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Asking for help feels like...

Updated: Nov 15, 2023

Embarrassing and childish

A chore. Too much effort. I might as well do it myself.

Failure. Like I'm not enough.

Asking for help feels like a waste of time. Being a mama is like being cast to a desert island somewhere in the middle of a big ocean sometimes. Other people think Mamas have it easy.A point in hand: Tonight I am feeling super crummy. I asked one of the kids to please take over my evening chores with the dog kennel. I was basically told to suck it up. The same thing happened when I got Covid.

A necessity

Sometimes, I have no problem asking for help. If it's simple, advice, nothing to put someone out. But I feel more aware of people's time after having a baby and I feel like it's a big ask when I ask for help

I'm a failure

Asking for help feels like another thing I have to do, anticipate, organize, and manage 🫠

A stupid proposition. Quitting. Weakness. Something I'm not allowed to do. I made my own bed, right? Now I deal with any difficulties (I obviously created). That's how I was taught. Independence. Others don't know how to help "correctly" anyways. I might as well do it all myself. Always.

Unlocking another level

it's okay when you really NEED help. And like a burden, when it's for something that you WANT.

Asking for help feels like something I shouldn't have to do as often as I feel I need to

Failure. But it doesn't stop me from still asking. I find my people, swallow my pride, ask for help, and then feel guilty about it until I can return the favor.

Asking for help feels like the norm now, but it used to feel like failure.

Asking for help feels like defeat, frustration and anger. It feels unseen

Extremely tricky, I think I categorize what is actually appropriate for asking, I think I probably don't do it enough and don't exactly feel right about asking

Asking for help can be vulnerable. I pre-negotiate my requests for help. I try to understand the scope of what I'm asking from the other person's perspective so I don't ask too much. I think out exactly what I think they will say so I don't get any whiff of rejection.

Asking for help feels a little like failure. Our society has placed such a premium on motherhood and all that comes with it while undervaluing the "invisible" work involved. Not being able to do it all without help has a way of making us feel like we're failing, even though it's the hardest job there is, and historically it's been done with the help of all the village- aunties and grandparents and neighbors and friends.

Drowning. Asking for help feels like drowning. It is so much faster and easier to just do it myself, whatever it is, than to ask for help and to have to explain who, what, when, where, why, and how, to someone else. At the point im asking for help, I am drowning, and desperate, and I really need it!

A chore, impossible, a burden

Like I'm not capable of doing it all. And sometimes that's hard to swallow.

It feels like a burden. Like I'm not capable .. It make me feel guilty - guilty for leaving my kiddos or asking someone to step in for me.

Asking for help feels like l can't do it on my own. I can't ask for help when I'm alone, and when I ask for help when someone is around, I often remember that I CAN do it on my own, but it's a different reality when I have help. Sometimes, though, asking for help seems like an extra, laborious step because it's often mentally easier to just do it on my own.

Asking for help feel like trying to reach for something you can see but as you start to reach your hand towards it you realize it's in a glass case. It's always there, always offered. you can see it, it's so close but somehow it's unavailable, unattainable, unused.

I hate asking for help. First, I'm not good at prioritizing my needs. Secondly, if I want it done my way, it feels like too much

Guilt and bothersome

asking for help feels like failure ... or at least I used to think so. That's the one thing I would go back and change when I first had my babies. We don't have to do it all that's why we have a village.

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