You Should Probably Get Better at Asking for Help
On why independence became another cage
I had a panic attack in a Target parking lot last Tuesday and instead of calling anyone, I just sat there gripping the steering wheel until my hands went numb.
Not because I don’t have people I could call. I do. I have people who’ve explicitly told me “call me if you need anything” and meant it. I also have people who would’ve picked up in the past and who would’ve definitely sat on the phone with me while I remembered how to breathe.
I just didn’t call them.
And as I sat there afterward with my little, pale hands still shaking, I kept asking myself why. Why is asking for help harder than sitting alone in a car having a full-body meltdown in broad daylight?
Spoiler: It’s Because Somewhere Along The Way I Decided That Needing People Was The Same As Failing At Being A Person.
If I was strong enough, or evolved enough, or had done enough therapy or read enough self-help books or worked on myself enough, I wouldn’t need anyone anymore.
I’d be self-sufficient. Complete. Whole on my own. So, my suffering was clearly on me, and needing help became evidence of exactly that. It affirmed that I perceived myself as broken in some fundamental way.
Which is completely backwards when you actually think about it.