Q: How do I tell the people in my life I need more support?

Hello, From the Other Side #16

Welcome to the “Hello, From the Other Side” series, a (non)advice column from someone who's been there and (currently) lives to tell the story. This is one person’s perspective to help shed light on the grief experience and to help others feel less alone.

Please note that I am not a therapist. I don’t have any official expertise, but I do have experience. Lots and lots of experience.

Support from Widows in the Wild

Q: How do I tell the people in my life I need more support? I feel like everyone offered early and now I’ve missed my window. — Late to the Party

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Hello, Late to the Party -

After my husband, Brad, died, my dog, Dune, experienced an extreme bout of separation anxiety. His howls echoed through the paper-thin walls of our loft, testing our neighbor’s patience, anytime he was left alone.

I felt trapped, both in my home and in my grief.

I needed help.

But did I ask for it?

Of course not.

Instead, I suffered silently, feeling tethered to both my dog and my home. On the rare occasion I ventured out, I carried toxic levels of anxiety with me, worrying that Dune’s disruption would get us evicted from our home. It was all a constant reminder that Brad was dead and I was left to handle the aftershocks of that earth-shattering quake alone.

But I wasn’t alone, not completely. What I know now, 8 years later, is that I had friends who were desperate to help, if only I had asked.¹

I could have asked my friends who worked remotely to work from my living room with Dune curled up on the couch next to them.

I could have asked my friends who offered gift cards to gift me passes to the local doggy day care, so Dune could be with other pups.

I could have asked my friends who took daily walks to include Dune on their strolls, giving him some much-needed exercise.

I could have asked my friends who were home during the day if I could drop Dune off with them.

I could have asked my friends with calm dogs if they could drop their pup off at my house, so that Dune could have company.

But I asked none of those things; instead, I retreated more by the day until I eventually upped and moved.

As a griever, the phrase I hear most is “Let me know if you need anything.”²

So why couldn’t I let all those lovely, wanna-be-helpful-friends know that I needed help?

Because asking for help required me to know what I needed (I didn't) and then have the courage and vulnerability to risk “burdening”³ my friends to make the ask (I wouldn’t).

As life continues for the rest of the world, these offers slow, leaving us to wonder why we didn’t take advantage of them while they were there.

But here’s the thing, your friends still want to help.

They stopped offering help for the same reason you stopped asking for it: they felt like a burden. There are only so many unanswered “let me know how I can help” texts one can send before they start to feel like a bother.

And yes, society tells us we have a window to grieve (one minuscule year), and then sorry kiddo, you’re on your own. But there were so many ways I still needed support, beyond that window.

After a year, I needed help sorting through Brad’s closet.

After a year, I needed help packing up my house and moving.

After a year, I needed help handling Brad’s student loans.

After a year, I needed help working through my emotions as I considered dating.

After a year, I needed help getting through the big dates.

After a year, I needed help getting through the random Tuesdays.

And on and on and one.

Whether it's grief or not, there is no window for support.

You asked me, “How do I tell the people in my life I need more support?”

You say exactly that: I need more support.

Is this easy? No. Does it strengthen your relationships? Yes.

As Simon Sinek says,

“We don't build trust by offering help. We build trust by asking for it.”

The depth of a relationship isn’t built from the offer. It’s built from the ask. It’s built from the vulnerability, the trust, the honor, of the ask.

The people in our lives want to support us in our times of need (if they don’t, find new people). We need to do a better job of letting them.

It is an honor to help someone, to bear witness in all their messy, griefy, humanness. And it allows you to one day reciprocate that honor.

What happens when you go to a friend's house and it's always pristine? You may feel shame about the state of your own home and not invite that friend over. But what happens when you invite her anyway? When you allow her to enter into your real life, mess and all? It allows her to reciprocate. It allows her to let her guard down.

It gives her permission to be human, too.

What is community if not the exchange of support?

Even saying all this, I know both asking for and receiving help is still hard. I struggle with it too.

I never was able to ask for help with Dune. Eventually, a friend of Brad’s stopped by to check in, before we headed to the local watering hole to drown our miseries in some pints of beer. As always, I was stressing over leaving Dune and worried about the neighbor’s response.

“I’ll stay here,” Brad’s friend casually offered.

As usual, I refused and argued and said it was fine.

“Dana, it’s nothing,” he pushed back⁴. “Just go. It’s the easiest thing in the world to sit and hang with Dune. You deserve a moment of relief with your friends.”

It’s only in writing this now, when I am not the one in need of support, that I can look at that time from a place of curiosity. I didn’t even make the ask, he offered. Why was it so hard to take him up on it? Why did I not feel worthy of support? Why did I (do I?) feel the need to hide my struggles from those in my life?

Why must we always be so fucking strong?

These are probably questions for another post.

But what I know now, as a person who is (mostly) on the other side and able to reciprocate support, is that I would be honored to help out any one of my friends, in big and small ways. From doggy sitting to errand running to space holding.

I want to help.

And I’m guessing your friends feel the same way, too.

All you have to do is ask.

Have a question for a future column? Ask it here.

Looking for a community of others who get it? Consider joining the Forced Joy Club.

1. I have lots of thoughts about it not being the responsibility of grievers to ask for support. I wish grief was more accepted and asking for help didn’t feel like such a monumental hurdle. AND, at the end of the day, our friends mean well and are not mind-readers. Unfair or not, sometimes this means it’s on us to make the effort in order to receive the support we need.

2. If you say this to me, I most likely will NOT let you know if I need anything. I’ll write a future post on what you can do/say instead, but if you’re reading this now and looking to support a friend, my simple advice is to be more specific in your offers.

3. I don’t believe we are a burden, but I know it can feel this way.

4. Note to all support people: when it’s obvious they need help, be like this friend: ALWAYS PUSH BACK.