There was this one time, years ago, when my dad asked me if I was dating anyone. I said “no,” because I wasn’t.

And before I could even think about what that “no” meant or how I felt about it, my mum jumped in:

“Don’t be silly. Mitch will always be single. He’s too independent.”

I laughed it off at the time. What else do you do in that moment? But the words stuck. They’ve lived rent-free in the back of my head ever since. Like a little curse.

Too Independent?

It’s a funny thing to be told by the people who raised you. That your independence, a quality you thought was a strength, is actually the thing that will keep you alone.

And here’s the kicker: sometimes I wonder if it’s true. Not because I don’t want connection, but because in the years since, I can’t help but feel her words echo every time something fizzles out. Every situationship. Every “almost.” Every time the spark never turns into a fire.

It’s like her voice is whispering: “See? I told you.”

A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy?

Was it just an offhand comment? Probably.

Was it meant to sting? I don’t think so.

But here’s the thing about words: they can embed themselves deep. They can feel like prophecy. And the danger is, if you believe them long enough, you start living like they’re true.

Breaking the Curse

So here’s where I’ve landed: maybe my independence is a strength. Maybe it’s what makes me sturdy, reliable, capable. And maybe it’s not a curse, but a filter. Because the right person won’t see my independence as a barrier, they’ll see it as something to admire, to match, to grow with.

My mum’s words will probably always linger, but I don’t want them to be the story. The story is that I can love. I can be loved. And independence doesn’t make me unlovable. It makes me me.

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Sometimes the hardest part of adulthood is unravelling the things your parents said and deciding which parts you’ll carry forward, and which ones you’ll leave behind.