I’m not good at asking for help. Never have been. For some reason, even as a young child, I had an immense fear of being vulnerable. As I continue my recovery, I often hear stories of other people in recovery who also struggle with asking for help. This is tricky, this avoidance of asking for help, especially for those of us in recovery. It’s tricky because the reason why we are in recovery is because we need help. Lots of it. Well, at least I do. In a 12 step program, like the one I am in, asking for help heightens your chances of prolonged sobriety. Even though I know this, I still balk at calling a fellow alcoholic when I need guidance. Why is asking for help so difficult for us alcoholics or addicts?
Since it is my belief that many alcoholics have been running from their deep seeded issues their entire lives, this is an issue with roots that go way back for me I know it does for me. Since I am the only person I can speak for, I’ll tell a story I may have already told. Oh well…
This is a story I don’t actually remember. Not really. I remember bits and pieces but it was before I was able to start collecting long term memories. I must have been two or three. The age when you’re still wearing those little onesies with a detachable butt. Anyway, my dad was a beer drinker and practicing alcoholic at the time so there was always beer in the fridge. Apparently, my dad noticed that there was an open beer left in the fridge and thought it was my mom’s. My mom thought it was my dad’s. After about a week, both parents wondered why the other had left an open beer in the refrigerator for an entire week.
Finally, my mom confronted my dad about it. As it turned out, the beer belonged to neither of them. They were perplexed. Both my sister and I were too young and weak to open a beer, so who left it in there? It was a mystery until they finally found the culprit. Me.
A few nights go by and my parents are watching TV after putting my sister and I to bed. Suddenly, they hear little footsteps walk into the kitchen. They hear the refrigerator door open so they both get up to look in the kitchen where they find me taking big gulps from the open beer. As it turns out, I was absolutely strong enough to open a beer.
By now you may be asking what this story has to do with my aversion to asking for help. Since I’ve been in recovery, I have continually investigated my relationship to alcohol. While my addictions is a destination with many roads leading to it, I know one of the reasons I drank was to feel a connection to my own father.
As a young child, my father wasn’t around very much. He worked long hours and when he was home he drank a lot. When he drank he wasn’t present. So, when he got home at night he would crack open a beer and sit in front of the TV. Occasionally he would let me sit on his lap and would give me sips of his beer. I remember loving the taste. It was bubbly, malty, bitter and ice cold. Aside from milk, it was my favorite drink.
After hearing the story of the open beer thousands of times from my parents, I began to realize that the reason I kept an open beer in the fridge was to get what I wasn’t getting from my relationship with my dad. While I vaguely remember chugging the beer while blanketed within the yellow light of the fridge, I absolutely remember being able to open a can. I remember getting my little fingers just under the tab and using all my might to pop it open. My dad letting me sit on his lap was rare, but the beer I could get whenever I needed it.
The point of writing this is not to blame either parent. I don’t blame them. They were both very young and very immature, but they tried their best. Their own childhoods were a mess so having a kid open up a beer to fulfill the needs that weren’t being met for him was no big deal.
The real point is that I was on my own when it came to my emotional needs. I didn’t feel safe asking for things so instead I took care of it myself. I did this my entire life and now that I understand it better, I still fear being vulnerable. Even though I know I have at least 20 people I could call in an emergency, I still wouldn’t want to. I wouldn’t want to burden them and above all, wouldn’t want them to think I was needy. I wouldn’t want them to think I couldn’t take care of myself.
The joke, of course, is that as an adult I have barely been able to take care of myself.
I was at dinner the other night when a good friend of mine mentioned that her boyfriend, who is also a good friend, was having trouble asking for help. This guy is ultra-committed to his sobriety, yet still, he fears asking for help. My friend finished her story of her boyfriend by letting us know that he asked for help from his network of friends with a problem he had and got more help and love than he ever could have imagined. I liked that story a lot.
So, I guess I have to work on that. I know that no one achieves anything great without help, and though I am not sure staying sober would be considered “greatness”, I won’t be able to get through it alone. I want to experience what my friend experienced, but dammit if I’m not afraid. It sounds crazy, but I’m petrified of it.
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