Blog Accepting Help

Learning to Let Go (and Let People In)

Hey you,

Look, I’m no expert on this whole “letting people help” thing. I’ve been wrestling with it my whole damn life, and I’m still figuring it out. But I’ve got to tell you—I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I realized I’ve been carrying way more than I needed to. Like that time I tried to hang a cabinet by myself. Yeah, that’s the one. I’ll get to that. But first, let’s talk about why this is so damn hard for us guys, especially the ones who’ve got kids and a heart full of grief.

The Weight of the Cabinet (And the Weight of Everything Else)

You know that feeling when you’re standing on a wobbly ladder, holding a heavy cabinet, and your hands are shaking because you’re so tired you can’t think straight? That was me. Three months ago. I’d been working double shifts at the electrical job—fixing that old school’s wiring, which was a nightmare—but I’d also signed up to redo the kitchen myself. "I can handle it," I told myself. "Just need to get it done." Like I always do.

But the truth? I was running on coffee and regret. My youngest, Maya, had a fever the night before, and I’d been up half the night with her. Then I got a call from her teacher about a school play she was in—she’d forgotten her costume, and I was supposed to pick it up. I’d promised her. But I was already late for the job site. So I skipped the play, told her I’d get it tomorrow. She cried. I felt like the worst dad on the planet.

That morning, I was trying to hang that cabinet. My hands were slick with sweat. The ladder felt like it was made of ice. I was so tired I could barely see straight. And then Liam walked in. My partner. He’s been helping me out a lot lately, but I’d been pushing him away, like I always do. He just looked at me and said, "Jimmy, get down. Now." I wanted to snap back, "I’ve got this!" But I didn’t. I knew I didn’t. And that’s when it hit me: I wasn’t just struggling with a cabinet. I was drowning in everything.

Why I Thought I Had to Carry It All

Let me be real with you. I’ve been a "do-it-myself" guy since my wife, Sarah, died. When she was here, I never needed to ask for help. She’d handle the school stuff, the bills, the little things. But after she was gone… I thought if I could just do everything, I’d prove I was still a good dad. That I wasn’t broken. Like if I could fix the leaky faucet, pay the bills, and get Maya to bed on time, I’d somehow make up for her being gone. It was a stupid way to think, but it was all I had.

I remember one time, when Maya was five, she had a bad fall off her bike. I was working on a house, and I had to leave her with a neighbor. I hated it. I kept calling her, asking if she was okay, even though I knew she was. I kept thinking, "If I’d been there, she wouldn’t have fallen." But I wasn’t there. And I kept thinking, "If I’d been a better dad, I’d have been there." So I started doing everything myself. No help. No asking. Just me, my tools, and my pride.

The Day the Ladder Almost Won

So back to the cabinet. Liam didn’t yell. He just stood there, calm, like he’d seen this before. "You’re shaking," he said. "Let me help." And I just… froze. Not from the weight of the cabinet. From the idea of needing help. I felt like a failure. Like I’d let Maya down by not being there for her play, and now I was failing at hanging a stupid cabinet. I wanted to say, "I’m fine," but I knew I wasn’t. I was barely holding on.

So I finally said it. "Okay," I mumbled. "Please." And then… it was like a weight lifted. Not the cabinet, but the idea of it. We got it up together. And you know what? It wasn’t just about the cabinet. It was about Liam seeing me. Not just the dad who’s always got it together, but the guy who’s tired, scared, and trying his best. And he didn’t judge me. He just helped.

What Happened When I Finally Asked

After that, I started noticing things. Like, when I was trying to get Maya to sleep, and she was crying because she missed her mom, I didn’t try to "fix" it. I just sat with her. And when I did, she stopped crying. She just snuggled into me. And I realized: I didn’t have to be the "fixer" all the time. I just had to be there.

Then there was the time I was working on a big electrical job, and I was struggling with a wiring diagram. I’d been trying to figure it out for hours, and I was getting frustrated. My coworker, Mike, asked if I wanted to look at it together. I almost said no. But I didn’t. I said, "Yeah, I’d appreciate that." And you know what? He saw something I’d missed. It saved me hours of work. And it didn’t make me look weak. It made me look like I was doing my job right.

How to Actually Ask for Help (Without Sounding Like a Loser)

Look, I get it. Asking for help feels like admitting you’re weak. But here’s the thing: it’s not weak. It’s smart. So here’s what I’ve learned, the hard way:

• Start small. Don’t ask for a full-time babysitter. Ask, "Could you grab Maya from school tomorrow? Just for an hour?" It’s less intimidating, and it builds trust.
• Be specific. Don’t say, "I need help." Say, "I need help with the school play costume. Can you pick it up on your way home?" People are more likely to say yes when they know exactly what you need.
• Say it out loud. I used to think, "I’ll just handle it," but that’s how I got stuck. Now I say it: "I need help with this." It’s harder to say, but it’s the only way to get it.

Don’t apologize. I used to say, "Sorry to bother you," but that makes it sound like I’m asking for a favor. Just say, "Can you help me with this?" It’s not a favor. It’s help*.

The Real Cost of Saying "I've Got This"

Here’s the thing I’ve realized: when I say "I’ve got this," I’m not just hurting myself. I’m hurting the people who want to help me. Like when I told my neighbor, "I’m fine," when my kid was sick. She’d offered to help, but I’d pushed her away. And she felt like I didn’t trust her. And I felt like I was alone. That’s the real cost: it pushes people away.

I’ve also realized that saying "I’ve got this" is a lie. It’s not that I can handle it. It’s that I don’t want to admit I can’t. And that lie is what’s hurting me the most.

It's Not About Being Perfect

I used to think that if I asked for help, I’d be admitting I wasn’t a good dad. But that’s not true. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being real. It’s about showing up, even when you’re tired, even when you’re scared. It’s about saying, "I’m not okay, and that’s okay."

And here’s the thing: when I started asking for help, I didn’t feel weaker. I felt stronger. Like I was building a bridge with other people. Like I wasn’t alone in this. And that’s what I want for Maya. I want her to know that it’s okay to ask for help. That it’s not weak. It’s human.

What I'm Still Learning

I’m still learning. I still catch myself saying "I’ve got this" when I don’t. I still feel that old shame when I ask for help. But now I know: it’s okay. It’s not weakness. It’s strength.

I’ve started asking for help with the school stuff. I’ve asked Liam to help with Maya’s homework. I’ve even asked Mike to help me with a wiring job. And you know what? It’s made me a better dad. A better electrician. A better person.

And I’ve started noticing something else: when I ask for help, people want to help me. They don’t see me as weak. They see me as real. And that’s what I want for Maya. I want her to know that it’s okay to be real. That it’s okay to ask for help. That it’s okay to not have it all figured out.

Final Thought

So here’s what I figured out: strength isn’t about carrying everything alone. It’s about knowing when to let someone else carry part of it. It’s about being brave enough to say, "I need help." It’s about trusting that the people who care about you will be there for you.

It’s not easy. It’s messy. It’s hard. But it’s worth it. Because when you let people in, you’re not just letting them help you. You’re letting them see you. And that’s where the real connection happens.

So next time you’re standing on that wobbly ladder, holding that heavy cabinet, and you feel like you’ve got to do it all alone… take a breath. And ask for help. You’ll be surprised how much lighter you feel.

— Jimmy Hawkins, just a dad figuring it out