Why It’s So Hard to Ask for Help

And how to make it (just a little bit) easier

Photo by nikko macaspac on Unsplash

Author’s Note: This is the first of a two-part series on asking for help. You can read Part Two here.

In November 2009, a neurologist at a prestigious Boston hospital¹ predicted that I had ten years left to walk. 

It turned out that the unexplained muscle weakness I had been experiencing was not due to exhaustion or stress — which I had assumed — but rather an adult-onset muscle disease caused by a lack of the dysferlin protein. My muscle cells, unable to repair themselves, were dying off.

The news wasn’t a complete shock; I was actually diagnosed with the condition in 2004. However, the prognosis I was given at the time was that my symptoms would manifest later in life. Much later. Not at 23. 

I was told by the neurologist that there was nothing to do but be patient. I was on my own. At best, I could stay ambulatory for one or two extra years with diet and lifestyle modifications, but there were no treatments that could halt the progression. 

I left the appointment in a fit of rage. I refused to accept his prognosis. I resolved to become the first person who ever defeated the disease. It was an invasive enemy and it needed to be forcefully expelled. I would find a way to regain my strength. Somehow, I would find a way. 

I was delusional.

This hard-headed mindset only made the inevitable jolt of reality more painful. Instead of declaring war on my disease, I should have asked for help. 

Life doesn’t wait until we’re ready

And yet, curing the incurable felt less scary than admitting I was powerless.

Instead of letting people know about the severity of my prognosis, I downplayed it or kept quiet. I was just strong enough that I could hide my symptoms as long as I avoided running or other strenuous activities.

My parents back in Connecticut knew about my disease but didn’t see me frequently enough to observe my decline firsthand. When the topic came up, I only told them the bare minimum — that I saw a doctor who confirmed the diagnosis and there was nothing he could do. When they pressed for more details, I changed the subject. 

My roommates — my best friends from college — were completely in the dark. They could tell subtle changes were taking place, how I’d take longer to climb the stairs or turn down going to the gym, but they didn’t probe further.

Over time, my body wore down and my burden became harder to bear alone. You don’t realize how many muscles you have until they atrophy, one by one. 

But asking for help? No way.

There were many reasons for my folly. I didn’t want my parents to worry. I didn’t want my friends to think less of me. Above all, I didn’t know how to ask for help. It seemed like a phrase reserved for the most emotionally mature, for those who were secure enough in their identity to admit their shortcomings. 

I was many things; secure was not one of them. 

Forcing my hand

But life didn’t care if I was ready. Once stairs became impossible, once I began collapsing into a heap regularly without warning, I knew that I had to seek assistance. 

With every ounce of will I could muster, I let those close to me know what was going on. My parents and sister, although disappointed I didn’t tell them sooner, offered to do whatever was necessary to help me out. My roommates were surprised but supportive. They offered to take turns doing my laundry and driving me to appointments. When I told my boss, she offered to move my desk closer to the elevator, so I wouldn’t have to walk across the floor every day.

Little by little, my life improved, all because I let people know I couldn’t handle this disease alone. In a few months, I went from disdaining help to wondering why I didn’t ask for it sooner. Had I done so, I could have avoided needless heartache. It wouldn’t have slowed the progression of my disease, but it would have made life more manageable. 

I want you to avoid waiting as long as I did. Whether you are dealing with a chronic illness or a short-term crisis, asking for help — specifically from those closest to us — is a skill that takes some time to learn but pays tremendous dividends in the long run.

This is the first in a two-part series. Today’s post will examine how to move past the four common barriers that make asking for help so difficult. And the second part, in two weeks’ time, will discuss how to make the ask.

Our soundtrack for today:

Four common barriers

It would seem like our family and friends are the easiest people to ask for help, yet it often feels much easier to share our problems with complete strangers.

Why is that?

There are many reasons, but here are four barriers that stand out:

Pride. We hesitate to ask for help because it feels like we're admitting defeat. We want to have all the answers and be self-reliant, and yet asking for help is declaring to the world, “I can’t do this on my own.” This wounds our pride.

We want everyone — especially those who know us best — to perceive us as strong and intelligent and capable, not dependent. If we’ve fought our whole lives to impress our parents or maintain parity with our friends, we fear that seeking assistance will make us inferior in their eyes.

We are afraid to be vulnerable. Telling others we’re struggling to handle our challenges is an inherently vulnerable act. It is scary and uncomfortable. It is delicate. Sometimes, it means baring our deepest insecurities. If we have an addiction or are struggling to process trauma, this kind of disclosure requires a deep level of trust with the person we’re confiding in. This is especially true when asking for help is followed by a tearful release of emotion, as our deepest fears and worries bubble to the surface. When this happens, we are ripe for healing — or further pain.

We are afraid of getting hurt or stigmatized.  When we ask for help, we don’t know for certain how the other person will respond. They might help us carry our burdens, which would be fantastic. But there’s always a risk that they’ll hurt us even more. What if someone we thought we trusted refuses to help? What if they mock us, call us weak, or tell us to toughen up? What if they don’t take our concerns seriously? If this happens, it can tear open wounds that may never heal. It can stigmatize us in a way that is both unfair and inescapable. We might learn that the person we thought was our friend or confidante really didn’t care about us in the first place, which could be devastating.

Faced with this possibility, we often choose the path of solitary suffering. Why risk further hurt when we can limit the pain by keeping our secrets?

We think we are burdening others. Even if we aren’t afraid to be vulnerable, even if we know that the person we want to ask loves us and cares for our well-being, we are still hesitant to bring them our problems. We don’t want to feel like a burden. After all, life is hectic. Surely, if we ask someone for help, we would take them away from their families, their work, and their free time. We don’t want to intrude on their lives.

Moving past these barriers

Each of these mental barriers is powerful. When combined, they can be paralyzing. Instead of asking for help — which we know we need — we tie ourselves into knots trying to avoid the inevitable, just so we can delay uttering the three most difficult words in the English language: “I need help.”

Although intimidating, these mental barriers aren’t insurmountable. Here’s how we can move past each of the four:

Pride - If you are discouraged by the fact you can’t do everything on your own, well, news flash, you can’t. No one can. Unless you are content to live off the grid, we need each other to make it in this world, whether it’s to succeed in our careers or process grief. It is the essence of Stephen Covey’s paradigm of interdependence— to live effectively, we must work together. Help is reciprocal.

Still feeling hesitant? You can frame asking for help as a form of independence. This isn’t mental gymnastics. After all, by taking initiative, what are we doing? We are calling the shots and proactively identifying where we would benefit from additional support. Even confessing our emotions is an independent act, one that unlocks interdependent benefits.

Vulnerability - Unfortunately, there is no magic formula that makes sharing our vulnerabilities easier. It is not a process that can be forced. It takes time.

The first step is recognizing that, although asking for help comes with the risk of rejection, it can be the quickest way to improve your life. If you reach a point where you are able to open up, and the person you talk to responds in a genuine, caring way, this can be life-changing.

Showing vulnerability isn’t all-or-nothing. You can start by sharing a little bit of your situation, whatever feels comfortable. Rather than share every last detail of your struggle, which may be painful, you can frame it in a more general way. Maybe you say that you’ve been going through a lot, and just need someone to check in on you every once in a while. This way, you can gauge whether the person you are talking to is receptive to helping you. If they are concerned and want to learn more, maybe that is the permission you need to fully open up. 

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Getting hurt - There is no guarantee that those closest to you will react positively to your request for help. However, the odds are in your favor. If you are confiding in someone you already trust — a parent, a spouse, or a best friend — they are more than likely going to be willing to help.

(If they do react negatively, now you know not to ask them again. Although a painful realization, that’s not on you.) 

We underestimate how much people respect us when we admit our weaknesses. Think about all the times someone admitted to you that they needed help. You were probably impressed with their courage and willing to do whatever they needed within your power.

Others will react to you in the same way. 

Vulnerability is nothing to fear. It almost always leads to deeper, more meaningful relationships, something I have experienced in my own life. It reminds me of a great quote by author Joshua Medcalf from his book, Pound The Stone:

“The irony is that this ‘fake it till you make it’ tactic is the exact opposite of how truly successful people live. They live with authentic vulnerability because they know that the world always connects more with your grit than your shine. They might show up for the shine, but they will stay because of your grit.”

Burdening others - It’s easy to think we are burdening others with our problems, and yet when we finally do say something, the reaction is commonly, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

People want to help. If they are able, they will want to make your life easier, especially if you don’t regularly ask for help. Many times, they are aware that something is wrong long before you ask.

If you think you’ll be bothering them, consider what would happen if you continued on your present course. If you keep bottling up your hurt and don’t ask for help, you might end up in a worse place than ripping off the Band-Aid and doing it once and for all. It might burden them more to pick up the broken pieces later.

If they can’t help you immediately, or they aren’t sure how to help, don’t fret. Don’t mistake someone who can’t help for someone who feels burdened. If they say they want to help but are not able to assist, maybe they’d be willing to serve as a sounding board. Or perhaps they can connect you to someone better suited to help. That can be just as meaningful.

Putting it into action

When we see these mental blocks for what they really are, asking for help becomes, if not less scary, then at least more doable.

Next time, we’ll discuss best practices for making the ask, using my disease disclosure as an example.

1. Which will go unnamed.