As a kid, the idea of living close to my parents was nightmarish. As an adult, it's a blessing

This First Person article is written by Vienna Kerfoot, who lives in Port Moody, B.C. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

I was a 15-year-old stubborn teenager when one day, I pulled out my journal and wrote in a blue ballpoint pen: "I started Operation Independent today." I meticulously listed the steps I thought I needed to take to become self-sufficient. 

The checklist included things like learning how to do laundry (sort the dirty clothes into the hamper and not on the floor) and packing my own lunch for school (make sure it was edible AND healthy) before expanding into more sophisticated tasks like getting a job and researching how to move out. 

I had everything growing up: love, safety, shelter, food, clothing, friends, toys. We weren't supervillain rich or anything; we were just your average middle-class family living in suburbia. 

My parents were really involved in my life and helped me and my siblings wherever possible. As the youngest child and the only girl, I lived a pampered princess life. 

At some point, I noticed my siblings and parents were doing most things for me — and they rarely needed my help. Being around such self-sufficient people led me to believe that being an adult meant being independent and never needing to rely on others for help. In hindsight, this, of course, made sense because I was a kid and they were my parents. But it didn't dawn on me at the time. 

I slowly noticed my friends and classmates had become more independent as we grew up, whereas I seemed to be stagnant. Being a bookworm, I read story after story about strong women and brave heroes going off on adventures, saving the world and doing it all by themselves. I wondered how I would fare in such stories. 

I wondered if I would be able to be strong, adventurous and self-sufficient like the people in these stories and those around me. I wanted so badly to show that I could do things on my own. Perhaps this was my teenage equivalent of a child on a bike yelling, "Look Ma, no hands."

Even now, all these years later, I'm not sure if I wanted to prove it to myself or my parents, or both. 

Aside from a brief stint when I lived in the U.S. for film school paid for by my parents, I lived at home throughout college. When I was 21, I decided I would try to make it on my own, once and for all, without any safety net if I fell. 

To do this, I decided I needed to go as far away as possible. My dad had no doubts that I could do anything I set my mind to and was excited for me to go off on my adventure. My mom was reluctant to let go of her baby, but ultimately she was supportive.

I'd never been to England, so that seemed like the perfect place to start. They spoke English there, so how hard could it be? 

That saying "You don't even know what you don't know" — that was me. 

While I didn't fall flat on my face, I came pretty close to it at some points. The rent in London was more expensive than I'd budgeted for. Even though I'd landed a decent job working in admin at a prestigious law firm, my 18,000-pound salary still had me living paycheque to paycheque for the first time in my life. There were weeks when I survived solely on a loaf of bread and PB&J because I couldn't afford anything else. 

Emails and phone calls home consisted of me telling my parents how great things were. Years later, when I confessed to my mom about my PB&J days, she cried because she was so distraught at how much I'd struggled. 

"Why didn't you say something? I would have sent you money." 

But that was the whole point, wasn't it? I was trying to do everything on my own without help from anyone. If I accepted their help, it would be tantamount to failure, right? 

I had found a job, got an apartment and built a life in London by myself. I was so stubborn and so set on proving that I was a "real adult." But to what end? 

There are no prizes awarded for "who struggled the most." Why was I so desperate to escape the love and security that was so readily available to me? I was always one of the first people to roll up my sleeves and offer help to a friend in need, yet found it hard to ask for help in return.

How absurd was I to be embarrassed of my parents for wanting to help me? How dare they offer me love and support — for shame! 

I'm incredibly proud of all that I accomplished in London, and I treasure all the friends and memories that I made along the way. Would my experience abroad have been tarnished had I asked for help? There was a time when I would have answered with a resounding yes. 

Looking back now though, I can't help but roll my eyes at my foolishness.

I've learned that accepting help from others doesn't diminish your efforts or overshadow your successes. 

There wasn't one watershed moment. It was slowly noticing how my friends helped their younger siblings or how my friends' parents helped them put down payments on houses so they could own something. It was being in a study group at BCIT and my peers working together to prep for our exams, asking each other questions back and forth until every last one of us understood. Also, therapy.

I realized over time that greatness is rarely achieved when working in a vacuum. Michael Jordan had the Bulls, Beyoncé had Destiny's Child and even Miss Piggy had Kermit. They all had a support system to uplift and celebrate them. My parents had each other, and their families. 

I've been back in Canada for more than a decade, but I only moved closer to my mom this past year. I live just 10 minutes away from her now. With distance no longer an issue, we're able to help each other out all the time. I'm able to run errands for her and take her to appointments, and whenever I get sick, she makes food for me.

I'd been so blinded by my focus on growing up that I forgot to stop and appreciate everything that I had at my fingertips. Living across the globe made me truly appreciate how lucky I am. 

I finally realized that being an adult means having the wisdom to understand when you need help and being humble enough to actually ask for it. I know now that I can do it on my own, but that I don't have to. 

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