Most of us only reluctantly ask for help; some simply don’t know how. We are often raised to be self-sufficient, to figure it out, to get it done, to stop whinging. Those qualities are valuable and important, but most of us reach a point in our lives where we need help — in some way or another. When we reach that point, we often realise that we don’t even know how to get help. That was the case with me: When I clearly, plainly, and definitively needed help, I did not know what to do. I was a proudly “self-sufficient” person, after all — or at least I believed myself to be.
In my case, asking for help saved my life. I was physically dependent on alcohol, with all that entails in terms of behaviour. I considered myself an honest person, but I was dishonest — all day every day — about the extent of my drinking, I suffered negative consequences at my work, in my relationships, and, of course, to my physical health. Others urged me to get help, but I never truly listened to their advice, pleas, and suggestions. In fact, I resented them for “misplaced” concern, nagging, and trying to tell me what to do. Sure, maybe I should drink less, or even quit drinking, but it never crossed my mind that I couldn’t do that on my own if I really wanted to.
When I really wanted to, I could not quit.
About six months before I stopped drinking, I realised that I had a binary choice: drink or live. I chose to drink. That was a conscious choice. I didn’t make that choice because I was happy in my alcoholic existence. I was physically very ill, mentally unbalanced, and spiritually depleted. I knew that I was in a terrible state, but, for some reason, I could not quit drinking. I was such a strong, self-sufficient person that this was an anomaly I could not understand. I concluded that although it was clear that I was going to die soon, nothing could be done about that. I did not know how to ask for help. It never crossed my mind.
One day, I was walking to work — walking because I had stopped driving a few months earlier, knowing that I shouldn’t drive — and I passed a hospital that I passed every day. That day, for reasons I cannot understand or explain, I walked into the hospital. I asked to see the alcohol people. I spoke to them with complete honesty. They booked me into the first available spot in the rehab facility they used. I stayed at the clinic for forty days, followed up with an outpatient continuing care programme for another two years, and am now active in a twelve step programme. I escaped the horrific alcoholic death I had assumed was my fate.
Yet I still sometimes squirm when I think of the process I describe above. Even though I would be long dead if I had not asked for and accepted help, in the back of my mind, I still sometimes consider the day I asked for help to be the most humiliating experience of my life. I had given up, capitulated, failed. Alcoholism is a mental health disease, after all, and I suppose I’m not immune to societal stigma that attaches to those diseases.
Asking for help is difficult. If you are reading this, maybe you have already taken that important first step.
Years into recovery, I had an epiphany about the myth of my own self-sufficiency. I realised that I had never been as self-sufficient as I believed myself to be. Sure, I do most of my own home and vehicle repair. I taught my kids to “figure it out.” And, fundamentally, I still think that asking for help as a sign of weakness. But I also know I am wrong to think that and — usually — laugh at myself and back off when that thought comes to mind.
In fact, I have never truly been that self-sufficient. I have not only asked for others’ help but have depended on it my entire life. To choose just one example: Many of my professional triumphs or achievements, if examined objectively, depended a great deal on others giving me an opportunity and encouragement. Most of my “success” has been a team effort. I depend on others for help every single day, and always have.
I’m not very good at asking for help. But I know that I am much worse at trying to live without help.
