I’m just a girl : who learned not to ask for help
This is part of a series of stories I want to share from my perspective as an eldest daughter. I hope these stories can feel like a conversation. Maybe something that comforts you, or maybe just someone sitting beside you, keeping you company while you figure things out.
I think one of the hardest things for me to admit is that I don’t really know how to ask for help.
Not because I don’t need it.
I do.
Sometimes, I need it more than I want to admit. But whenever I want to ask someone for help, there is always this little voice in my head that says, “It’s okay. You can do it yourself.”
So I do.
I go to the doctor by myself when I’m sick.
I buy my own medicine.
If I crave something, or want to do something like watch a movie, buy a book, or even travel, I go and do it myself.
If I have a problem, I try to figure it out myself.
Even when something happens that scares me, my first instinct is not to call the people I love.
It is to think, “Okay. What do I need to do?”
I didn’t realize for a long time that I learned this.
I thought I was simply an independent person. But maybe I became independent because, somewhere along the way, I learned that asking for help could hurt.
When I was little, my father sometimes said things like, “If you can’t do this, you’re not my daughter.”
Maybe he didn’t mean those words as deeply as I remember them. Maybe they were just words said in a moment. But children don’t always know which words are supposed to be taken seriously and which ones aren’t.
So I remembered them.
I remember a time when I couldn’t replace the gas cylinder on the kitchen stove while my friends and I were cooking at my house. It sounds like such a small thing now. But I remember being embarrassed when my father scolded me in front of my friends because I couldn’t do it.
I remember thinking that maybe I was supposed to know how to do these things.
Maybe I was supposed to be capable.
Maybe I wasn’t allowed to say, “I don’t know how.”
Because what if not knowing meant I was disappointing someone?
There were other moments too.
Sometimes, when I told my mother that I wasn’t feeling well, that my head was really spinning, she would simply say, “Take the medicine.” Or sometimes, “So what should I do? Just take the medicine.”
And I know she probably wasn’t trying to hurt me. Maybe, from her perspective, that was helping. But when you’re the one who doesn’t feel well, sometimes you don’t just want instructions. Sometimes you want someone to say, “Are you okay?” Or, “Do you need me to stay with you?” Or even just, “I’ll get it for you.”
There were times when I asked my sister for small things too.
“Can you buy this for me?” Because I assumed she was already nearby.
“Can you get this medicine for me?” Because I couldn’t find the medicine I was looking for.
Sometimes she forgot. Sometimes there was an excuse. Sometimes it simply didn’t happen.
And again, maybe those things were small. Maybe they shouldn’t have mattered that much. But I think that’s how this habit was built.
Not from one big moment.
From many small moments when I asked and was disappointed.
So eventually, I stopped asking.
I started thinking,
It’s easier if I just do it myself.
At least then, I know it will get done.
At least then, I won’t have to wait.
At least then, I won’t have to feel that little disappointment again.
And I think that’s the saddest part.
I became very good at taking care of myself.
Too good, sometimes.
And it isn’t only with my family.
I’ve noticed I do this with my friends too.
Lately, on my trip to Bali, I rented a motorcycle to get around. At one point, the motorcycle started having trouble. I was in Gianyar, quite far from the area where my friend and I had planned to meet in Canggu. It would have been around a 30-minute ride, and honestly, I was panicking a little. So I told her that the motorcycle was having trouble and that I might be late. She immediately asked, “Do you want me to pick you up?”
And my instinct? “It’s okay. I can handle it.”
Of course I said that.
I don’t even know why.
Someone was literally offering to help me. And instead of saying yes, I somehow convinced myself that I should figure it out alone.
So I did.
I tried to handle the motorcycle situation by myself.
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I was stressed.
I was worried.
I was probably making the situation harder than it needed to be.
But I still couldn’t bring myself to say, “Yes. Please come get me.”
Luckily, I eventually managed to sort things out and meet my friend.
But afterward, I thought about it.
Why did I say no?
Why was my first instinct to refuse help, even when someone I trusted was offering it?
And maybe that’s when I realized: This isn’t just about whether the people around me are willing to help. Sometimes, I’m the one who doesn’t let them.
Because somewhere inside me, asking for help still feels like admitting that I can’t handle something. And I think I’ve spent so much of my life trying to prove that I can.
There have been moments when I’ve been sick and still gone to the doctor alone.
There have been days when I wanted something as simple as food, but instead of asking someone to get it for me, I just went out and bought it myself.
There have even been situations where something went wrong, an accident, a difficult situation, something that made me scared, and my first instinct was to handle everything before telling my family.
Sometimes I didn’t tell them at all.
Not because I didn’t love them. Not because I didn’t trust them.
But because a part of me was already thinking,
What if I ask and they don’t come?
What if I ask and they think I’m being dramatic?
What if I ask and they say no?
What if I disappoint them again?
So I don’t ask.
I just figure it out.
And maybe that’s why sometimes I feel lonely even when I’m surrounded by people who love me. Because people can love you and still not know that you need help. And sometimes, they can’t know. Because you never tell them.
You keep saying, “I’m okay.”
You keep saying, “I can handle it.”
You keep saying, “It’s fine.”
Until eventually, everyone believes you.
I think being the eldest daughter made this even stronger.
There is this expectation that you should know what to do. That you should be responsible. That you should be strong enough to take care of yourself and sometimes even take care of other people.
So I learned to become that person.
The person who says, “I’m fine.”
The person who doesn’t want to trouble anyone.
The person who would rather struggle quietly than ask for something and risk being disappointed.
But lately, I’ve been wondering if being independent and being afraid to ask for help are actually the same thing.
Maybe they’re not.
Maybe there is a difference between “I can do this myself” and “I have to do this myself because I don’t want to need anyone.”
I think I’ve been living somewhere between the two.
And I’m still learning the difference.
Because the truth is, I don’t want to spend my whole life believing that needing help makes me weak. I don’t want to feel guilty every time I ask someone to do something for me. I don’t want to apologize for being sick. I don’t want to feel embarrassed because I don’t know how to do something. I don’t want to keep proving that I can survive everything alone.
Sometimes, I just want to be a girl who can say, “Can you help me?” And not feel ashamed about it.
Maybe that’s something I’m still learning.
That being capable doesn’t mean I have to do everything alone. That being strong doesn’t mean I never need anyone. That asking for help doesn’t mean I’ve failed. And maybe the people who love me deserve the chance to help me too.
Maybe I need to let them.
Because perhaps love isn’t only about being there for someone. Sometimes, love is also allowing someone to be there for you.
So, maybe I’m still just a girl.
A girl who learned how to carry things by herself a little too early.
A girl who learned to turn disappointment into independence.
A girl who is still learning that she doesn’t always have to prove she can survive alone.
I’m just a girl who learned to call it independence when, sometimes, it was really just fear of being disappointed.
Anyway, that’s enough from me for now.
Until next time,
Shafit.
