I’m the oldest child of a Navy pilot and an elementary school teacher. I grew up in the South, loved church, made straight A’s, and never got in trouble. Yes, it was an idyllic childhood—let’s get that out of the way first. Because what’s not as obvious, at least it wasn’t to me, is that this is also a recipe for the makings of a fiercely independent and resourceful adult—who is destined for a complete burnout. 

This summer, I was just one lit match away from something dramatic. I can’t really tell you what, because luckily enough, smart people intervened right before life could have gotten really messy. But I thought I’d share a little bit of this “aha” moment, which, given my stubborn nature (see recipe above), means the pace of my revelations are more on par with crockpots than microwaves.

I got a cool new job about two years ago. I love my job. But up until two years ago, I had worked freelance all my life. (Independent! Resourceful! See how this is tracking?) And here’s what I started to do once I realized I wasn’t going anywhere: I reverted to an old role that I was very familiar with—The Oldest Daughter. The Helper. Or as my mom (still) calls me: The Rock. Sorry, Dwayne Johnson, I earned my title well before your wrestling days.

Anyway, I wanted to be The Rock that everyone at the office relied on. Can it get done? Sure! No problem! I got this… and this… and this. I kept taking on more—and guess what? It got to be too much. I was getting irritable, I was crying, I was planning my escape. From a job I loved! But I couldn’t figure out a way to keep going, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sustain the pace much longer. It showed on my face and in my work. That was when a colleague, noticing my stress levels, casually advised: “You should ask for help.”

Why does this kind of advice make me want to crawl up a wall? The number of excuses that welled up inside me were frankly impressive: “Its quicker if I do it myself!” “I couldn’t tell you what I needed anyway!” But deep down inside, I think there is a bigger block, born of the little girl who always made sure mom was OK while dad was away on duty. I’ve tied up a whole lot of my worth in being helpful to others. And sometimes too helpful. I’ve been known to intervene in many a situation in which my help was not even needed. Or welcomed. I am the Best Lil’ Helper ever. So what happens to me if I hand over that role for a moment?

In a moment of sheer desperation, I decided to test the waters of this bizarre ritual of asking for help. Apparently, it’s a thing that people do all the time, and no one hates them for it. From what I’ve been told, people actually feel amazing when you let them help you. Which, I suppose, connects back to why I like “helping others” so much.

So I handed off a few small jobs to co-workers. Nothing big, but I did it. But here’s the novelty: I resisted the urge to go buy them a gift basket in appreciation for their service. And you know what? Their assistance did make my life a little easier. And weirdly, I have not yet received an invoice for the eternal debt I owe them.

And when I got ill, I did the craziest thing: I said yes to someone who asked if they could bring me anything. The absolutely beautiful basket of goodies that showed up immediately on my front doorstep was tear-inducing.

I guess I’m not the only one who’s good at helping. And luckily enough, folks at my office got the hint that I even needed help asking for help—and they came through. Even now, they are helping me find balance, and it feels pretty great.

I think I’ll keep testing the waters of this “Ask for Help” theory. So far, I’m finding a lot of very good little rocks to help pave this path called life. ❧

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Tara Ochs is a writer, producer and performer in Atlanta’s entertainment community. She produces content with Dagger, a creative agency, and can be seen on stage at Dad’s Garage Theater in the Old Fourth Ward performing live comedy.