Why Asking for Help Feels Impossible (And How I'm Finally Learning to Do It)
I'm supposed to be good at this.
As a therapist, I spend my days encouraging people to ask for help, to lean on their communities, to stop shouldering everything alone. I can cite the research. I know all the reasons why asking for help is healthy, necessary, and deeply human.
And yet, every single time I need to ask someone for something, I get so unnecessarily weird. My face gets flushed and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I type and delete the message three times. I convince myself I can figure it out on my own, that I’m bothering people, that needing help means I’m somehow failing at being a capable adult.
Here’s what I’ve realized: for those of us who grew up as high achievers, eldest daughters, the “strong ones,” asking for help doesn’t just feel bad, it feels threatening to our entire way of being. Because somewhere along the way, we learned that our value came from being the person who had it together, who knew the answers, who helped everyone else.
Being needed felt good. But needing? Well that’s something different entirely.
The Hidden Cost of “I’ve Got This”
Let me tell you what not asking for help actually costs us. It’s not just about struggling alone or taking twice as long to accomplish things (though I’ve certain done that more times than I can count).
When we refuse to ask for help, we’re cutting ourselves off from the power of community. Instead of reciprocity, which builds mutual trust and a sense of interdependence, we’re limiting ourselves to a one-way transaction where we give and others receive, maintaining a sense of perceived power or control while also fostering disconnection.
We’re also shrinking our world. Think about it: every resource you might access, every skill someone else has mastered, every perspective that could shift your thinking: all of that stays locked away because we’re too afraid to admit we don’t have all the answers.
Every time we go it alone, we’re reinforcing the exact belief system that’s keeping us stuck. I think about all the dinner parties where I slaved away for hours in the kitchen, determined to get everything perfectly right. When people asked if they could help or bring anything, I gave them a casual “Nope, I got it!” and missed out on the chance to actually connect with them while we cooked together. Or the countless times I’ve gotten stuck in my own head about a project for months, only to have a five-minute conversation with someone completely unblock me. But I didn’t have those conversations because I was too afraid to admit I was stuck. Every time we white-knuckle our way through something we could have gotten help with, we’re teaching ourselves that we were right to be afraid, that we really do need to do everything ourselves, that needing help is somehow shameful.
When It Finally Clicked
I didn’t wake up one day and suddenly find asking for help easy. But I started noticing something that shifted my perspective entirely.
I realized how much I love it when people ask me for help.
When someone texts me with a question about therapy or asks if I can review something they’re working on or admits they’re struggling with something I have experience with, I don’t think less of them. I think, “Oh good, I get to be useful. I get to connect with this person in a meaningful way.”
Being asked for help makes me feel valued. It makes me feel closer to people. It’s genuinely an honor. I think about when friends ask for my advice about planning an event, or invite me to contribute to a meal train when they’ve just had a baby or they’re sick, or ask me to stand by their side at their parent’s funeral. These aren’t burdens. They’re honors to live life alongside people I love. They’re invitations into the most important moments of people’s lives, saying ‘I want you here, I trust you, you matter to me.’
So why did I assume everyone else felt burdened when I asked them for the same thing?
The Reframes That Are Actually Helping
Here’s what I’m learning to tell myself, and what’s slowly making asking for help feel less like pulling teeth:
Asking for help is aligned with my values. I genuinely believe asking for help is important. I believe in interdependence and community and the strength it takes to admit you can’t do everything alone. So every time I ask for help, I’m practicing integrity. I’m living in alignment with what I claim to believe.
Asking for help is what I want to model. I think about my future children. I think about the people I love most in the world. I want them to ask for help when they need it. I want them to know their worth isn’t tied to being perfect or having all the answers. The only way to teach that is to practice it myself.
Every time I ask for help, the fear gets smaller. Every single time I ask for help and the world doesn’t end, every time someone says yes or even says no kindly, I’m unlearning the fear that kept me isolated. I’m proving to my nervous system that asking for help doesn’t mean I’m weak or that people will stop valuing me.
Asking for help is teaching me about rejection. There’s always a part of me that’s terrified someone will say no, and that their “no” will somehow be a rejection of me as a person rather than just a decline of my request. But the more I ask, the more I see that people say no to requests all the time for a thousand reasons that have nothing to do with my worth. Learning to tolerate that possibility is making me braver in every area of my life.
Asking for help reminds me I have value beyond perfection. Every time I admit I don’t know something or I can’t handle something alone, I’m challenging the belief that I have to be perfect to be worthy. I’m proving to myself that I can be messy, uncertain, and in need of help, and people still care about me. People still want to be around me. I still have something to offer.
Asking for help is how I grow my impact. I think about the content I create: the posts that have resonated most, the ideas that have helped the most people. None of that happened in isolation. I’ve worked with business coaches. I’ve asked countless friends for advice over coffee dates. And literally none of what I create would be possible without the help of my assistant Erin, who’s been the genius behind the scenes for over three years, helping me grow this business. Every time I ask for help, I’m multiplying what I can offer. My business, my reach, my ability to actually help people… it all expands when I let others in.
Not asking for help isn’t actually my identity. For so long, being the person who didn’t need help was central to who I thought I was. I was the smart one, the capable one, the one with the answers. I got rewarded for that growing up: the best grades, the praise for being so independent, the pride in being “the strong one.” But here’s what I’m learning to understand: asking for help doesn’t take my strength away. It’s actually one of the strongest things I do. Not needing help isn’t an identity I need to cling to. It’s just a habit I learned, and I can learn new ones.
How to Actually Start
If you’re reading this and thinking “okay, great, but I still have no idea how to actually ask for help without wanting to crawl out of my skin,” I get it. Here are some things that are making it easier for me:
Start small and specific. Don’t begin by asking for something huge and vulnerable. Ask someone to recommend a restaurant. Ask if they have a minute to help you troubleshoot your printer. Build the muscle with low-stakes requests first.
Practice with people who love you. The people closest to you probably already know you struggle with this. They’re safe places to start. Tell them you’re working on asking for help more, and you’re going to practice with them. They’ll likely be honored you chose them.
Remember that clarity is kindness. When you do ask for help, be specific about what you need. “Can you help me?” is overwhelming. “Can you review the first page of this and tell me if it makes sense?” is doable. You’re not asking someone to read your mind or take on an open-ended commitment.
Notice your thoughts and question them. When you catch yourself thinking “I should be able to do this alone” or “they’ll think I’m incompetent,” pause. Ask yourself: is that actually true? What evidence do I have? What would I tell a friend who was thinking this way?
Celebrate every time you do it. Seriously. Every single time you ask for help, no matter how small, that’s worth acknowledging. You’re rewiring years of conditioning. That’s hard work, and it deserves recognition.
The Truth About Strength
The strongest people I know are the ones who can ask for help. They’re the ones building incredible things, making the most impact, living the richest lives. Because they understand something I’m finally starting to get.
We’re not meant to do this alone. Community isn’t about living perfectly self-sufficient lives adjacent to each other. It’s about weaving our lives together, about letting people in, about admitting that we need each other.
Asking for help isn’t weakness. It takes so much more courage to say “I can’t do this alone” than it does to keep pretending you have it all together.
So maybe I’m finally starting to get decent at this. Not at having all the answers or doing everything alone. At asking for help. At building a life that actually needs other people in it.
What’s something small you could ask for help with this week?
P.S. If this post made you want to throw your phone because it was too accurate, I talk even more about it on this week’s podcast. It’s basically a love letter to every hyper-independent, eldest daughter type who would rather build an IKEA wardrobe alone at 2 a.m. than ask for help. I break down five actually doable ways to start asking for support without feeling like you’re failing at life. Think of it like your big sister slash therapist sitting you down and saying, “Hey, you don’t have to carry it all by yourself.” Listen wherever you get your podcasts, or click here to tune in.
With care, Dr. Therese 💜