At the moment, life — or a higher power, the divine — is throwing me into situations I never planned on handling right now.
It’s making me accept help without being able to give anything in return.
It‘s making me weak on purpose. Mostly physically, but slowly mentally as well.
It’s making me realize that some people help out of love — out of friendship — and expect nothing back. They just want to see me happy and thriving.

This is hard for me to take in.
For the longest time, I thought accepting help meant I owed them. I have to make it up to them.
(And in some sense, I still believe that.)
But it’s not about tallying favors.
It’s about acts of kindness, freely given — to friends, family, even strangers.

Growing up, independence was written in all capital letters. I sorted out my own things, and only as a last resort did I ask for help.
When I did, it came with a heavy mix of guilt and shame:
shame, because I couldn’t do it myself;
guilt, because I felt I had wasted someone’s time and energy.

This habit followed me into adulthood like a second skin.
Even though, I’ve been unlearning that over the past few years.
I‘m still learning to be gentler with myself when I need help.
To stop seeing it as a last resort.
To release the guilt and shame — because we all need a hand sometimes.

I don‘t struggle to help. I probably sometimes give too much — especially to people who don‘t value my time and energy anymore.
Still, receiving help makes me feel vulnerable.
It’s an emotion that sits uncomfortably in me, even though I know it’s what builds closeness.

Reminder to myself (and you): Vulnerability is what makes me relatable, what opens doors to deeper connection, what softens the edges of my own resistance.

And yet, there are moments I want to refuse it — moments I tell myself I should be stronger, better, more capable. Moments when the feelings of weakness swell, and I’m ready to push away even the kindest intentions.
This sense of independence — of being the easy person to be around, because she ain‘t ever bothers anyone for anything — is so deeply rooted within me. I‘m sometimes unsure if I‘ll ever be able to shed that skin.

Maybe it’s not about one extreme or another. Maybe the real work is in finding a better balance between giving and receiving. Maybe the real work is about vulnerability. (Who would have thought?)
Here’s the thing: giving fills my cup, but it can also drain it when my time and energy are spent carelessly.
Receiving fills it too, yet it can just as easily empty it if my mind convinces me I’m unworthy.
Like I’m walking on the edge of a double-edged sword.

Reminder to myself (and you): I‘m worthy of receiving all the help, love and sunshine — I don‘t have to prove it.

What’s helped the most is a little book I keep — a journal of things I’m grateful for, and experiences I’ve been lucky enough to have. I don’t write in it every day, sometimes not for weeks.
But when I do — or even when I just read old entries — I’m overwhelmed by gratitude. And I notice something: most of what’s in that book exists because of someone else. Because I shared it with them. Or because they gave me the chance to experience it at all.

It‘s all a learning curve and unfortunately there’s no „one size fits all“. What works for me, doesn’t necessarily work for you. But I‘ll be damned if I don‘t at least try to find a way and I hope so will you.

So long, keep growing. Until we meet again.