Asking for help has never been easy for me, be it that I’m unwell or simply not understanding a concept of some sort. When I was younger,I believed that it was the mark of a strong man to silently endure any and all things he was faced with.
Requesting help was an athenma to me, a display of great weakness and powerlessness that a man, young or old should never show. Better die trying to find your way than confessing powerlessness.
And then, life knocked me in my face. Had it not been for help, it would have left me with more than just the proverbial black eye.
I had a breakdown and after it, the basic things I once could do without any help, I now needed help to do. There was no pride to keep me from asking for help when I could not use the loo, because the consequences of not asking for help would be far worse. There was no shame left to avoid being ashamed, my position already made me ashamed, lowly and dependent.
Gradually, through this faithful event; I came to learn that asking for help was not necessarily a sign of weakness, but a sign that you were confident enough in yourself to acknowledge that you do not have all the answers to every question that exists and that sometimes, just sometimes, others are needed to get through things.
I’ll admit, it’s still pretty difficult asking for help because I built my life around the idea and notion that I am completely self-sufficient; a one man island capable of anything and everything by himself (at least in theory).
But they say (I mean, I say), time is a great teacher and maybe in time and with many years I will unlearn the many things I have learnt to keep me from asking for help when I need it.