Kind of a Wreck, Kind of a Leader

I’ve always been fiercely independent. I like to figure things out on my own. I don’t like asking for help. And when people offer, I usually say no, even when I could really use it.

I used to think this was a strength. And in many ways, it is. Independence fuels resilience. It helps us problem-solve, take initiative, stay steady. But I’m starting to realize that there’s a line where independence turns into something else. Something more brittle. Something lonely.

A few weeks ago, I had to move apartments. Not across the country, not even across town. Just one floor down in the same building. And still, it felt like a logistical marathon. I packed every box myself. Hauled things back and forth in shifts. Said no to every kind offer of help except one: two neighbors who came by for a couple of hours to move the heaviest furniture. Everything else I insisted on doing alone.

The irony is, I wasn’t alone. My neighbors checked in. Friends asked what they could do. I had support. Ready, willing, and kind. But something in me resisted accepting it. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. I didn’t want to feel indebted. I didn’t want to need anyone.

And I paid for it. By the end of each day, my feet hurt. My back ached. I was snappy and short-tempered about the smallest things. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

It made me wonder: how often does this version of me, the one who insists on doing it all, show up in my leadership?

Because I don’t think hyper-independence stays neatly in one corner of our lives. It seeps into how we work, how we manage, how we lead. We may believe we’re being responsible by not asking for help. We may think we’re modeling strength. But what we’re often doing is modeling isolation.

If I never ask for help, what does that teach the people around me? If I never show vulnerability, where is the space for others to bring theirs?

Leaders who never need anything can unintentionally set a tone that no one should. We can create environments where overwork is normalized and interdependence is misunderstood as weakness. We can send the message, without ever saying it, that being the one who always has it handled is the ideal. But that’s not leadership. That’s martyrdom dressed in its best office casual.

The truth is, asking for help is a skill. Accepting help with grace is a practice. And building a culture where help is exchanged freely, not as a transaction but as trust, is a form of leadership in itself.

I’m still working on this. I’m still learning how to say yes. How to resist the instinct to just handle it. How to accept generosity without rushing to repay it or diminish it. (For the record, I did give out thank-you cards. I still worry they weren’t enough.)

But I know this much. Doing it all isn’t the goal. Not in life. Not in leadership. And not in the middle of a move.

What if we started seeing the willingness to lean on others not as a sign of weakness, but as a signal of strength? What if the best leaders weren’t the ones who never asked for help, but the ones who modeled how?