I don’t know why it’s always been hard for me to reach out and ask for help, even when I know I need to and that there are people who would be happy to be there if I would only ask. Is it a fear of being a burden? Believing I can do it all on my own? A need to present the impression that everything is always fine? Whatever it is, the more I resist asking, the more I falter under the weight of my stubborn independence. It’s as if life is telling me, gently but firmly, that things won’t really come together until I have the courage to be truly heard and seen. I remember once hearing that inside every strong man is a little boy who needs warmth, and inside every strong woman is a little girl who needs help. I’m realizing that I won’t be able to truly help others until I have the humility to show up and be helped, to reach out and put myself on the line and hope that you’ll be there to catch me when I fall.