Independance Day has come and gone...

I have a little...problem, we'll say, with depending on others. And in leaving my husband late last year I was pretty sure I'd solved it...after all, if you don't have anyone to depend on, then its not really an issue, is it? Certainly I have friends I rely on for emotional support, and I'd be dead in the water without them. But I like to shovel my own walks, carry my own pack, and change my own oil (once the warranty's up, of course).
Life/The Universe/Cruel Fate have, as is their custom, stepped in to correct this misbehavior on my part. 2-story slide, impending collision with son, foot out to stop it, snap-crackle-pop, ER, crutches and no driving minimum 3 weeks.
Ouch.
Luckily for me I was traveling with Guy. Yes, we're just going to call him that. Protect the innocent.
Poor Guy.
Guy wanted to carry me the 70 yards to the car but do you think I could live with that sort of thing? Hogwash. Just give me your shoulder, Guy, and I'll hop along on my own...(I'm pretty sure it would've been much easier on Guy to just carry me, in hind sight.)
But see that's important right there - did you catch it? My persistent need for independence is completely selfish. It was never about making it easier on him, but entirely about my own stubborn discomfort with needing/accepting help. Hmmmm....
Enter the ER, where Guy, who has spent limited time with the kids - an afternoon or evening here and there - will, for the first time, be in charge of them. And, just for shits and giggles, they were expecting a fun day at the park followed by dinner at Texas Roadhouse (joy of joys). Instead they get the ER waiting room with one toy to fight over and lots of furniture to jump on.
Guy held his own. I, meanwhile, laid in a bed in the ER and cried, not because of the pain (ok maybe a little because of the pain) but mostly because of the complete & utter helplessness. Helplessness, I discovered, makes me angry. Very very angry. I threw a temper tantrum that would put Anna to shame. I can only thank the Hanover ER for the awful wait time which allowed me to have this little breakdown sans audience.
Where does this come from?
A good bit of it probably comes from my marriage, in which I constantly played the role of the one who needs help, the one who can't do it on her own, the one who will fuck it up if she tries. I played this role because I was married to someone who very much needed to be The One Who Is Needed. And he needed that role more than I did, so I acquiesced, mistakenly believing that that was what a good spouse does. So now, with my taste of freedom under my belt, the LAST role I want to play is The One Who Needs Help. Some people aspire to mediocrity, and some have mediocrity thrust upon them...
And there it is, still, this insistence that needing help equals weakness. A friend recently mentioned to me (okay..."posted") that accepting help gives others the opportunity to show kindness, which in turn enriches their lives...I like that. I just need to find someone gimpier than myself to help out...