I have a hard time asking for help.
Even when it’s offered, my knee-jerk reaction is to decline. Only in desperation do I reach out for, or accept, much-needed assistance. I say I am OK more often than I am. I do things myself more than I should.
I never used to need to feel independent. Now, I search for evidence of its existence. I dislike needing help with a task I could once do myself. I try in vain until pain, numbness, or both force me to stop.
But I am learning.
I am learning that asking for help does not equate to weakness. Quite the contrary. Trusting others with our vulnerabilities inspires strength in mutual relationships. People who care for us want to make our lives easier. It has taken me a long time to differentiate between that and pity. My fear was the only thing to pity.