I moved cities on my own, built a business, paid my bills, and in my year of living alone, I even learned how to fix things around the house because asking for help felt like a risk I couldn’t afford. Somewhere along the way, that independence became my entire identity. People admired it, and I clung to it.

A couple of years ago, on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday, a friend sent me cake and flowers. No milestone. No reason. Just a message that read, “Your softness shines through.” I burst into tears. Not because of the flowers, but because it had been so long since someone thought of me in that way- a gesture for no reason other than joy, softness, and being seen. I realised then that I had slowly, quietly begun to believe I didn’t deserve that kind of care. That I had to earn softness. That it was a reward, not a right.

Somewhere along the way, care had started to feel like a threat to the image I’d built. I’ve laughed along when people said, “marry rich,” as if my ambition had a punchline. But we see it, don’t we? Beneath that joke is a bitter assumption – that even financially independent women are secretly looking for someone else to foot the bill. Who’s going to tell them that we’re not looking to escape the hustle, we just want someone to make us a cup of tea when we forget to eat? But admitting this always felt weak, like I wasn’t being a strong feminist.

This discomfort with receiving care surfaces in other ways too. The assumption that a woman who’s financially independent must still be strategising her way into luxury through someone else’s bank account? It dismisses all our hard work. It’s not about gold-digging- it’s about finding a partner who understands that comfort and ease aren’t privileges, but rights. When a woman who has fought her way through financial insecurity finds someone who creates space for her to be soft, it’s not about money but about care. Independent women aren’t looking for someone to “rescue” them. We’re looking for someone who creates room for us to rest. Someone who doesn’t see our independence as competition. Someone who recognises that comfort isn’t indulgence.

We love the idea of the independent woman, don’t we? Fierce, self-sufficient, juggling careers, relationships, and deadlines. I’ve always played that part well. I showed up. I performed. I had savings, I booked my own holidays, I knew how to run a house and take care of myself. But beneath that narrative was a need I kept hidden- the need to be taken care of.

Independent women have become experts at hiding our needs because we’re scared they’ll be read as weaknesses. I grew up watching women hold everyone else together- the superwomen, doing it all.  Strength was silent. Sacrifice was sacred. Softness? That was a luxury no one had time for.

We’re not asking for grand gestures. It’s the everyday intimacy that we need.Independence is often misunderstood as emotional stoicism. But ask any independent woman, and you’ll find stories of vulnerability tucked behind the bravado. We want to be cared for, but not in a way that implies we’re broken. We want to be texted when we get home. We want someone to remember our favourite cake. We want love that shows up quietly, consistently.

The truth is, independence often comes with an unspoken fear of needing someone. What we fear isn’t being alone, it’s letting someone in and being made to feel like we’re too much for having needs. That needing someone might make us less: less capable, less worthy, less feminist.

That fear is a learned response from a world that tells us strong women don’t ask.

My therapist once asked me, “Why do you think you have to earn care?” I didn’t have an answer. Just a pattern.

So I started to unlearn. I’ve taught myself that needing doesn’t make me needy. I’ve started letting people in. I’ve started asking for help. I try not to brush off kindness with, “You didn’t have to.” The world has always rewarded me more for my hustle than my humanity. But I’m trying. It’s not easy, but the fruits of this invisible labour are sweet.

This shift changed the way I love, too. I stopped looking for people who admired my independence from afar. I chose a partnership that felt like peace.  And that came with its own challenges: letting myself be taken care of by someone who truly understood what partnership means. Now, we share the weight. We bring home flowers for no reason. We split chores. We make each other tea. We leave notes. We celebrate each other in the ordinary. That is the luxury I’ve always dreamt of. And healing isn’t linear. There are days when the desire to be loved makes me pull away, when needing feels like weakness again. But we move through it. Gently. Honestly. Like a good team does.

So no, we’re not asking to be fixed. We want to be felt. Seen. Appreciated. We want our softness met with reverence, not suspicion. We’re done apologising for wanting gentleness in return.

This isn’t about choosing between power and care. It’s about refusing to live in a world where we can’t have both.

So the next time you hear, “She’s too independent to need anyone,” remember: independence isn’t a wall. It’s a doorway. And sometimes, all we want is someone who will knock, wait, and walk in without hesitation.