I Don’t Know How to Let Someone Help Me.

I’ve let myself sit in some truly awful situations, not because I didn’t have options, but because I was too afraid to ask for help. I’ve been evicted. I’ve gone without basic needs. I’ve suffered in silence. And the worst part is, I convinced myself I deserved it.

It’s one of my unhealthiest habits, choosing struggle over support. Not because I enjoy suffering, but because it feels safer. Familiar. Asking for help feels like handing someone a weapon they might use against me later.

I learned that the hard way. Help was never just help. It came with strings. With guilt. With control. My mother made sure I knew I owed her. My exes kept score. Every favor was a transaction. Every act of kindness had a price.

So I stopped asking. I built walls. I told myself I’d rather drown quietly than risk someone holding my survival over my head. Independence became my armor, even when it was hurting me more than helping.

But I’m tired. Tired of pretending I’m fine. Tired of equating vulnerability with weakness. Tired of believing I have to earn the right to be cared for.

I want to learn how to receive. To trust. To believe that help can be given freely, without manipulation. I want to believe that I’m worthy of support, not because I’m perfect, but because I’m human.

It’s going to take time. And practice. And a lot of unlearning. But I’m here. I’m trying. And maybe that’s enough for today.