Editor’s Note: The following is a guest blog, written by a dear friend. If you’re interested in being a guest blogger, please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org
I hate asking for help.
Which is what makes dealing with stress, anxiety and depression even worse. We all hear help is out there. That all we need to do is ask. I have made these same sentiments countless times.
Yet, I hate asking.
Some might think it’s out of pride, that I don’t want to be seen as weak. Others assume that I’m Wonder Woman and act envious or surprised about how I have it all together.
I wish it was that simple. I wish I had it all together.
No, it’s more about the feeling of betrayal.
By no means am I the best: friend, sister, or even mother out there. I have never claimed to be and never will. Yet, I know in my heart that when I can, I help my loved ones even in the smallest ways.
When they’re sick, or injured I check in. I may not always say the right thing or give the best advice. A lot of the time I probably don’t even say what they want to hear.
But I show up. At least I think I do. I did. Hell, maybe I don’t anymore. Maybe that’s why at the end of the day I don’t ask for help.
I don’t ask because it always feels like anytime I do ask, there isn’t a helping hand.
So instead I usually stay silent. I continue to suffer and drown in my own pain because in my experience.
It’s easier than being ignored or brushed off.
It’s easier than being told, “It will get better.”
It’s easier than being told, “Maybe…”
It’s easier than being let down again and again by my loved ones.
It’s easier to put on the fake smiles and forced laughs.
I recognize to some this sounds like a pity party. But when you’re the one who is always seen as the one who has it together, or the one who can be relied on, it’s hard to ask for help because you’re the one who is supposed to be doing the helping.
I also know full well that others can’t always help. They have their own lives. Their own problems. Which makes me hate asking for help even more.