Why is it So Hard to "Ask For Help"?

"There is no shame in 'asking for help,'" we always say to one another. And we are sincere in this conviction. We know this should be true, and we are learning more and trying harder to respond with awareness of this truth.

And yet, so many people refuse to ask for help. There are lots of resources available, that provide various forms of assistance to people who find themselves impoverished by physical and/or mental sufferings. But too often we don't ask.

Why does it seem so hard to ask? Certainly, it's humbling to be open about our needs, especially the ones that are easily concealed. But sometimes we hold back and keep things inside - hiding or denying even very desperate circumstances - because we have this feeling that there's no point to it, because people can't give us what we really need. There is something real that underlies this feeling (even though it can also be proud or foolish to refuse to seek help for our practical needs).

In fact, the acts of giving and receiving help take place in the realm of interpersonal relationships.

"Asking for help" is really hard, not only because of our pride, but also because we know that no one can ultimately solve our problem. Our need for practical help is important, but it's not sufficient in human terms to just have our immediate practical needs taken care of without any experience of being engaged as persons.

There are reasons why people feel degraded by "depending on charity" and one of them is that they can feel reduced to mere objects of the energy of the generosity of others. And other people can use "the poor" as a means to feel satisfied with their own generosity (or their being "charitable").

It's important to realize that the poor know (on some level) when they're being used. They take what is given to them, but often they harbor resentment toward their benefactors. They feel used and robbed of their dignity.

That's why "help" shouldn't just be external (even when concrete needs are involved). Take a simple and obvious example: the need of the human person for food. Here we can see concrete ways to help people who lack food. Such people are obviously "poor," and we can take initiatives to help them even before they ask.

But is there the danger that such initiatives might fall short of being fully human?

We can feed the poor the way we feed a dog. We can even provide food with smiles and kind words, but it would still be like feeding our dogs if it is done without a vital awareness of our common humanity or the gifts and deeper burdens they have to share with us.

But the benefactor may be perplexed here. What else can be done?

It's not possible to reduce to a simple pragmatic formula or set of rules how to respond to the sufferings and the needs of another human person. The human need for food (an example which seems so quantifiable) is always the need of a human person - it's a physical need, but also a need for something more.

Hunger has a story, a personal story. It's linked to other difficult and tragic circumstances in the vocational journey of a human person. It bears the wounds of desperation, exclusion, failure, and - all too often - injustice.

These are overwhelming problems, and they are personal to each of "the poor." Clearly, we must help these persons with love. But how?

The art of being human is a continual learning process, and perhaps we feel we don't know how to love persons in need (or how to love this particular person in the context of the help we give them for this particular need). But it's already the beginning of something when we realize the deep deficiency of our efforts to "do works of mercy" and thus begin to discover our own poverty.

It changes our perspective: we the "helpers" do not stand in any kind of personal superiority over the ones we help. The greatest need - to give and receive love - is something we all share.

For those of us rich in material things, skills, knowledge, energy, etc. this can be a surprising and humbling discovery. But this humility allows us to begin to see the person in need of help as a person humbled, a person like us.

Indeed, our needs and our sufferings are deeper than the reach of any projects or solutions. As persons we have to share one another's burdens - and that's hard for us in our culture to understand because it doesn't seem to yield a "product" that we can measure, it's beyond the calculus of "results," and it's messy and awkward because it's interpersonal.

Sharing our gifts and burdens is the "stuff" of relationships; it builds unity between persons in freedom. It engenders solidarity and compassion. It is the source of authentic human community.

Community is a reality that is lived, not a thing we can produce. Indeed, when people try to "make" community like a product, they inevitably make conflict.  It turns into a constant fight over whose ideas about "how to do it" should be used. And that's the best case scenario; much worse is when a group or individual become dictators to whom everyone must conform.

If we want to build up an environment where people really do feel encouraged to "ask for help," we all need to be more open about our own suffering. When we admit that it's hard for us to do that, we have already begun. We begin to be open about the suffering that love entails: both active loving and the openness to receive love from others.

It's difficult for all of us to live this way, to live as persons in communion, to share one another's burdens. It takes patience and work, including patience with ourselves. This follows a path of "gradualness" - it's a complex human thing that grows "organically" (according to our growth in wisdom, not as the simple application of a technique or the imposition of an ideology). And, of course, it's something built up through respect for human dignity and freedom.

Finally, it is a life we receive from God. We must turn to Him to ask for help. He who is Love will form us in the ways of love.