We are born into this world connected—our neurons firing in response to touch, to the sound of another’s voice, to the gaze that meets ours. From the first breath, our brain begins sculpting itself based on the environment around us. This is biology; it is art in motion. Our nervous systems are designed to seek connection, to reach out in vulnerability.
But, what happens when that first reaching hand is met with emptiness? When being seen and supported falls silent?
For many of us, the inability to ask for help is not a conscious choice, nor is it pride. It’s survival. The brain, ever adaptive, rewires itself to minimize risk. Vulnerability becomes dangerous, and asking for help feels like standing on a cliff’s edge with the ground crumbling beneath. Neuroscience tells us this—our amygdala, the brain’s alarm system, overreacts when past pain is triggered. What should be a simple request for help becomes a siren of danger. The circuitry of trust is short-circuited.
But here’s where art enters again, because just as a brushstroke can be reworked, so too can the pathways of the brain. Neuroplasticity—the ability to change, to reshape our responses—is not just science, it’s a deeply creative process. But we cannot do it alone. Asking for help, for support, is like mixing the colors of two palettes. Alone, we can only create shades of isolation. Together, the hues deepen, the canvas of our life grows richer.
In art, the unfinished stroke is not a failure; it’s an invitation to continue, to refine, to allow someone else to add their touch. The same is true in our relationships.
When we learn to ask for help, we open the door to possibility, to the knowledge that some things can only be learned in connection with others. Our brain is wired for this: the mirror neurons that fire when we see someone else’s emotions allow us to feel seen ourselves.
And yet, many of us were never taught this dance. As children, we were conditioned to believe that vulnerability was dangerous. The people meant to guide us failed to mirror back support, leaving us wandering in a desert of self-reliance.
As adults, we struggle to reach out, not because we don’t want to, but because we were never shown how.
The truth is, we cannot teach ourselves what is learned through relationship. We can practice resilience, but without the safety of connection, we are painting in grayscale. It is only through others that we learn the shades of trust, the vibrant hues of vulnerability, and asking for help.
I invite you to reach out to your friends, family, colleagues, to reach out to those around you who never ask for help. I invite you to let them know you are there not only in words but in actions. I invite you to create a safe space for their vulnerability to be heard.
This poem is for you to keep close and know there are hands you can hold on. Look for them.
I grew up learning not to ask,
For help was but a fleeting dream,
I grew strong in shadows, unseen.
Who would catch my trembling voice,
When all I’d known was silent pain?
We must unlearn the scars we wear,
To find help in others.
There are those who lift us up,
And teach us trust.
It’s time to ask again,
For in that asking, we are free,
Yes, the world can be cold,
But there are warm hands to hold us.
You can download more poems in defiance of what rules us, to lit up our souls here. A renewal of old myths, old narratives and obsolete systems.
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