How Vulnerability Became My Healing Practice

“Be strong enough to stand alone, smart enough to know when you need help, and brave enough to ask for it.” — Unknown

Hey Love,

Lately, I’ve been sitting with what it really means to ask for help. Not the generic, surface-level way we talk about “leaning on our village,” but the deeply uncomfortable, isolating way that requires vulnerability and trust.

While in yoga teacher training, I learned that support isn’t just something we offer, it’s something we have to receive. When we practice hands-on assists, we’re taught to approach each student with gentleness, awareness, and care. To offer a hand or a subtle touch that helps them feel more rooted, more aligned, more seen. But what’s surprised me the most is how often we, as trainees, are asked to receive that same support.

There’s something about standing in front of your classmates, unsure of what to do next, exposed and vulnerable, and then someone steps in, softly, with a cue, a correction, or even just a reassuring nod. That small act reminds me that I don’t have to figure it all out on my own. That’s the power of community—real, loving community—that’s built on the willingness to both give and receive help.

And, honestly, it’s been very humbling. Because to know me is to know that asking for help is not easy. 

See, growing up, I was taught to be resourceful. And in college, I was taught to “find a way or make one” (shoutout to my alma mater, Thee Illustrious Clark Atlanta University). I learned early that independence equaled strength. Which I internalized as needing help somehow meant I was lacking. So I built a life around being the one who “had it together.” I was the fixer. The strong friend. The one who never asked twice.

But life sure has a way of softening us, doesn’t it? Since becoming a mom, I’ve found myself in seasons where trying to do it all just wasn’t sustainable. Where the only way through was to surrender my pride and whisper those three simple, yet magically freeing words: I need help.

And the more I’ve said them, the more I’ve realized how much beauty lives on the other side of vulnerability. How connection deepens when we stop pretending we’re okay. How much lighter things feel when we allow someone else to help carry our load.

Mamas, sisters, women: we are so conditioned to carry it all. To show up, to hold space, to manage, to fix, to nurture, to keep all the trains running smoothly on the tracks. Wash, rinse, repeat. But asking for help doesn’t make you less capable. It makes you human. Or, one better, it makes you brave.

We have to remember that we don’t have to do any of this alone. We’re not meant to do it alone. And that inviting others in to show up for you is its own practice. 

Because when we allow ourselves to be supported, we create space for healing. Not just for ourselves, but for everyone else around us.

With Love,

Racquel