I hate needing help

I do not like needing help.

Like, at all.

When I quite my corporate job, I knew the math. Jae (my husband) and I had talked about it. We had a plan. I didn't just wake up one day and decide to blow up our whole life for funsies.

But still.

There was this part of my brain that couldn't get over the fact that, for a while, Jae was going to be the main source of income in our house.

And that felt bad.

Not because he made me feel bad. I want to make that very clear.

And it wasn't because we hadn't talked it through, either. Because we sure did... A LOT.

It felt bad because I had a whole story in my head about what it meant to be useful. And apparently, in my brain, useful meant "making money in the way I'm used to making money."

You see, I'm an only child. I am very independent. Like, "I can figure it out, don't perceive me needing anything" independent.

So when I left my job, I was dealing with burnout AND the fact that I needed help.

Help with money. Emotional support. Help with thinking clearly. And help in remembering that leaving one job didn't mean I had become a burden to everyone around me.

Which sounds dramatic when I write it out. 😬

But if you've ever been in a career crisis, pause, or pivot, you probably know exactly what I mean.

This came up over the weekend during the Career Reboot Group Intensive, and I've been noodling on it ever since.

Because one of the hardest parts of a career crisis is how exposed it makes you feel.

I mean, come on. You're already trying to figure out the job thing.

Do I stay? Do I leave? Did I burn out? Did I pick the wrong career when I was 17? Do I need a break? Can I afford a break? What if I make the wrong call?

That's already enough. Then on top of that, you may also have to let people see that you don't have it all handled.

Gross.

Because some of us are very attached to being the person who can handle things (I'm looking at myself in the mirror on this one).

I've always figured it out. I've never needed much. I may be falling apart on the inside, but you bet your ass I'm still sending that email, paying the bill, making the appointment (unless it's the dentist), and acting normal at dinner.

And then the career crisis comes in and says, "Actually, you may need people for this one."

Well, shit.

But also, true.

You may need someone to help you with the bills for a season. You may need someone to sit with you while you cry in your car. You may need someone to review your resume or make an intro. You may need someone to remind you of your worth and value.

And that kind of support can feel very vulnerable. Especially if you've spent years proving you're capable.

But needing support has nothing to do with failure. You're just in a human moment, and you need another human with you right now.

That's okay.

If this is where you are right now, take a moment to look at what kind of support you genuinely need.

First, the money bucket. What's the actual math? What has to be covered? What can change for now? What's temporary? What support is already available, even if your pride is being weird about it?

Then there's the feelings bucket. Who can hear the messy version?

Not the "I'm taking some time to explore my next chapter" bullshit. The "I'm scared shitless, I feel useless, I don't know what I'm doing, and I need you to not fix me in the next four minutes" version.

You need at least one person who can handle that.

And then there's the logistical help bucket. The referral. The resume review. The "do you know anyone in this field?" text. The "can you remind me I'm not being ridiculous?" conversation.

Yes, asking can feel awkward. I hate it, too.

But people cannot help with what they do not know.

And there's a difference between being private and being isolated. Privacy means you're choosing who knows what. Isolation means you're carrying all of this alone because needing people makes you feel exposed.

When I look back at the season after I quit (and even now, if I'm being really honest), I can see how much energy I spent trying to prove I was still useful, responsible, and contributing.

That I was still me.

And I get why I did that. But I also wish I had been a little less mean to myself about needing help.

Because needing support for a season just makes me a person going through a very real life change. It has nothing to do with my independence.

It's just a hard season that requires more than I can carry by myself.

And I hope this message lands with you in the same way it has with me.

Take care,

Tara

P.S. This is also why I'm building the Career Pivot Lock In Cohort. Because trying to figure out your next career move alone, while your brain is already mush, is a lot. The cohort starts September 13, and the waitlist is open now. If you want first access when doors open, get on the waitlist.