Relearning How to Need

Needing isn’t weakness.

It’s human.

There was a time when I believed that needing anything was too much of a risk. That to need support, rest, softness, understanding…was to risk disappointment.

Rejection.

Silence.

So I taught myself not to need.

It didn’t happen all at once. It happened through years of being met with blank stares, dismissive shrugs, or conversations that turned my pain into a burden.

It happened in childhood.

It happened in my marriage.

It happened in the war zone of special needs parenting and chronic illness, when I needed more than ever — and was met with less than I could bear.

And so I coped the only way I knew how.

I kept people outside my heart. I stayed busy. I over-functioned. I managed everything and everyone.

If I could just keep everyone else afloat, maybe I wouldn’t drown.

I held the emotional weight of our marriage in my hands. I made space for his moods, his needs, his limitations, while mine sat in the dark corners of the house, unheard. I believed that if I gave enough, eventually it would be my turn to receive.

To be met in my needs.

But no matter what I said, how clearly I asked, how much I reached…it felt like I couldn’t be seen. Or heard. Or met.

In the chaos of crisis — diagnoses, flares, rages, sleepless nights, specialists, fear…what I needed most was to be believed.

To be held without having to justify it. To be worthy of care, rest, love…just because I’m me.

Ohhh, to be held, just because I’m me…

But I didn’t believe I was worthy of these things, because .

So I stopped asking.

And here’s what I’ve had to learn — slowly, painfully, and still in progress:

Needing isn’t weakness.

It’s human.

And sometimes, when you ask for help, someone shows up. Not always. Not perfectly. But enough to remind you:

You don’t have to do it all alone.

Now, I’m practicing asking.

Even when my voice shakes. Even when my chest clenches with panic at the potential rejection. Even when it’s easier to say “I’m fine.”

Even when my trauma tells me I’ll be met with silence again.

Because I’m learning that I am allowed to need.

And more than that, I am worthy of being met.