Welcome back to Unfiltered with Love. I'm your host, Kerry Love, and I'm so glad you're here. Let's get into today's conversation. So last week I talked about independence and how much of my identity has been built around the person who can handle things. And since then I've been thinking about something that feels connected to that. I'm really good at giving. I'm good at helping people, I'm good at showing up, I'm good at doing things for people I care about. But receiving that's a little more complicated. Something happened recently that made me think about this. Someone offered to help me financially with something, and I immediately said no. And afterward I thought about why. It wasn't because I didn't trust the person. It wasn't because I didn't appreciate the offer. I did. It was very kind. I just don't feel comfortable taking money from people. And I think that's important because not everything we say no to is a wall. Sometimes it's just a boundary. But then that made me think about the bigger question. What kinds of receiving make me uncomfortable and why? Because those things aren't all the same. I can accept someone taking me to dinner, I can accept a thoughtful gesture, somebody doing something kind for me, but there are other kinds of help that feel much more vulnerable. And I think that's where it gets interesting. Because there's a difference between someone being generous and someone seeing that maybe you could actually use help. That second one asks you to let them see something. It asks you to admit that maybe you don't have every single thing handled. And I think for me that's where some of the discomfort comes in. I've never asked anybody for money in my whole life. And for most of my adult life, I was in a very different financial situation than I am now. When I was married, I was much more financially secure. As I've mentioned before, I was married for 23 years, and for about 15 of those, I was a stay-at-home mom. And I chose that because it mattered to me. I wanted to be home with my children, and I'm grateful for the experience that I had and the time I had with them. But there was also a cost to that choice. I stepped away from my career. I gave up years of earning, building experience, and moving forward professionally. At that time, that made sense because we were a family and we were building a life together. My husband worked and I was at home raising our children, and that was a structure of our marriage. But when you divorce after 23 years, you suddenly realize how intertwined everything was. Not just emotionally, financially, practically, your whole life. And untangling that is hard, really hard. After the divorce, I had to go back to the drawing board. I had to figure out how to support myself again. And doing that later in life has been difficult. You're not starting where you left off. The world has changed, careers have changed, your expenses have changed, and you've changed. And suddenly you're trying to rebuild earning power that you stepped away from for years. And I don't say that with regret about being home with my kids. I don't regret that. But I can acknowledge that both things can be true. I can be incredibly grateful that I had those years with them and also acknowledge that stepping away from my career affected me financially later. And that has been hard. There have been times since my divorce when I've found myself in situations I was never used to being in before. Situations where I've had to think about money in a way I didn't during my marriage. Situations where I've thought, how am I going to make this work? How am I going to cover everything? And I think that's part of why receiving financial help feels so uncomfortable for me. Because I never wanted to go back to feeling dependent on another person in that way. I was dependent on my husband. And within a marriage, that felt normal. We were building one life. But when that marriage ended, I learned how vulnerable that kind of dependence can make you feel. And I think somewhere in that process, I made a quiet promise to myself, I will never be that dependent on another person again. And honestly, I still understand why I feel that way. I don't want my entire sense of security tied to whether another person stays. I don't want to feel like if someone leaves, my whole life falls apart. I don't want to lose myself inside somebody else's stability. And there's another piece of this for me, too. After my divorce, I was in another relationship where money became complicated. Sometimes he would offer to help me with something. Sometimes I would borrow a small amount until payday and pay it back. At first I felt comfortable with that. But over time I started noticing that money could become part of an argument. Something that had been offered as a gift could suddenly be brought back up later. If we were fighting, it could turn into, well then give back my money. Or if the relationship ended, something that had once been given freely could suddenly feel like a debt. And I hated that. I hated that feeling that something offered with kindness could later be used as leverage. So I think somewhere along the way I decided I don't want money from people. I don't want generosity today to become leverage tomorrow. I don't want to wonder whether accepting help means I now owe somebody emotionally. And I think that's why this subject is more complicated for me than simply learning how to receive. Because some of my resistance is probably fear, but some of it's also experience. I learned that money can change the dynamic between people. So now I think I'm trying to figure out the difference between healthy support and support that comes with strings attached. And maybe that's the middle ground I'm looking for. Not I need you to survive, and not I will never accept anything from anyone. But maybe I can allow support from people I trust while still keeping my independence and my boundaries. Because those things can exist together. Accepting help from someone doesn't automatically mean I'm dependent on them. Letting someone do something kind for me doesn't mean I suddenly can't take care of myself. Allowing support doesn't erase everything I've rebuilt. And over the last year, I've actually been really fortunate because my family has helped me in ways they really never had before. And honestly, it's been really nice. And I'm very grateful for it. But even with that, I've noticed that there can still be this little voice in my head saying, you should be able to do this yourself. And I've had to challenge that. Why? Why does accepting support automatically mean I'm not capable? Why does needing help in one area suddenly erase everything I'm doing on my own? It doesn't. And I think somewhere along the way I confused independence with never needing anyone. But those are not the same thing. I like being independent. I'm proud that I've rebuilt my life. I'm proud that I know I can figure things out. I'm proud that I've kept going even when it's been hard. I don't want to lose that part of myself. But maybe the goal isn't to become less independent. Maybe the goal is to stop feeling like I have to prove that I don't need anyone. There's a difference. And I think receiving has a lot to do with trust. Not just trusting the other person, trusting yourself. Trusting that you can accept help without becoming dependent. Trusting that you can receive kindness without owing someone your life. Trusting that you can allow somebody to care about you and still remain fully yourself. And trusting that you can also say no when something doesn't feel right for you. That's why I keep coming back to this idea of boundary versus defense. Not everything I refuse is something I need to work through. Sometimes no really is just no. Sometimes I'm saying no because something crosses a boundary for me. But other times, maybe I'm saying no automatically because receiving feels vulnerable. And I think the interesting part is learning the difference. Am I protecting a healthy boundary, or am I protecting myself from the possibility of needing someone? Because those are very different things. And maybe the hardest part of learning to trust people isn't asking them to show up. Maybe it's letting them show up when they actually do. I've spent years proving to myself that I can survive. But maybe now I'm learning that I don't have to do everything alone in order to still know that. And maybe sometimes the strongest thing I can say is no thank you. And maybe sometimes the strongest thing I can say is simply thank you. No explanation, no apology, no immediate need to repay it, just letting the kindness land. I'm still figuring out which one is which for me, and maybe that's enough right now. Just noticing and paying attention. The next time somebody offers me help or support or kindness, maybe I can pause before I automatically respond. Do I genuinely not want this? Or am I uncomfortable receiving it? Is this a boundary? Is this fear? Is this experience talking, or is this actually a safe place where I can let somebody show up for me? I don't know. I'm still figuring it out. And apparently, that's what I'm thinking about this week. So thanks for hanging out with me today. If you enjoyed this conversation, I'd love to hear from you. Send me a message, leave a review, or share this episode with someone who might need it. And before I go, is there a place in your life where you've become so used to being independent that receiving support feels uncomfortable? And if there is, is that independence protecting you, or is it keeping you from letting someone show up for you? Until next time, keep asking good questions, keep being curious, and most importantly, keep showing up as yourself. This is Unfiltered with Love. I'm your host, Kerry Love, and I'll see you next week.