The Liberation of Asking for Help: Humility vs. Humiliation
Learning to distinguish between vulnerability and weakness in the second half of life
In therapy today, we explored something I've been wrestling with for decades: the difference between humility and humiliation. For most of my life, I've conflated the two, turning what should be a simple human act, asking for help, into something that feels like defeat. Or something I need to protect myself from.
This confusion didn't emerge in a vacuum. Like many of us, I carry formative childhood experiences that taught me vulnerability was dangerous. Layer on top of that the cultural messaging around masculinity, the pressure to have all the answers, to never admit you don't know something, and you get a perfect storm of what I have come to know as a philosophy of self-sufficiency that masquerades as strength but often becomes a prison.
The Cost of Going It Alone
This philosophy of radical self-reliance has been my downfall more times than I care to count. It creates isolation, cuts off connection, and leaves you carrying burdens that were never meant to be shouldered alone. I'm in a season now where everything seems to be asking for attention simultaneously: health challenges, professional transitions, and spiritual questions that demand more than I can give on my own.
Mind, body, and spirit are all in play, and I'm being forced to confront a truth I've long resisted: I need help. Not just occasionally, but regularly. Not just for the big crises, but for the everyday work of being human.
The Story We Tell Ourselves
Here's what I'm learning: the narrative that keeps us from reaching out isn't really about humility at all. It's about humiliation, the fear that needing help makes us less than, that it exposes some fundamental inadequacy. We tell ourselves that asking for help is weakness, that it puts us at risk, that it makes us vulnerable to harm.
But this story is both personal and universal. It's not just my childhood experiences or masculine conditioning that created this pattern. It's a broader cultural narrative that equates independence with worth, self-sufficiency with strength. And it's keeping all of us, not just me, from the very connections that could transform our lives.
The Freedom in Humility
True humility, I'm discovering, is something entirely different from humiliation. Humility is grounded, it comes from knowing your own values, understanding your strengths and resources, and being secure enough in your own being to acknowledge what you don't know or can't handle alone. It's not about diminishing yourself; it's about right-sizing yourself in relation to the world.
There's a profound freedom in this recognition. When we're grounded in our principles and clear about our own worth, asking for help becomes not an admission of failure but an act of wisdom. It's the difference between saying "I'm broken" and saying "I'm human."
The Pattern That Changes Everything
When I look back on my life, really look, I see a pattern that should have taught me this lesson long ago. Every single time I've been able to ask for help, I've been met with help. Every time I've submitted myself to the practice of humility, it has had profound effects on my life.
The therapist who helped me understand my ways of relating. The mentor who guided me through a career transition. The friend who showed up when I was drowning in drugs and alcohol. The spiritual teacher who helped me find my way back to meaning.
Not once—not once—has the act of asking for help led to the humiliation I feared. Instead, it has led to connection, growth, and transformation.
The Work of Remembering
But here's the thing: I often forget this truth. Despite the evidence, despite the pattern, despite the profound changes that have come from humility, I slip back into the old story. I convince myself I should be able to handle it alone. I mistake asking for help for weakness.
This is why I need help remembering. This is why we all need help remembering. The courage to be vulnerable, to admit we don't have all the answers, to reach out when we're struggling, this isn't a one-time lesson. It's a practice, one that requires constant renewal.
An Invitation
If you're reading this and recognizing yourself in these words, know that you're not alone in this struggle. The stories that keep us isolated, about strength and weakness, about what it means to be worthy of help, are stories we can rewrite.
The next time you find yourself drowning in self-sufficiency, remember: asking for help isn't humiliation. It's humility. And humility, it turns out, is one of the most liberating practices we can embrace.
Because here's what I keep learning and forgetting and learning again: we were never meant to do this alone. And every time we have the courage to reach out, we discover that the help we need is already there, waiting.
What stories do you tell yourself about asking for help? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.
Also, I made a new video:
“People settle for a level of despair they can tolerate and call it happiness.” — Søren Kierkegaard
In this episode of The Radical Therapist, we explore what happens when we mistake numbness for contentment and how narrative therapy can help us reimagine the story we’re living. Using Kierkegaard’s haunting insight as our starting point, we dive into the concept of the adjacent possible, the next-door futures available to us just beyond the edge of the present moment. What might change if we asked different questions about our lives? What if the life you want isn’t far away… just under-told?
Peace.