“All by myself…”
That’s Zianne’s reply when I try to help her with anything. Getting dressed? She wants to do it herself. Climbing into her car seat. She can handle it alone. Going to the bathroom. She declines my assistance and I later find a trail of pee around the toilet.
The girl is 2.75 years of age and she doesn’t need me at all. Or so she thinks…
I vacillate in my own opinion toward her independence. I love to see her developing autonomy, and sometimes it’s very helpful when she can get things out of drawers on her own or put away her toys with little help. But at other times I find myself frustrated as I wipe urine from the floor or we are moving at a snail’s pace in the grocery store parking lot.
But then I remember where she most likely inherited this independent attitude…
There’s a good chance Kelly Clarkson wrote the song “Miss Independent” about me, because for my whole life I’ve wanted to do things “all by myself.”
I like to get things done on my own timeline according to my own plan. The word “collaboration” secretly gives me a bit of anxiety. I remember crying as I worked on my science fair project in first grade because my mom tried to help me when I simply wanted to figure it out on my own.
Or take running, for example. I’m a fairly avid runner, but I typically go to the gym, get on a treadmill, and pound out my miles alone. The thought of joining a running group sounds dreadful to me. A couple of years ago, I signed up for a local run a few months after Zianne was born. I was excited to get back in running shape, so I set a pace goal for the race. The morning of the event, I woke up, drove to the race, ran 4.2 miles as fast as I could, beat my goal time by almost three minutes, got back in my car, stopped by Chick-fil-a for breakfast, and went home. The girls in my small group thought it was so funny that I wasn’t running with anyone, but the thought never crossed my mind. I had a goal. I didn’t need a companion.
But then it happened… the one time I didn’t achieve my goal. I trained for the OC Half Marathon this past spring, and the night before the race I couldn’t sleep at all, and ended up running about four minutes slower than I hoped to. I felt so defeated as I crossed the finish line. Micah was at home watching the girls, and I sulked on the way back to my car. My friend, Ashlee, ran the race too. It was her first ever half, and she crushed it. She said after the race that running it with her husband by her side was the very best part.
Over the next few days I kept thinking of Ashlee’s smiling face in an Instagram photo at the end of the race, her husband in his race bib, standing proudly by her side.
Why do I always try to do everything alone? The question lurked quietly in the back of mind.
Finally, I did what I never do, and I asked Micah for help. I wanted to run another half marathon and try to PR while I was still at the peak of my training. I signed up for another event three weeks later and asked Micah, who is an amazing runner, to be my pacer. A week before the race, we did a final training run around our neighborhood. I let him take the watch, and I followed his lead. He kept us perfectly on pace. The next week we stood at the starting line of another half marathon together. We ran side-by-side for 2 hours and 8 minutes, and I achieved a new PR thanks to his help.
I may still be Miss Independent by nature, but it’s good to remember I don’t have to do everything “all by myself.” Now if I can only teach Zianne the same lesson…
