Are you someone's crutch?

And who's yours?

Oct 19, 2023

“When you’re not here, I manage fine. When you’re around, I feel weak, like I won’t be able to cope when you’re gone.”

My dad and I were having our morning coffee during my month-long visit to Thailand. Soon after my arrival, he began having leg pains that rapidly worsened to the point where he almost couldn’t drive. I had stepped in as the family chauffeur, but I was leaving in a few weeks.

Hearing his words filled me with a strange mix of sorrow… and relief.

“I’ll be fine,” he continued. I couldn’t tell if this was for my benefit or his. Not knowing what to say—what is there to say—I smiled and took another sip.

Two weeks later, I flew back to Ho Chi Minh City as scheduled. For the first time ever, my dad didn’t drive me to the airport. He asked my uncle—my mother’s younger brother—to step in. I hugged my parents goodbye in our garage, then left.

(Not) my dad’s crutch

Some of my Thailand-based friends, upon hearing about my dad’s condition, had urged me to extend my visit to care for him. Stay a few more weeks, they said. Be here for your dad, they said. I’d smiled and thanked them, said I’d consider their advice.

And consider it I did. With each day that passed, my dad was getting worse rather than better. If I were around, I could be his driver, accompany him to the hospital, provide moral support.

But in the end, I decided against it. None of the things I could do would actually make his legs better. What he needed was professional medical care. His daughter being around was a nice-to-have, not a need-to-have. I’m sure he would have liked it, but as he said, he could manage just fine without me.

More important than the fact that my presence would be immaterial, I was making a conscious effort not to become my dad’s crutch. I didn’t want him to have to rely on me to live a good life—in health and in sickness. His life is his to live. I’m just a supporting character.

I think my dad understands this. Despite a recent terminal illness diagnosis, he hasn’t made a single undue request. He understands my life is separate from his, that it’s in Vietnam with my partner, my friends, my routines. He understands I’m not his crutch, and hasn’t asked me to be.

You might call me ungrateful. I call it boundaries—firmly drawn and fiercely enforced. If my dad decides he really can’t cope without me, he knows all he has to do is call and I’ll fly back to help. But that decision is his to make. I wasn’t going to make it for him and extend my visit just in case I’m needed.

And so, with a heavy heart, I left.

A life without crutches

It took five months, but my dad did improve with my mom’s support and care. I’m about to return for another visit, and we’re already making plans for a long drive up North with my dad behind the wheel (and me as back-up).

Through these five months, I kept track of my dad’s doctor appointments, checked in often, asked my mom in our weekly calls to regale me with oft-hilarious tales from their numerous hospital visits.

This was my way of being there for my dad, and mom, without becoming either’s crutch. It worked this time around. It may not in the future, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I’m sure by now my stance is clear: I am a strong proponent of a life without crutches—that is, a life where you’re not anybody’s crutch, and nobody is yours.

Each person’s life is theirs—and theirs alone—to live.

Which is not to say that we can’t help each other out. We absolutely should. But it is to say that we shouldn’t ever take responsibility for someone else’s problems, and more importantly, let someone else take responsibility for ours.

As a society, we’ve somehow come to see crutches as a good thing. We take pride in being the person someone else can’t live without, congratulate ourselves for having the great fortune to find a person we can’t live without—the love of our life, our BFF, our parent, our child.

Many will eagerly entangle themselves in someone else’s life—citing duty, necessity, or love—and believe they’re making a noble sacrifice. Yet more will—in professing their undying love—dramatically proclaim “I can’t live without you.”

Society finds this acceptable, even romantic. I find it fucked up.

Yes, humans are social animals. But connecting with others doesn’t mean becoming responsible for them, or—worse—making them responsible for you.

I love my partner like I’ve never loved anyone. But I’ll never solve his problems for him, or rely on him for my happiness. The only person I can’t live without is me.

Just the way it should be.

What do you think?

And that, dear reader, is my tirade against crutches. Now it’s time for you to do a crutch check-up:

Are you someone’s crutch? And who’s yours?

Lay it on me. I promise not to judge.1 And if you find my take scandalous, I’m all ears to hear your thoughts. Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone who’ll thank you for it.