“Asking for help isn’t giving up, it’s refusing to give up.” The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse by Charlie Mackesy

By Katie Rea — spiritual director, writer, and companion for those listening deeply to life as it

Somehow, I learned asking for help was a sign of weakness. True strength meant carrying every burden quietly and independently. If I was overwhelmed, I worked harder, pretty much until my body gave out and I had to rest due to exhaustion or sickness. If I was hurting, I kept going through the pain. If I needed something, I convinced myself I could manage without it.

I underwent some pretty major surgery on July 2.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” my friend asked.
“We’ll manage,” I said, too quickly.

She persisted. “You sure? I could start a meal train.”

I spoke to my husband about the possibility, and he said immediately: “We’ll manage.”

Yet, as I considered this request from my church friend, I realized it would be one less thing for our family to worry about. Garrett was my caregiver and still working from home throughout my first week or so of recovery. I’m the one who does the meal planning and grocery list. Did I really want to add more to his plate? (Get it? Plate? Never mind.)

So, I said yes. I even asked for an extra week’s help. And I’m glad I did, as I ended up going to the ER, which prolonged my recovery a bit.

I was talking to my friend and boss about the meal train, and she asked if Wisdom Tree Collective could partake.  So my Epiphany church and my WTC community came together.

There was a clatter of dishes brought many times in the two weeks. The hum of conversation and concern. Love shown through casseroles, homemade bread, desserts, and gentle hugs. Each container brought into our kitchen felt like a benediction — warmth wrapped in foil.

It was a lifesaver. I also had the opportunity to receive love and care. Companionship helped keep me from feeling isolated from the world. Not to mention the quiet relief of not having to figure out what to cook.

Sometimes the hardest spiritual practice is not generosity but receptivity.

As a 2 on the Enneagram, I’m programmed to help. It’s comfortable. It’s easier.

And when I need help, I resist. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.  I am too needy. Too much.

They’re busy. I’ll figure it out.

However, I’m learning that receiving help requires humility.

Why? Because love is a sacred exchange. Love finds its fullness in the rhythm of giving and receiving.

Hill Harper, known for his roles in The West Wing and The Good Place, beautifully captures the nature of love:

“I believe that love expands. As you give love out, it’s received and reciprocated, and it grows. That’s the beauty of it.”

Receiving help allows us to become part of that expanding circle of love. When we accept another person’s support, we offer them the same gift we value when we extend compassion ourselves: the opportunity to love, to serve, and to participate in someone else’s healing.

I am forever grateful for the meals, gift cards, and the companionship. They remind me that love is often expressed in ordinary ways: a warm meal placed before us, a lingering hug, someone willing to sit beside us, or an encouraging card. These simple acts have a quiet power to comfort, sustain, and remind us that we were never meant to carry life alone.

God, in fact, built us for community.

Think about the people or animals in your life who have shown up for you.

Comfort simply through presence.

Perhaps a friend who truly listened, a family member who stepped in to help, a stranger who offered unexpected kindness.

Maybe a compliment or a gentle hug?

How did it feel to receive their help?

Did you welcome it, or did you feel guilty?

Did you try to repay it immediately, or did you allow yourself to simply receive?

A newsletter by Katie Rea.