Backward Facing Therapy gives you behind-the-scenes stories from my time as a therapist and therapy client. It’s soulful and transformative mental health content from my couch to yours. You can support my writing by becoming a subscriber or sharing this post. I’m so happy you’re here.
I’d like to tell you that my childhood was filled with unconditional love and support but I don’t like to lie.
I’d like to tell you that my childhood was a happy one because, for a brief moment, I’d like to be that girl.
But I’m not. The majority of my childhood sucked.
Sure. There were moments of fun and laughter and adventure and joy but for the most part, my childhood sucked.
There was never enough food, time, or money.
There was plenty of yelling, uncertainty, and the feeling that I was invisible.
Although I was lucky enough to grow up in a two-parent household, each parent was perpetually busy.
My dad worked long hours and my mom was busy caring for my younger brother, managing a household, working a part-time job, and trying to make meals out of meager.
I learned early on that if I needed something, no one wanted to hear it. My pleas were often met with, “Go ask your father” or “Go ask your mother” until I pleaded no more.
When I got a little older, I learned to become independent and self-sufficient to get what I needed. This meant earning money by babysitting or feeding someone’s cat so I could buy the pants I needed or supplies for school.
The emotional needs? They went unmet.
And if I ever dared to ask a teacher or tell a trusted adult that I needed something? I’d surely get in trouble and get lectured on how I was sharing family business when I shouldn’t have been.
This seemed to be the damn Generation X style of parenting.
So when I was thrown out of my house at the age of seventeen, it was sink or swim time.
Financially, I was staying afloat but emotionally and mentally? I was drowning.
I could no longer be that child who stayed quiet and made few demands.
So I did something scary. I vented to a coworker (who had become a close friend) and told her what I needed.
And do you know what happened? She didn’t ignore me. She didn’t tell me she was busy. She didn’t tell me, “Not now.” She didn’t tell me I was bothering her.
Instead, she told me about a place that helps people. She even gave me a phone number and a name.
It was weird. I asked for help and got a suggestion.
I called the phone number, asked for the name, and got even more help.
I went to therapy, started taking medication, and started to feel less invisible.
So why was it so hard to ask for help in the first place? I mean, I was an adult for fuck’s sake.
Let’s look at a few contributing factors.
Childhood experience
I learned that it was either unsafe or unacceptable to ask for help. My parents just didn’t have the ability or capacity to meet another need. Side note: Don’t be this parent.
Vulnerability
Throughout my teenage years and early adulthood, I worked hard at being independent and appearing like I had it all together. Asking for help made me feel vulnerable and like that dejected child all over again.
Low self-esteem
At the age of eighteen, during a therapy session, I asked my therapist,” If my parents didn’t have time for me, didn’t work to meet my needs, and didn’t show me love, why should anyone else?”
I didn’t feel worthy of anyone’s help. Actually, I didn’t feel worthy of much.
So how did I get better at asking for and accepting help? How can you get better at doing the same?
Identify why it’s hard to ask for help in the first place. What thoughts and feelings does it stir up? Is negative self-talk involved? Is it childhood-related? If you’re having trouble sorting it out, speak to a therapist.
I worked on my self-esteem issues. Cognitive behavioral therapy for the win. Highly recommend.
Instead of rejecting the offer of help, I looked at the humanity of the person offering it. Is that person a friend? A professional? Most people who offer help have good intentions. There’s no fucking reward for not accepting help when offered. ←Read that again.
I pushed myself out of my comfort zone and did the thing. I asked for help. Sure, I felt anxious at first but each time it got easier. Practice. Identify what you need. Identify who you can ask. Ask for recommendations or suggestions if that particular person can’t help. Search the internet. Make phone calls. Send emails. You will not get the help you need unless you ask.
I let down my barriers and walls and realized that it feels good to receive help. I realized that I was stronger (not weaker) for asking and accepting help. Help made my life better and the only person judging me for asking for help, was me.
If you’re okay offering help, you’ve got to learn how to be on the receiving end from time to time.
Be well, friends.
Kim
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