Latest / Second Chances: Stories of Survival, Recovery & Starting Over / The Courage to Ask for Directions When Pride Demands You Figure It Out | Second Chances
Transcript
- There is a specific kind of loneliness that settles in your chest when you realize you have been driving in circles for forty minutes, not because the map failed you, but because your pride refused to admit you were lost. We spend so much of our lives building walls around our competence, convinced that asking for help is a confession of failure, when really it is just the bravest thing you can do. I want you to picture a scene from last Tuesday. I was standing in my kitchen, staring at a recipe card that looked like ancient hieroglyphics. The instructions said 'fold gently,' and I had no idea what that meant. Did I fold the batter? Did I fold the dish towel? Was this a yoga move? My first instinct wasn't curiosity. It was panic. A hot, prickly wave of shame rose up my neck. I thought, 'Jane knows how to cook. Jane has hosted dinners for hundreds of people. Jane should know what folding means.' So, I did what we all do. I guessed. I mixed the eggs with aggressive vigor, ignoring the gentle whisper in my head that said, wait, maybe check Google. Maybe ask someone. I pushed through the discomfort of not knowing, fueled by the desperate need to appear capable. And what happened? The cake was dense. It was heavy. It tasted like regret and overworked gluten. I ate three slices anyway, telling myself it was fine, while inside I was screaming because I had chosen pride over pastry perfection. We wear competence like armor. It’s thick, shiny, and incredibly heavy. From the time we are young, we are taught that knowing things is good and not knowing things is bad. In school, raising your hand when you don’t understand the lesson feels risky. You fear the teacher’s sigh, or worse, the quiet judgment of your peers who seem to have it all figured out. As adults, that fear doesn’t disappear; it just gets more sophisticated. Now, it’s not about math tests. It’s about project deadlines, relationship conflicts, financial decisions, and health appointments. We become experts at hiding our confusion. We nod along in meetings when we have no clue what the acronym means. We pretend to understand medical jargon so we don’t look foolish. We drive past the correct exit three times rather than pull over and ask for directions. Why? Because admitting we are lost feels like admitting we are inadequate. But here is the truth that takes me years to remember: everyone else is faking it too. Or at least, they are figuring it out as they go, just like you. The difference is that some of them are willing to say, 'I don't know, can you show me?' And that small sentence changes everything. Let’s talk about the cost of that solo navigation. When you refuse to ask for directions, you are essentially signing up for a longer, harder, and more exhausting journey. You burn more fuel. You arrive later. You often end up somewhere entirely different than where you intended to be. I see this in my listeners every day. Women who are struggling with postpartum depression, terrified to call their doctors because they don’t want to be seen as 'difficult' or 'hormonal.' They sit in the dark, rocking a baby, feeling isolated in a way that feels unbearable. Or the woman who is in a marriage that is slowly suffocating her, but she won’t reach out to friends or family because she doesn’t want to air her dirty laundry. She thinks she must carry the weight alone to be a good wife, a strong mother, a resilient human being. But resilience isn’t about carrying the weight alone. Resilience is about knowing where to set the weight down so you can rest. When we isolate ourselves under the guise of self-sufficiency, we aren’t being strong. We’re being stubborn. And stubbornness is a terrible navigator. Asking for directions requires a level of vulnerability that feels terrifying at first. It requires you to lower the shield. It requires you to say, 'I am not the expert here. You are. Please guide me.' For someone who prides herself on being the rock, the fixer, the one who holds it all together, this feels like stepping off a cliff. Remember that episode we talked about recently, the one about helping others heal you? We discussed how showing up for others gives us purpose. Well, the flip side is that allowing yourself to be helped gives you connection. It creates a bridge. When you ask for directions, you are inviting someone into your space. You are trusting them with your uncertainty. And in return, they get to be useful. They get to be the guide. There is a profound intimacy in that exchange. It says, 'I trust you enough to be weak in front of you.' That trust is rare. It is precious. And it builds relationships in a way that perfect competence never could. Perfection keeps people at arm's length. Imperfection invites them closer. So, how do we start practicing this? How do we dismantle that armor without feeling like we are crumbling? Start small. Practice asking for directions in low-stakes environments. Ask the barista how to make that drink. Ask a colleague how to use that software feature. Ask your partner where you left the keys, even if you think you know. Notice the relief that comes after the question is asked. Notice that the world does not end. Notice that the other person usually smiles, relieved that you gave them a chance to help. Over time, you will find that your voice becomes stronger when it admits weakness. Paradoxically, speaking your lack of knowledge makes you sound more confident, not less. It shows you are secure enough in yourself to handle the truth. You are not afraid of being wrong. You are focused on getting it right. This shift in mindset is liberating. It frees up all that energy you were spending on maintaining the illusion of control. That energy can now be used for actual progress. Instead of spinning your wheels in frustration, you are moving forward with clarity. You are arriving at your destination, not because you knew the way all along, but because you were brave enough to ask. Eventually, you will learn to distinguish between the times you need external directions and the times you need to listen to your own inner compass. But you can only find that compass if you stop running in circles. If you keep driving blindly, trying to prove you don’t need a map, you will never hear the quiet voice inside you that knows what you truly want. Asking for help is not surrender. It is strategy. It is wisdom. It is the recognition that we are part of a community, not isolated islands. We are designed for connection. We are designed to lean on each other. So tonight, I want you to identify one area of your life where you are currently driving in circles. Where are you pretending to know the answer? Where are you refusing to ask for the route? Write it down. Say it out loud. 'I am lost.' Then take the next step. Send the text. Make the call. Knock on the door. Admit that you don’t know. Watch what happens. I promise you, the ground will hold you. And I promise you, you will feel lighter. Much, much lighter. You are doing better than you think. You are allowed to be a work in progress. You are allowed to be lost. Just keep moving, and don’t be afraid to ask for the way home. I’ll see you next time.