Web Weaving Free Space

When people understand the story of how I lived between cultures, it becomes easier to see why the way I ask for help, offer help, and build relationships looks unfamiliar in a Canadian context. The reciprocal model I use now is not a recent invention or a strategy. It grew naturally out of the systems I lived in for twenty years and the ways I learned to survive without hierarchy, without shame, and without the belief that life must be handled alone. It is simply the structure that makes the most sense for the kind of life I have lived.

At its core, my approach is based on two principles. I only ask someone for help if the task aligns with their strengths and brings them some ease or satisfaction, and I only ask when I know I have something meaningful I can offer in return, whether now or later. These principles were shaped by environments where people showed up because they were part of a web, not because of transactions or obligation. Reciprocity was not a ledger. It was how people honoured one another and kept the community healthy.

Consent is central to this model. I only want an enthusiastic yes from anyone who participates, whether in friendship, collaboration, or community life. A yes should come from genuine willingness, not from guilt, pressure, or social expectation. This is why I am transparent about my needs and capacities, and why I am always prepared for a no. I learned that long before Korea, working in fundraising where asking without attachment was essential. A no is never a failure in my system. It is simply part of healthy consent.

If you do not understand the values behind this model, it can look unusual. If you have only lived inside systems where independence is the norm and reciprocity means debt, then someone like me, who names both her needs and her capacities, may look like she is arranging something. I understand that. It is an easy misunderstanding to make. In societies shaped by capitalism and self-sufficiency, clarity can be mistaken for strategy, and interdependence can be mistaken for manipulation. The misunderstanding lies in the framework, not the intention.

One thing that matters for people to know is that I do not want to accumulate wealth or power. When I have resources, skills, or access, I see those things as responsibilities to share. This is something that has always been intuitive to me, but it was reinforced by the cultures I lived in abroad and by the Indigenous teachings I have learned since returning. In many First Nations traditions, abundance is not something to store away. It is something to distribute because survival depends on circulation. You share when you can and lean on others when you must. That idea made immediate sense to me because it matched what I had lived for decades.

I also did not adopt every cultural value I encountered. I rejected hierarchy, rigid status structures, and obligation based on rank or social position. In the systems I lived within, there were expectations tied to age, gender, status, or seniority. I never accepted those. I kept the parts that aligned with my ethics and left the rest. My model is not a copy of any one culture. It is a synthesis shaped by experience, ethics, and personal integrity.

There are parts of Canadian culture that carry traces of communal instinct. People historically survived harsh winters by relying on one another, and that shaped many unspoken social habits. But modern life has created mixed messages. COVID required us to isolate when we were physically contagious. That was necessary. The problem is that the same instinct was quietly transferred to emotional struggle. People began stepping back when they were lonely or overwhelmed, as if emotional pain were something others needed protection from. Emotional pain is not contagious. Joy and comfort are. We need to understand which medicine applies when, because withdrawing from connection is often the opposite of what a struggling person needs. This confusion has left many people unsure of when to reach out and when to retreat.

In that context, my approach to reciprocity can be difficult for people to interpret. They may hesitate because they are not used to people saying what they need so openly or offering help so freely. They may worry about boundaries or obligations because they are trying to navigate conflicting cultural instructions. None of this comes from bad intentions. It comes from a lack of shared models. The misunderstandings that sometimes form around me are not personal. They are structural.

My own relationships often have multi-directional imbalances. In some directions I give more than I receive, and in others I receive more than I can immediately return. That is not because anyone is taking advantage. It is simply what happens in any living system. Capacity moves. People shift in and out of need. A healthy network allows that movement without shame. In the systems that shaped me, imbalance was normal and expected. Support flowed where it was needed instead of trying to remain symmetrical.

Explaining this model now is not about defending myself. It is about making the structure visible so people understand the system I am trying to build. When you can see the values beneath it, the confusion dissolves. What may have looked like manipulation reveals itself as consent and clarity. What may have looked like greed reveals itself as responsibility and the desire to share whatever I have. What may have looked unfamiliar becomes understandable once the cultural and personal context is visible.

The model itself is grounded in the belief that people thrive when support circulates, when needs are named honestly, when generosity is guided by capacity and sincerity, and when relationships are treated as living things. It does not come from one culture or one teaching. It grew from years of lived experience, from being part of communities where people had to show up, and from recognizing the places where modern life pushes us away from our instinct for connection.

This is the architecture behind how I give and how I ask. It is the practical expression of the worldview shaped in me over twenty years abroad and refined through the relationships and teachings I have encountered here. It is not designed to extract anything from anyone. It is meant to help create a web where everyone participates according to their ability and where no one is left alone. It is the only system that has ever felt honest, sustainable, and human to me, and it is the one I am trying to build around me now.