The psychology behind why successful people suck at asking for help
I'm a therapist and asking for help still makes me cringe. That independence you're so proud of is actually limiting your growth. Here's why high-achievers struggle most with getting support.
I'm a therapist. I literally make a living helping people work through their struggles and encouraging them to seek support when they need it. I preach about the importance of connection and vulnerability on a daily basis.
And yet, two weeks ago, I found myself staring at a half-finished speaking outline at 11 PM, paralyzed by the thought of asking anyone to look at it.
The talk was in three weeks. I knew it needed work. I knew exactly who could help me make it better. But the thought of sending my messy, imperfect draft for someone else to see made my stomach clench. I have kind, gifted friends who were willing and able to help. What if they saw how scattered my thoughts were? What if they read my ideas and thought they were stupid?
So I sat there, alone with my half-finished material, choosing struggle over support. Yet again.
Here's what I've realized: Knowing that we struggle to ask for help is only half the battle. We need to understand the psychology underneath that struggle so we can stop self-sabotaging and actually do something about it.
The childhood programming that's still running your life
Let me take you back to third grade. I was eight years old, sitting in Mrs. Overton's classroom, heart racing as she announced the test scores. It was always going to be me or Wendy Hsu at the top. Always. The two of us locked in this invisible competition that somehow felt like life or death.
When I got that 100% and Wendy got 99%, the validation was immediate and intoxicating.
That little girl learned a crucial lesson: My value comes from what I achieve. Doing it on my own means I'm stronger. Asking for help makes me weak.
If this sounds familiar, you probably grew up as what psychologists call a "parentified child" - not necessarily because your parents were absent, but because you learned early that your worth was tied to being helpful, competent, and self-sufficient. Maybe you were like me: the eldest Asian daughter who helped manage younger siblings. Maybe you were the "gifted" kid who everyone turned to for answers. Maybe you were the one who held it together when things got chaotic.
The praise felt so good. The identity of "the one who has it all figured out" became who you were. And asking for help? That threatened everything.
The success paradox
Fast forward to your adult life, and this childhood programming creates what I call "the success paradox." Here's how it works:
Your brain has categorized asking for help as a threat to your identity. When you consider reaching out for support, your nervous system literally responds as if you're in danger. Because in some ways, you are - you're risking the identity you've built upon achievement, the persona you've spent decades building.
The cruel irony? The very success that makes you valuable also makes you terrible at getting help. You're so good at solving problems that asking for help feels like admitting you're not as capable as everyone thinks. Your expertise becomes a prison where you have to maintain the facade of having it all figured out.
This is why asking my friends for help with my talk felt impossible. My identity was wrapped up in being the helper, not the helped. Showing someone my unfinished work meant showing them that I wasn't the polished professional I presented myself as. It meant admitting I had limits.
But here's what your brain doesn't want you to know: Success and vulnerability aren't opposites. They're dance partners.
The survival story your brain is telling you
Your resistance to asking for help isn't just psychological - it's biological. Your brain has labeled independence as a survival strategy. Somewhere along the way, you learned that your value is based on what you can give, not what you need.
This creates a dilemma: The more successful you become, the more isolated you feel. You assume others can't help you because your problems are "too specific" or "too advanced." You convince yourself that asking for help will burden people or make them question your capabilities.
But here's the uncomfortable truth: This survival story is outdated. The independence that got you here is now the thing keeping you from getting there.
The irony that changes everything
Want to know the most frustrating part of this whole pattern? Asking for help almost always makes things better.
Those friends I was terrified to reach out to for help? They transformed my good material into something great. One suggested a closing that made my audience actually gasp - in the best way. She saw possibilities I couldn't see because I was too close to the work.
The people I was afraid would judge me for needing help? They were honored to be asked. They felt useful. Needed. Like they had something valuable to contribute.
Every single time I push through the discomfort and ask for help, I'm reminded of the same thing: The fear is almost always bigger than the reality. People say yes more often than they say no. The help makes whatever I'm working on exponentially better. And the relationships actually get stronger, not weaker.
But my brain continues to tell me the opposite story. That asking for help will expose me as incompetent. That people will be annoyed. That I'll lose respect.
Your brain is telling you the same lies.
The psychology of getting unstuck
So how do we rewire decades of conditioning? How do we override the survival programming that equates asking for help with character assassination?
Start with the stakes. What is your independence actually costing you? I don't just mean the obvious stuff - the extra hours, the mediocre results, the stress-induced headaches. I mean the hidden costs. The relationships that could have been deeper. The mentorship you never received. The opportunities you missed because you were too busy struggling alone.
Try this: Think about the last three times you chose to struggle through something instead of asking for help. Write down what it cost you - not just time and energy, but what you might have gained from connection. When I stayed up until 2 AM trying to fix my website instead of texting my tech-savvy friend, I wasn't just wasting time. I was missing an opportunity to let someone care about me. I was choosing isolation over connection. I was also missing the chance to learn something new and maybe even strengthen a friendship.
Recognize the helper's high. Here's an experiment: For the next week, pay attention to how you feel when people ask you for help. Really notice it. When your colleague asks for feedback on their presentation, when your friend asks for restaurant recommendations, when someone asks you to explain something you're good at - what happens in your body?
Most likely, you feel useful. Like you have something valuable to contribute. That warm feeling? That's the helper's high, and it's backed by neuroscience. Helping others releases oxytocin and activates the brain's reward center. You're not the exception to this rule. When you ask for help, you're not taking something from someone - you're giving them the gift of feeling useful and needed.
Practice showing your work in progress. This one is specifically for my fellow perfectionists. The fear of showing something "unfinished" is what keeps us stuck, but we can practice this gradually.
Start small: Share a rough draft of an email before sending it. Ask someone to look at a presentation while it's still in bullet points. Post a photo of you when you don’t have your hair and makeup done. The goal isn't to become comfortable with imperfection overnight, it's to prove to your nervous system that the world doesn't end when people see your unpolished side.
Here's what I've learned: People don't expect perfection from you. In fact, they don't even want perfection from you. Perfect people are intimidating and hard to relate to. Real, messy, work-in-progress humans? Those are the people we actually want to help and connect with.
Reframe the vulnerability. Instead of seeing asking for help as admitting weakness, try this mental shift: You're modeling emotional intelligence. You're showing others that successful people seek support. You're normalizing the very thing that could make their lives easier too.
Think about the people you admire most. I guarantee they didn't get where they are alone. They had mentors, coaches, advisors, friends who helped them along the way. When you ask for help, you're not admitting you're not good enough - you're admitting you're human enough to grow.
Create a "help menu." This technique comes from my therapy practice: Make a list of different types of help you might need and match them with specific people in your life. For example: Tech problems - Sarah. Career advice - Marcus. Emotional support - Emma. Creative feedback - David. Having this pre-planned takes the decision fatigue out of asking for help when you're already overwhelmed.
Update this list regularly. Notice who lights up when you ask for their particular expertise. Some people love helping with logistics, others with emotional processing, others with problem-solving. Matching the request to the person makes it easier for both of you.
The permission you've been waiting for
Here's what I want you to know: Your worth isn't measured by your independence. Your success isn't threatened when you have needs. Your value doesn't decrease when you ask for help.
The people who matter want to help you. They're not keeping score of your requests. They're not judging you for having limits. They're probably relieved to know you're human too.
That little girl who learned to equate independence with intelligence? She was doing the best she could with what she knew. But you don't have to keep living by those rules.
The next time you're struggling with something - whether it's a work project, a personal challenge, or just figuring out how to set up your new TV - notice the resistance. Thank your brain for trying to protect you. And then ask for help anyway.
Because the cost of not asking isn't just the extra struggle. It's the missed connections. The relationships that could have been deeper. The work that could have been better. The opportunities to let people love you by showing up.
What's one thing you've been handling alone that would be easier with help? What's stopping you from asking for it?
If this struck a chord, you might also enjoy my original post about why asking for help is so hard. It resonated with so many readers when I shared it earlier this year. Sometimes it helps to know you're not alone in this struggle.
And if it did resonate with you, would you mind scrolling down and hitting that little heart? It genuinely makes my day and helps me know what's landing. Thanks for reading.
Therese 💜