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I am uncomfortable asking for help. Instead, I joke in an effort to make light of a problem, deny I need help, or escape the reality of a difficult moment in a book or with busy work. This week, in the company of friends, I gave voice to distress; I sent out a signal for help. Friends guided me towards a place of strength.

The realization that I am uncomfortable asking for help came a few years ago when I was in preterm labor with my daughter. As I lay in bed, unable to care for myself or my family, I was forced to prioritize our needs and seek help. Asking and accepting were exercises in humility. I could not use humor or denial to escape the reality of my needs.

Recently as I absorb my son’s struggles, feelings of fear, uncertainty, and helplessness have left me sad, angry, confused, and overwhelmed. Despite my best efforts to guide my son, I feel lost; uncertain if I have a right to ask for help for myself. In an act of grace friends taught me to ask for and accept help.

Clarity came early in the week when I met with a friend that speaks openly about both personal and health challenges. Without shame and with genuine feeling she shares openly her conflict. Listening I found strength in her vulnerability, unhindered by apology. My friend’s recognition of her own challenges and fears gave me strength to look directly at my own.

I believe difficult truths are revealed in stages. Soon after listening to one friend’s sharing, fate gifted me time with an old friend that gave me strength to embrace vulnerability and share my fears. I let the words tumble freely accepting my own helplessness in the security of another’s care.

Awareness and openness lead to a moment of guidance. A third friend absorbed one of my challenges and lent me wisdom from her experiences. I collected the knowledge like moments of serenity.

Yesterday I sat with another friend, named my problem, admitted I am finding my way, and then let go of trying to project a sense of strength. My openness was met with compassion. I let my worries sit with us in silence; I did not ignore them, mock them, or pretend them away. I gave them sun and air, looking at them clearly in the light of day.

I am learning to accept vulnerability and to celebrate fortitude in the healing place of friendship. Thank you to each of the women who recognized my distress signal.

Tagged: Friendship, Help