No Gold Stars For Doing It Alone.

(A childhood candlestick, and what it really takes to ask for help.)

Let me take you back to 1980.

Ten-year-old Andrea is in woodwork class with Mr Turner. It’s Christmas project season and the assignment for the whole class is to create a candlestick. Festive, functional, and (ideally) fire-safe.

Most of the kids design a square block, drill a hole in the top, and paint it in those brightly clashing 80s colours. Job done. Mr Turner nods approvingly.

But not me. Oh no. I had grander plans.

I was going to create a Christmas tree-shaped candlestick holder. Not just a tree,but a 3D triangular beauty standing on a square block, with a candle holder attached to the front like some kind of festive torch of triumph.

It was ambitious. And I was determined. The diagonal sawing alone took two double lessons. Eventually, Mr Turner wandered over, probably wondering if I’d fused to the bench, and said gently, “Andrea… if you turn the tree around in the vise, you can saw in a straight line.”

Reader, I turned the tree. And the next bit was much quicker.

I don’t know why I didn’t ask for help earlier. Maybe I thought I had to prove something. Maybe I didn’t want to look clueless. Maybe I just believed,fiercely,that I could figure it out alone.

I did finish that candlestick. Eventually. I think it took me around 300 hours (give or take a decade). I had to use my break times to finish it. And in my end-of-year report, Mr Turner summed it up with this cutting gem:

“Andrea has wonderful ideas. It’s just unfortunate they are way beyond her ability to carry them out without a great deal of help.”

Ouch. I mean, fair… but ouch.

Yes, I understand the value of learning through struggle. But also—couldn’t someone have celebrated my creativity and ambition before muttering into their tea?

Here’s the bigger point though.

Why didn’t I ask for help?

And is that a theme that’s quietly threaded its way through my life?

Recently, I’ve been digging into this. Why is it so hard to ask for help? I mean, really ask. Not the polite British “Sorry to bother you but…” that we whisper while already doing it ourselves anyway.

I think somewhere along the line, a lot of us learned that asking for help is risky. There’s this sneaky cultural myth that independence is admirable and needing others is weakness. Even if we know it’s not true in our heads, asking for help can make us feel exposed. Like we’re waving a flag that says:

“I can’t do this. I don’t have it all together.”

And if your identity has been built on coping, carrying on, and holding it all together, that flag feels heavy.

There’s research to back this up (because if in doubt, bring in Stanford). A 2022 study found that people consistently underestimate how willing others are to help,and how good it makes them feel to do it. Helping others gives people a sense of purpose and connection. And those who ask for help? They’re often seen as more competent, not less.

But despite the data, the internal resistance remains.

For me, it’s partly perfectionism, that small, stubborn voice that says no one else will do it right (aka: my way or the highway). There’s pride too. That shadowy whisper:

“You should be able to manage this. You’re a failure.”

But life’s not a competition. There’s no gold medal for solo suffering. No certificate awarded for silently soldiering on.

Accepting help isn’t a flaw in your design. It’s a reminder that you’re human.

And when we do receive help, something softens. Something shifts. Being vulnerable,saying "I can’t do this alone" actually opens the door to real connection.

As Brené Brown puts it so beautifully:

“You don’t have to do it alone. You were never meant to.”

So… how do we get better at asking for help?

Like most hard things, it takes practice, self-compassion, and a bit of humour.

Here are a few ideas I’m trying (some days more successfully than others):

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1. Start Small

Ask a family member to walk your dog when you're shattered. Ask your neighbour for that one ingredient instead of winging it and serving up culinary regret. The more you ask, the less terrifying it becomes.

2. Be Specific

Vague cries like “I’m exhausted” might get you a pep talk when what you really need is someone to empty the bins. Try:

“Could you take the bins out?”

“Would you mind visiting with mum this afternoon while I go out”

Clarity helps others show up for you in meaningful ways.

3. Let Go of Control

Yes, it might not be done exactly how you would do it. But help is help. And perfection isn’t the goal,support is. You might be missing out on real connection because you're trying to script every scene.

4. Get Curious About Your Reluctance

Ask:

What story am I telling myself here?

That I’m a burden?

That I’ll owe someone forever?

That if they say no, I’ll cry in Aldi?

Try rewritting the script.

5. Practice Receiving

If someone says, “Let me know if I can help,” don’t brush it off with, “I’m fine!” Try:

“Actually, I’d love that. Could you cook me a meal?”

“Yes please, could you please give my son a lift?”

Let people show up for you. You’re not taking advantage, you’re participating in mutual humanity.

There’s no prize for going it alone. But there’s something deeply brave about being honest about your needs. About letting yourself be seen. And letting someone else meet you there.

As Mike Robbins says:

“When we ask for help, we give others the opportunity for the joy and the satisfaction that comes from helping.”

And my favourite, of course, from Charlie Mackesy’s The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse:

So here’s where I leave you:

I’m learning. Some days I ask with open hands. Other days I sit on them, surrounded by undone tasks and unspoken needs, stubbornly silent.

But I’m trying.

And maybe you could too?

Let’s try. Together.