by Ellen Swann Wright
On Love, Interdependence, and the People Who Have Our Backs
My mother used to say to me, “You’ve got a partner over here.” It was something we said to each other throughout my life. Sometimes when one of us was struggling, sometimes when we needed help, and sometimes when life was simply being life. It was our way of saying, I’ve got you.
But the phrase didn’t originate with us.
When I was young, my mother told me a story about playing spades with her brother, my Uncle June. They were partners in a game with two other people. At some point, as they looked at their cards and then at each other, one of them said, “You’ve got a partner over here.” I don’t remember whether my mother or Uncle June said it first, and I do not remember all the details of the game. But I remember what my mother wanted me to understand. They trusted each other. They knew they could count on the other person to play their cards, understand the game, and do their part.
My mother wanted me to know that I could count on her in the same way. She told me that story when I was young, and those words became part of the language of our relationship. Whenever I needed something, or whenever she needed something, we would remind each other, “You’ve got a partner over here.” And she meant it.
My mother supported me in endless ways throughout my life. After I gave birth to my son, Leo, she made me breakfast every morning and brought it to me. I was exhausted, sleeping very little because my newborn was waking every two hours to breastfeed. She didn’t need me to explain why I was tired or ask for breakfast. She simply saw what was needed and responded.
She helped me pack up every dorm room, apartment, and house I ever moved from while she was alive. Every single one. When I needed clothes for a job interview, she bought them. When I needed to leave Hawai‘i after deciding to leave my ex-husband, with Leo only three months old, she found the money to get us home. She made sure that for 25 summers, we went to the Outer Banks of North Carolina for vacation. Somehow, she made those trips happen, year after year, as though it were nothing.
When I moved to Hawai‘i, she came to visit me every year. And for my birthday, she once sent me blue crabs because she knew how much I loved them and how much I missed being home. Blue crabs. All the way to Hawai‘i. That was my mother. She knew what mattered to me. She knew what brought me joy. She paid attention.
We talked pretty much every day, usually in the morning and again in the evening. She wanted to know about my day, and I wanted to know about hers. We shared the ordinary things, the extraordinary things, the frustrations, the joys, the plans, the disappointments, and everything in between. She was my mother, but she was also my best friend.
I experienced our relationship as love, connection, and the assurance that there was someone in the world who genuinely wanted to hear from me. Someone who was interested in my life simply because it was mine. Someone who had my back.
Independence Is Not the Absence of Need
Lately, I’ve been thinking a great deal about independence, dependence, codependence, and interdependence. I am a single mother, a therapist, an author, an entrepreneur, and a woman building a life and a vision that I deeply believe in. I am capable. I know how to make things happen. I have navigated enormous challenges and figured out how to keep moving forward. But sometimes, I am tired. Sometimes, I need help. And sometimes, I desperately wish I had someone who would wrap their arms around me and say, “You’ve got a partner over here.”
Not because I cannot manage my life, but because I do not want to have to manage every part of it alone. There is a difference.
Somewhere along the way, independence can become confused with the idea that we should not need anyone. That being capable means being entirely self-sufficient, and that asking for or receiving help somehow diminishes our strength. But independence and interdependence are not mutually exclusive. We can be capable, responsible, and self-directed while also recognizing that meaningful relationships involve mutual support.
Interdependence is not weakness. It is not the absence of personal responsibility, and it is not codependence. Interdependence is the recognition that human beings are relational creatures. We need one another. We contribute to one another’s well-being. We offer assistance, companionship, comfort, knowledge, encouragement, resources, and care.
As a biologist, I find it remarkable that we can recognize the intricate networks of interdependence throughout the natural world while sometimes struggling to honor those same principles in human relationships. Life does not flourish through isolation alone. Connection is part of how living systems survive and thrive.
Perhaps one of the most meaningful things we can offer another person is the assurance that they do not have to navigate every difficulty alone. Not because we will solve every problem for them, but because we are willing to stand alongside them as they find their way.
Love Is a Response
A few weeks ago someone sent me money out of the blue. This person saw that I was struggling and responded in a tangible way. I was deeply touched, not simply because of the money, although I certainly needed it, but because of what the gesture communicated. I see you. I know things are difficult. I want to help. It was active help. Something that made my life easier. It said, “You’ve got someone over here.”
It reminded me of my mother, and I’ve been thinking about how differently people respond when we are struggling. Some respond with logic. Some respond with suggestions. Some respond with discomfort or distance. Some do not respond at all. And some respond with genuine care, curiosity, presence, or tangible assistance. The type of assistance that makes things better, takes something off my plate and makes me breathe easier.
Not everyone has the same capacity to respond. And not every person knows how to respond to another person’s vulnerability. But I have come to understand that care is not always measured by the amount someone can give tangible help. Sometimes it is revealed in their willingness to notice. I’ve also come to understand that many people are so disconnected from their own experiences that they may struggle to recognize what is happening in the lives of others. For me, the most meaningful response is not advice or a solution. I’ve come to understand that it is simply being present, asking a question, offering comfort, or recognizing that someone needs to feel connected rather than instructed.
The People Who Celebrate and the People Who Don’t
I’ve also been noticing the people around me more clearly. There are people who seem genuinely happy when things are going well for me. They celebrate my accomplishments, ask questions, express curiosity, and encourage me. And there are others whose responses feel markedly different. I’ve been learning to pay attention to those differences.
I do not have to know exactly why someone responds the way they do. I don’t have to determine whether their behavior comes from unhappiness, fear, insecurity, or something else. I can simply notice how I experience the relationship. Do I feel seen? Is there reciprocity? Does this person show interest in my joys as well as my struggles? Can I reach toward them when I need something? Do I find myself repeatedly calling toward someone who does not respond? And perhaps most importantly, am I making room in my life for the people who do?
Right now, I find myself wanting more solitude. Not because I’ve stopped valuing connection, but quite the opposite. I value it too deeply to keep investing my energy indiscriminately. I want relationships that are reciprocal, nourishing, generous, and real. I want to be with people who can celebrate my joy without diminishing it and witness my difficulty without distancing themselves from me. And I want to offer those same things in return.
The Kind of Partnership I Miss
This week has been difficult. There have been household repairs (cracked toilet, new water heater), financial pressures, physical pain (knee and tooth), and an unexpected dental emergency that resulted in having two wisdom teeth removed. I conducted my sessions, honored my commitments, and did what needed to be done. But afterward, I was in serious pain. I managed.
Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I found myself thinking, I really wish I had a partner. Someone to hug me. Someone to help me. Someone to get me applesauce and gauze. Someone who would see that I was hurting and say, “Go lie down. I’ve got this.” Someone who would share the practical responsibilities of life and the intimate tenderness of being alive.
I miss that kind of partnership. And I miss my mother.
I miss being able to call her in the morning and tell her what happened. I miss telling her the good news. I miss hearing about her day. I miss knowing that if something went terribly wrong, there was someone I could call who would immediately begin thinking about how we could navigate it together.
I miss the person who would listen with compassion and kindness and say, ‘Oh Sweets, it is going to be okay. Go rest now.’ I miss the gentleness of my mother, who knew how to soothe me when I was struggling rather than adding to my distress. She understood that sometimes what I needed was a kind word, sometimes what I needed was breakfast, and sometimes what I needed was simply to be heard. I miss my friend.
And I think part of what I long for in a romantic relationship is the opportunity to experience that same spirit of partnership again. Not to replace my mother. No one could. But to share my life with someone who understands that love is not simply a feeling we profess. Love is something we practice.
It is noticing, listening, responding, and showing up. It is knowing that the person across from you is playing the same game of life, and while neither of you knows every card the other is holding, you trust each other to play your hands together.
You’ve Got a Partner Over Here
I keep coming back to that spades table. My mother and Uncle June, two siblings looking at each other across a game, recognizing that they were playing together. What a simple moment. What an extraordinary lesson.
My mother took that moment and transformed it into a lifelong promise between us. And she honored that promise in ways both large and small.
I am grateful that I knew that kind of love. I am grateful that I experienced a relationship in which giving and receiving were natural expressions of connection. I am grateful that my mother taught me that needing someone does not diminish my strength. And I am grateful that I know what partnership can feel like.
As I continue building my life, raising my son, creating, teaching, writing, and cultivating relationships, I want to carry that lesson forward. I want to be someone who can say, “You’ve got a partner over here,” and mean it. But I also want to experience the joy of hearing those words spoken back to me.
Because I don’t simply want to survive. I want to live, love, receive, be held, and share the journey.
You’ve got a partner over here.
What a beautiful thing to be able to say. What an even more beautiful thing to know that someone means it.