Last month I was in a conversation with colleagues, and the question came up, “Who do you go to with your problems?” Most people quickly stated their spouses or friends, but for some reason, I couldn’t generate a name. It was an awkward 30 seconds of people staring at me, either thinking I was drumming up a slightly inappropriate joke (which is commonplace for me) or deducing that I secretly was leading a lonely life of isolation.

I just threw up a word, like vomit. It came up out of my mouth without control, “myself.” I’m sure it looked as ridiculous as it sounded. Who in the hell says their go-to person is themselves? Um, a narcissist, that’s who, or some lonely, ego-centered wiseass.

A few people chuckled, thinking “there goes Lane again; can never answer a serious question without a joke.” Others, who knew I could be a bit of a wannabe philosopher, looked curious. Both camps of people just looked at me, waiting for a follow-up that I had to figure out in seconds so I could explain myself a bit better.

So in under a minute, I had to scratch the surface and get to the bottom of why this was my response. Especially, because I preach connection as a way to avoid burnout and improve mental health.

First thought was, well, that is bullshit; you rely on your husband, sister, and colleagues all of the time. Second thought was, Oh no maybe I have an emotional detachment disorder. Then the lightbulb lit. All be damned! I am living in a self-built emotional fortress surrounded by walls, pretending it is self-care.

I often talk to myself while driving. Anything that is bothering me, I say out loud as if my greatest confidant were sitting in the passenger seat. I am so honest sometimes I say things that make me feel guilty or embarrassed. I expose every hidden emotion, then accept what I feel is the best way to move forward with complete vulnerability. Then I bury that shit like a dead body in a mob movie.

In those moments of deep reflection, I am caring for myself and doing what I believe is a realignment of my thoughts and values. I also feel this takes care of placing the burden of listening to me on someone else, especially those I love. Those poor people have their own struggles to manage, they don’t need to deal with mine.

Though there is more to my answer of “myself” than this cop out reasoning. The fortress I speak of is really centered around the element of trust. Do I trust others will participate in supporting me because they want to or because they feel have to? Do I trust they will listen without judgment? Do I trust that others can sperate my problems from me as a person? Do I trust myself to not scratch a wound that could cause me to come unglued? Who do I trust to be completely vulnerable with?

There is an illusion in life that if we “fix” our issues alone and avoid having to ever expose them, no one will ever know they were a problem in the first place. We have cheated perception to maintain protection, but protection comes at a cost.

While I may never forego my honest conversations with myself, as they offer clarity and improved self-awareness, I must resist the temptation to protect myself so much that I miss out on the beauty of love and connection that comes from sharing our hurt, embarrassment, failures, and humanity.

Those we rely on in our lives were consciously or subconsciously pulled into our world because we need something from them. Sometimes, it is because they are nonjudgmental and compassionate. Other times, it is because we respect their wisdom and advice, making us willing to hear the hard things we need to hear for our own growth. Hell, sometimes it is because you know every time you are with someone, it will end with you laughing your ass off.

We choose our go-to people because they bring a wholeness to us we so desperately seek. If we keep our stress to ourselves, we will live incompletely because a heart is meant to be shared for love to grow and trust to thrive.