Learning to Receive Help

This year has been one of growth and introspection. If I’ve learned anything about myself, it’s that I need time—real time—to process before I can put words to what I’m experiencing. Especially in seasons marked by big change.

Still, I don’t want to wait too long to name my gratitude for what happened this past weekend.

Not long ago, I took a personality assessment. One statement stood out to me:

“I take active steps to help others without expecting anything in return.”

I marked “strongly agree.”
But if I’m honest, the truer version—for me—might be this:

I take active steps to help others and assume it won’t be reciprocated.

That assumption isn’t because I lack community. It’s because I’m not very good at receiving help. I default to self-sufficiency. And lately, I’ve been realizing how deeply ingrained that instinct is.

I’m also realizing that it’s something God is gently confronting in me.

When it came time to move, I wanted to hire movers. Asking friends and family to give up a Saturday felt like too much. The morning they were coming, I had a full-blown panic attack while picking up breakfast.

I was afraid we were asking too much.
Afraid people would feel taken advantage of.
Afraid they’d resent the early hour, the labor, the inconvenience.
Afraid they’d judge how much we owned.
Afraid we were wasting their time.

And then everyone showed up.

Early.
Smiling.
Ready.

People naturally took initiative—some dismantling things outside, others disassembling furniture, others organizing, lifting, loading. At one point, I just stood there, moving through the house in quiet amazement as the work unfolded around me.

That’s when it hit me:
I almost robbed our community of the chance to love us.

Not intentionally. Not maliciously. But because I had already decided—without asking—that needing help was a burden rather than an invitation.

I’m still settling into this new season. Some days I feel excited. Other days I feel overwhelmed. I know we made a good move. And at the same time, there are moments when I deeply miss the safety of what felt familiar.

What I’m learning is that comfort doesn’t only come from stability. Sometimes it comes from being held.

The Bible puts words to this kind of steadying grace in a way I’ve been returning to often:

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning.”
(Lamentations 3:22–23)

I’m grateful for a community that showed up before I believed I deserved it.
Grateful for the reminder that receiving help is not weakness.
And grateful that even in change, God’s mercy meets us—new, again and again.