The Humbling Art of Asking for Help as a Hyperindependent Person

I recall my first year of teaching — a colleague and I were chaperoning a field trip. We had to stay until the last student was picked up since it was our duty as educators.

Around 9 p.m., all but one student was picked up. She was calling people who could come pick her up, but by around 9:30, no one picked up. Since we were both there, this colleague agreed to drive the student home if I also sat in the car for liability reasons. It was a Tuesday or Wednesday, and she had to come to school the next day, and we had to go to work the next day, so it was in everyone’s best interest for everyone to get home.

Something she said when she was trying to get a ride stuck with me: “this is why I hate relying on people.”

I can resonate in quite a few ways. I also dislike relying on people. It’s one of my least favorite things in the world. I don’t like relying on my parents for anything, friends, colleagues. It feels like a defeat and a surrender, but there have been periods of time I’ve had to.

I have always prided myself on not relying on others and showing that I was hyperindependent, particularly because, as one of two brothers, I was the one who needed less help and was more reliable. It’s not that I never struggled, but I would often try to find a million ways to figure out a problem myself before I ask for help.

I wish it did not feel that way, but I think pride, stubbornness, and embarrassment get in the way. I also hate feeling like an inconvenience or burden to other people — I rarely feel that way about others, but perhaps it’s the image I want to curate of myself as someone who does not need help and who has developed an armor and shield to not have to be in situations where I am not in control and I need to rely on the grace of God and others. It’s hard not to be in control and acknowledge I can’t do it on my own, but life has a way of humbling me in many ways.

There are certain life situations I, like that student, cannot avoid relying on others.

Sometimes, a breakdown of the hyperindependent identity can happen in small, everyday moments.

I was on an early morning run with a group of local runners. They were all dads with kids and families and had to get back home at a certain time (before 7:30 a.m., for the most part), so we were trying to make good time. Along the run, I lost my car key on the trail. I tried to retrace my steps, and another guy went to look for my key, but no one could find it, so it was lost and I had no way to get into my car.

Because I couldn’t get into my car, I needed a ride home. Another runner in the group still needed to get home early, but he offered to give me a ride. He had to cut his run short a couple of miles short of what he planned, but he still gave me a ride so he had enough time to take care of his young kids.

I got home and had to figure something out. I called another friend who gave up his whole morning to drive me to my car. While there, we called a locksmith who, after an hour, was able to get into my car and program a key. My friend waited the whole time for me to get situated and drive my car home, and I paid him back by getting him brunch, but it was a very small gesture in return for the immense kindness he showed me.

Without the kindness of these friends, I would have been completely screwed. My car would have been stranded at a random park-and-ride where anything could have happened. I was in trouble, and only by relying on them was I able to get out of the situation.

Of course, I was out a couple hundred dollars after paying the locksmith that I wish I could have gotten back, but the situation could have been significantly worse — I could have been alone, and my friends could have not offered to help me in a situation of great need. They treated it like it was no big deal, but I know both had to go out of their days a bit in terms of distance from their homes and time taken out of their mornings.

Vulnerability has shown up in smaller, everyday ways, too. have had to rely on others to jump my car when it died. When I went the wrong way in the middle of a marathon, someone graciously let me use her phone to call my friend to pick me up. A month and a half ago, I had to rely on my wife to take care of me for a couple of days when I had my wisdom teeth taken out.

I recall all the colleagues who gave me a ride home and to work when I had car issues. I would have had to pay $20-$30 for an Uber, but they wouldn’t let me. They wanted to do me the favor and said it wasn’t that big of a deal, even though I lived more out of the way than they necessarily would admit. But one of them just gave this bit of life advice: pay it forward.

In such a transactional world, they focused on our long-term relationships and their own values of helping others in a time of need. This gives me an obligation to pay it forward. This is a long life, and we often do not see the impact when we go out of our way to help someone in need. It isn’t about expecting anything in return, but doing the right thing and living according to these shared values of generosity, grace, and compassion. I know that I have an obligation to help others in a time of need as well, whether in a professional or personal capacity.

There are certainly times we all have to traverse challenges alone and figure it out. As much as I try to preach it, I don’t think I can get past the feelings of embarrassment and defeat like the flip of a switch. I think it’s a gradual chipping away, a gradual revelation of the importance of community in times of need, and the gradual ability to pay it forward when others need help as well.

I think of my biggest excuse when I ignore someone who reaches out to me for help, or when I see a homeless person on the D.C. Metro or street when driving.

“I don’t have enough time.”
“I don’t have enough money.”
“I have enough of my own problems and as much as I want to, I don’t have to the capacity to help this person with theirs.”

Although I know I cannot be perfect every time, I can do better to just prioritize this notion of paying it forward. It’s what others have done for me, now and time and time again, and life is hard enough to get through alone. It will take a village, for me and for many of us.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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