So what does healthy autonomy actually look like?
It looks like being able to make a decision without needing everyone's approval. It also looks like being willing to ask for advice. It looks like saying no or like taking responsibility for your mistakes.
It looks like being able to hear criticism without immediately collapsing or becoming defensive. It looks like changing your mind when new information deserves to change it. It looks like accepting that someone you love may make a decision you would not make. And it looks like allowing other people to have their own autonomy, even when you wish they would use it differently.
Because sometimes maturity is not demonstrated by standing on your own two feet.
Sometimes maturity is demonstrated by knowing whose hand to reach for.
Thoughts from the Couch
From the couch, I have come to appreciate that many people spend a surprising amount of energy trying to prove that they don't need anyone. They prove it through competence. Through busyness, through always being the one who takes care of everyone else. And eventually they discover something uncomfortable:
Being needed is not the same as being loved, and being independent is not the same as being free.
Autonomy allows us to become responsible for our own lives without pretending that our lives exist apart from everyone else's. It allows us to say, “I am responsible for my choices,” while also saying, “I don't have to make every choice alone.”
It allows us to be strong enough to stand and humble enough to lean.
Perhaps that is one of the great tasks of adulthood: learning that dependence and independence are not the only two options.
There is a third way.
Connection.
Or perhaps, more accurately, interdependence.
We can be separate without being isolated and be connected without being enmeshed. We can make our own decisions without pretending that nobody else matters.
And perhaps that is closer to what freedom was meant to be.
Not the freedom of never needing anyone.
The freedom to love, choose, receive, give, disagree, forgive, ask for help, offer help, and remain ourselves in the midst of it all.
The Desert Fathers went into the wilderness looking for freedom and discovered, among other things, that the hardest person to escape was themselves. We do not have to move to the Egyptian desert to discover the same thing. Sometimes all we need is a difficult relationship, a stressful week, a spouse who disagrees with us, or a teenager who has suddenly discovered that our opinion is no longer legally binding.
Life has a way of reminding us that we were never meant to do this entirely alone. And that is not a failure of independence.It is part of being human.
At Holy Family Counseling Center, we often work with people who are trying to find that balance—between caring for themselves and caring for others, between boundaries and connection, between responsibility and receiving help. For those who desire it, faith can be part of that conversation as well, offering another way of understanding freedom, responsibility, relationship, and the dignity of the person.
Sometimes the goal of therapy is not to help someone need nobody. Sometimes it is to help them become secure enough in themselves that they can finally let the right people get close.
Maybe that is the real difference between independence and autonomy. Independence asks, “How can I make sure I never have to need anyone?” Autonomy asks, “How can I become responsible for my life while remaining open to the people who are part of it?”
The first can leave us standing alone with our backpack. The second allows us to decide when to carry it ourselves, when to set it down, and when to let someone we trust carry it for a while.
That may be a much healthier kind of freedom.
