Let's break the illusion of self-sufficiency
One of the great ironies of being human is this: we spend much of our lives pretending we don’t need each other. We celebrate independence. We glorify resilience. We silently measure our worth by how little support we seem to require. And in doing so, we betray ourselves. Somewhere along the way, many of us absorbed the idea that asking for help is a weakness. That therapy is for the “sick.” That coaching is for the lost. That leaning on others somehow means we’re not enough. But none of us—not one—is exempt from the emotional terrain of being alive.
We all hit walls and carry wounds, and at some point, no matter how strong, insightful, or self-reliant we believe ourselves to be, we will face the limits of our perspective.
Modern life offers us countless tools: therapy, coaching, mentoring, mindfulness, and supportive communities. But tools only work if we’re willing to use them. And the most challenging part is often not availability—it’s permission—internal permission. It’s seductive to believe that clarity will arrive if we analyze ourselves long enough, journal deeply enough, or meditate consistently. But this belief assumes that we can see ourselves objectively. We can’t.
In its quiet arrogance, the ego convinces us that we’re supposed to do it alone. The pain is temporary; others have it worse, and we should have already figured it out by now. It’s a trap. And it keeps us stuck.
The hidden cost of enduring alone
What happens when we ignore our need for help? We distort. The pain we suppress doesn’t vanish. It mutates. Into irritability. Cynicism. Defensiveness. Blame. We start seeing problems everywhere: in our partners, bosses, and the world. But often, the real conflict lies within. We project outward what we haven’t processed inward. Think of it like this: you’re freezing in the cold. There’s a house with an open door just a few steps away. But instead of walking in, you tell yourself you should be fine. You should be tougher. And so you shiver. Proudly.
This isn’t a strength. It’s self-abandonment.
Real strength looks different
Accepting help is not giving up. It’s tuning in. It’s saying: I matter enough to not go through this alone. That takes courage. It’s easier to numb, isolate, overfunction, or shut down. But healing requires intimacy with ourselves and others. The most transformative breakthroughs often come not from solitude but from safe, witnessing relationships—a coach who challenges you, a therapist who holds your pain, a friend who listens without fixing. That’s where things start to shift.
If this speaks to you, here’s how to start:
- Name the resistance: What belief stops me from reaching out? Often, there’s a narrative underneath—like “I’ll be a burden” or “People will think less of me.” Challenge it. Is it true?
- Start small: You don’t have to share everything all at once. Try opening up to someone you trust with one honest sentence. Let yourself be heard, even if your voice trembles.
- Explore the correct format for you: Some thrive in therapy. Others in coaching. Some find solace in group spaces, others in spiritual practices. There’s no correct answer—only what supports you best.
- Reframe help as growth: What if asking for help wasn’t a flaw, but a feature of your self-awareness? The willingness to seek support is a sign of maturity, not weakness.
- Check in with your body: If you’re unsure whether you need help, check how your body feels. Tense? Exhausted? Shut down? These are signals that something needs tending to—often more than you can carry alone.
You don’t become smaller by letting someone in. You expand. When you allow yourself to be supported, you begin to rewire the most profound belief that you are only worthy when you are self-sufficient. You are worthy because you are human, flawed, growing, and deserving of care. The door is open. Can you take the step?