Lessons in Asking for (and Offering) Help
Why we're so damn bad at it, how to avoid "bad" help, and a shoutout to my superhero mother for answering the call last weekend

Trauma, researchers argue, has the power to transform and imprint itself upon our DNA. According to this relatively new science, the plight of our ancestors extends well beyond the historical record. It affects the way we think, feel, and respond today.
It’s a concept I return to often, though I make no claim to be an ancestry junkie of any kind. I’m a European mutt: half Irish, a quarter Lithuanian, and a smattering of other Anglo cultures, but an American through and through (and, if pressed, a New Yorker in my bones). I’m largely unversed in the traumas my ancestors contended with, though I’d wager they were mostly linked to poverty and food scarcity. There may be no Rockefellers on my family tree, but when I consider the human record of genocide, war, and other atrocities, it’s clear I’m the descendent of a fairly privileged lineage.
If traumatic events inform our biology, so, too, do our ancestors’ coping mechanisms for those events. And this is where the footprint of my Irish Catholic brood feels most relevant. My “people” specialize in masking vulnerability with humor, drinking to mask sadness, and stockpiling familial secrets. Though each generation has made progress toward healthier communication, there’s still one pervasive skill with which we struggle:
Asking for help.
In this matter, we are hopelessly in need of intervention.
American culture has done little to help many of us hone this skill. Daily, we are infused with messaging best categorized as “toxic independence.” There’s nothing we can’t do if we just put our minds to it. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Just do it.
Like our ancestors, we hear these messages so frequently they’ve become integral to how we live. The moments in which we’re not able to do it all are classified as personal failures, which is why it’s so hard to ask for help. We’ve literally trained our brains to silence the signal that help is needed.
Only when catastrophe arrives is it obvious we’re in deeper than we can manage alone. For thousands of people in California, the wildfires are one such event. For me, last weekend, the trifecta of the dog slicing open his foot, a medical emergency with one of my kids, and losing hot water on a 20-degree day in which I badly needed a hot shower, was enough to trigger a help signal. And so I called in the reserves, otherwise known as my mother.
I feel obliged here to acknowledge that I’m lucky to have a mother who, at 74, is still sharp, spritely, and an actual help to have around (she also subscribes to this Substack, so she’s owed a rightful shoutout). For those of us in the sandwich generation, this is no small blessing; my father’s long illness, which preceded his death, taught me to be immensely grateful for the chapters of parental good health.
My mom, being the champion she is, drove up and helped me clean out my kitchen cabinets to our shared OCD standards (did I mention I’d seen my first ever mouse in the house that same awful day??). She did our laundry. She introduced me to my first sip of sherry. She left 48 hours later when it was clear my nervous system was intact again.
Help is a beautiful thing when we allow it. But too often, the idea of it makes us feel inadequate and uncomfortable. It was only when my husband was deep in the throes of brain injury that I learned to divorce pride from self-reliance. At that time, I could barely process the level of help we were receiving. Neighbors were delivering meals and gifts, and contributing to a generous GoFundMe. Restaurants donated gift cards. Even our Eastern Market fruit vendor refused to let me pay. For months, I went about the business of surviving in low-grade shock, barely conscious of how many obstacles had been lifted for me by strangers.
Like others, I much prefer the role of “helper” to “helpee.” It goes back to the sense of control I wrote about last week. Being a helper taps into our agency. It feels good. Receiving help requires surrender - not just to the act of it, but to our stubborn beliefs about self-reliance.

Help, it’s worth caveating, is not always helpful. Especially when it is latent with expectations (on both sides). Here are the lessons acquired from my crash course on the subject. Though I’ve framed them mostly for the recipient, they can be easily flipped for the “helpers.”
Ask before you’re in crisis: Granted, this isn’t an option when you’re in a true, blue sudden emergency, but for most of us, the moment to ask for help is well before we reach our breaking points. Listen to your nervous system. If your heart is racing and your nerves feel frayed, it’s time to take something off your plate. Just because you’re standing doesn’t mean you’re OK. In fact, it’s a lot easier to delegate away tasks while your brain is still operational.
Play to people’s strengths: Not everyone is helpful in the same way. The person who’s great at making vegetarian lasagna may not be the wisest choice of ears for a heartfelt vent. Some folks are great listeners. Others are great bakers. And some bring skill sets to the table that are wonderfully niche. A friend who does graphic design, for example, was the perfect person to employ in making visual flashcards for my husband. She couldn’t do much else from 3,000 miles away, but this offering meant a lot. Use people for what they’re good for, and don’t be apologetic about it. People like to be needed!
Space it out. Right now, we’re seeing a swath of help make its way to L.A. in the form of volunteer hands and donations, but the effects of the wildfires will be felt for years. When help comes all at once, it may be too early to identify what you need, so ask folks for a raincheck. In fact, you can even invite them to set up a calendar invite for a few months out and check in with you then. But do resist the urge to send anyone away completely. You never know how your needs might evolve.
Remember that help is not a quid-pro-quo operation. Help that comes with strings is no help at all, even if that string is as low-hanging as a thank-you card. If you’ve received help, take the pressure off yourself. If folks get angry at you for not playing your role “right,” it’s on them to take some lessons in altruism.
All of us will experience both sides of the equation. If you’re feeling ashamed to be on the receiving end of help, pause and recall the many times you acted as a helper. Did you begrudge or judge the recipient of that help? It’s a reminder that the universe is always shifting favor. No one gets out of life without experiencing what it is to need and be needed.
Ways to Be Immediately Helpful
Do a self-inventory. What are you uniquely equipped to offer others? For some, money may be the simplest/easiest solution. For others, it’s time. Name what you’re good at and think small. It could be that chocolate cake recipe everyone adores. It might be something related to your occupation. Everyone has something they can offer.
Help a fellow author rebuild. In November, I had the privilege of sitting on a grief panel with memoirist Natasha Sizlo, whose book All Signs Point to Paris, captures the journey following her divorce and the death of her father that led her to (where else?!)… Paris. Natasha lost her beloved home last week to the fires, and friends have set up a GoFundMe to support her family through this difficult transition. Alternatively, consider buying Natasha’s book (no library copy this time, please), and supporting her work as an author.
Make a list of the helpers in your life. If you’re in a receiving season of help right now, your brain is probably an unreliable personal assistant. You may not know what you need until the instant you need it, and then it’s a wonderful thing to have a list of folks handy you can call. If your Rolodex of helpers is smaller than you wish, knock on your neighbor’s door and make friends (do this anyway if you haven’t!). We all need a hearty network of people to support us through hard moments.
So beautifully written. The friends that helped without asking were our best gifts. I was in such shock that I didn’t know what to ask for. My biggest concerns were my 12 and 14 year olds. I wanted my friends to take them to their homes to shield them and normalize their lives as much as possible. We have to check in with each other soon. Just starting EMDR therapy for the trauma scars and Greg is now on meds for small focal seizures that affect his ST memory (thankfully the meds are working).