I have a confession to make: I am a therapist who, when the time comes, always seems to have a hard time getting back into my own counseling. I’m humbled (and sometimes paralyzed) by the power of the resistance that bubbles forth.
Minimization seems to be my mind’s first tactic: “You’ve been through way worse. It’s probably not that bad. Think about what some of the folks you’re walking alongside are going through. This will pass.”
Next, the rationalizing ramps up: “You’re literally trained in this, Liz; you have the tools. Just use them. Lean into your community. Work on your self-care. Spend more time in the Word. Practice your grounding.”
And of course, the biggest refrain I hear has to do with cost. Even with the conviction that my own therapy has been worth its weight in gold, my mind fixates on the price tag. I didn’t say yes to the call to ministry for the big bucks, folks.
But if I’m honest, I suspect there’s something a little deeper at work.
I suspect I’m not the only one wrestling with the avoidance an active mind affords. I suspect that you, too, have reasons and excuses that keep you from receiving care. You may not need a counselor, but what keeps you from sharing a burden with a close friend? Why can’t we just welcome and absorb the genuine kindness and support that those who love us are so ready to give?
Let me tell you a story.
When I was working on my counseling degree, I had the privilege of facilitating a group for women who were processing their sexual abuse. They courageously showed up week after week for three months to face their stories of horrific evil.
Over time, I noticed that the group members had a common resistance to accepting encouragement from one another. Shame had sunk its teeth so deep into them that walls of mistrust and protection had understandably formed around their hearts. They were quick to praise other members of the group, but receiving that praise was just about impossible. They parried affirmations like Neo dodging bullets in “The Matrix.”
I’ll never forget our last session together, when something small brought me to tears. Alice* was one of our quietest and most reserved participants. She shared very little and rarely made eye contact. But in this final gathering, she risked doing something different. Cheryl, who was sitting across from her, complimented Alice’s outfit that day. Instead of meeting the compliment with her customary silence and downturned face, Alice looked up and thanked Cheryl sincerely with a slight smile. She received the goodness that was offered to her.
With childhood sexual abuse, kindness is often used manipulatively to groom victims. This results in survivors viewing kindness with suspicion, so seeing change in how Alice responded to true kindness really encouraged me. Some wild combination of courage, increased trust with Cheryl, healing, and movement of the Holy Spirit must have occurred, and Alice was able to risk allowing Cheryl’s kindness to impact her.
This tender scene represents a step toward the type of receiving we read about in 2 Corinthians 1:3-5:
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.”
Although we don’t all share Alice’s circumstances, many of us share a common struggle with receiving blessing, comfort, and care in the body of Christ. While each person’s story is nuanced and complex, it helps to consider three big barriers that tend to crop up:
- Fear of disrupting the status quo
- Shame regarding our need
- Discomfort with being in a vulnerable position
Fear of Disrupting the Status Quo
The primary objection I hear from women as we discuss the prospect of inviting someone else to bear their trials with them is the fear of being a burden: “Everyone else already has so much going on, and I can’t add to that.”
Although we are incredibly honored when friends invite us to respond to their needs, we cannot stomach the thought of inconveniencing them with ours. We don’t want to disrupt schedules, duties, or someone’s good day.
But when I consider the life of Jesus, I’m struck by how often there’s disruption of some sort. With the widow of Nain, Jesus breaks into the funeral procession and brings the woman’s son back to life (Luke 7:11-17). With the healing of the bleeding woman, Jesus pauses his journey to Jairus’ home in order to hear the woman’s story and bless her publicly (Mark 5:21-34). With the disciples, Jesus pushes through the awkwardness as he washes their feet (John 13:1-20).
In each story, the result is someone receiving power, love, and care, in spite of the embarrassment or unease. What if the discomfort of accepting kindness is a part of how we’re shaped into the likeness of Jesus? It’s worth taking time to consider how vulnerability softens our hearts.
Ashamed of our Need
How do you feel about the word “needy”? Have you, like me, been conditioned to see neediness as something undesirable? We may intellectually assent to the fact that the Christian faith is predicated on the twin realities of God’s grace and man’s need for rescue. But the heart-level experience of “feeling our need for him” is an altogether different situation. We’re uncomfortable with it, terrified of being labeled as “needy.”
In America, especially, we swim in a culture that lauds strength and autonomy. Something is deeply wrong with us if we’re not “living our best life” or meeting our own needs. “I belong to me” is a battle cry. And there are innumerable self-help influencers who say we can heal our own trauma or achieve perfect health with their advice. Shame is the current flowing under the surface, a constant implicit message that says, “If you’re failing to achieve these things, something is wrong with you.”
Discomfort with Vulnerability
I don’t enjoy the feeling of vulnerability. Generally, it makes my throat close up and my insides start shivering like they’ve been transported to the Arctic. Far easier to ignore the needs than to risk uncomfortable exposure.
Yet I believe in a God whose premier act of love was to make himself vulnerable, emptying himself of power to become a human and die for my sake (Philippians 2:8). There’s something wonderfully curious about the way Jesus works in and through vulnerability. He opts in for the sake of others, and offering our own vulnerability to safe, trusted friends invites the love of Christ to flow in a way it was designed to in the body of Christ. We like offering our gifts -– our empowered places of glorious strength. But what if offering our needs is equally as important (and even more Spirit-dependent)?
All throughout his perfectly human life, Jesus normalizes human need. He models vulnerable reception of physical, emotional, and spiritual care, whether he’s allowing for others to feed him (Matthew 14:18) or asking his friends to stay with him in a moment of deep distress (Matthew 26:38).
Though we tend to resist our own vulnerability, Jesus shows us that it can be a beautiful, uniting reality. What we deem as weakness or unwanted neediness is blessed and purposeful, as Paul’s thorn so clearly reveals (2 Corinthians 12:5-10). God’s power is being made perfect in and through our neediness. And it’s being made perfect in and through our life together as the body of Christ.
A Final Note
Many of us have good reason to resist expressing our needs to those around us. We’ve experienced poor responses to our bids for emotional support. We’ve had others manipulate us, abuse us, or even create a sense of debt. But that is not the way of God’s kingdom. And there is hope for healing as the Holy Spirit works in and through safe, trusted friends who honor and protect us.
I doubt that any of us are particularly comfortable asking for help and receiving care. And I recognize that it takes more than mere resolve or determination to be vulnerable. But the power of the Holy Spirit is incredibly real! And our understanding of how Christ is working through his people can always grow. Whether you identify a need for prayer, financial support, a meal, forgiveness, help around the house, companionship, or something else, I pray that you will look to Jesus, who shows us that receiving is as essential to the kingdom as giving. And I pray he will provide you with courage to invite others into that need, trusting that it is a blessing to your community.
Liz Edrington serves as Associate Director of Care at McLean Presbyterian Church in McLean, Virginia.
*The names of the women in this story have been altered to honor their confidentiality