Here’s a confession for you: I don’t know how to ask for help.

I mean that in every literal sense of the phrase.

Growing up, I was silenced constantly. I was told, “What goes on in this family stays in this family.”
I could not ask for help.

In the desperate times, which I will share eventually, there were several moments when I did try.
But in a sea of tears, among roaring waves, no lifeboat ever came my way.

Sure, there were gestures of sympathy: a touch on the shoulder, a sad shake of the head, a murmured “That’s terrible.”
But help? Real help? It never arrived.

As an adult, I have a career I love. I work hard every single day. Even now, as I write this to clear my mind, I know I’ll need to return to work.
It’s 8 p.m., after a grueling 14‑hour day.
What got me here was my tenacity, my refusal to give up. A perfectionist through and through.

But once, I lost what I thought was my dream job because I couldn’t answer one question:

“How do you ask for help?”

I’ve been asked financial questions, business questions, questions tied to my degree. I feel moderately well-read in my field.

But that question utterly unraveled me.

I fidgeted. I stammered. I explained that I lead a gracious team of 25+ direct reports and even more indirectly.

Still:

“How do you ask for help?”

I excitedly shared my meetings, my awards, my performance reviews.
I talked about my dual roles and my ability to cover several different facets of the industry.

But again:

“How do you ask for help?”

I couldn’t answer, because I didn’t know how.

That question haunts me to this day. Later, I would discuss with them the reason I did not get the job. They shared that I was their ideal candidate, but that question was a dealbreaker for them. 10+ years of loyalty to a company for a position I was primed for, lost due to something deeper than I even realized at that time. 

I did not get the job. And I walked away from a decade of work. 

I want to ask for help. I truly do.
But what stops me remains foreign even to myself.

When I do need help, I start to ramble. I give backstory, list the things I’ve already done, share what I think we should do.
And my upline, just two levels above, always replies:

“Okay… what do you need from me?”

And I always say:

“Nothing. I’ll handle it.”

And I do. Always.

As someone with oldest‑child syndrome, I’m incapable of letting things go. I will work myself to exhaustion. A desk becomes a pillow for my head, though never a good one for my neck.

My family taught me never to ask for help.
My childhood showed me that asking wouldn’t make a difference.
And as an adult, I am now incapable of doing it.

I typed that last line and stopped. Because for a moment, I wondered if maybe this blog is my ask.
And maybe, just maybe, if anyone ever reads this, perhaps my dear readers might have insight I need to hear.

Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking.

Until Sunday, my dear readers.

Unbreakable,

Sis