I had a dream the other night that brought me to tears—and clarity.

In the dream, I was back in school. I had stepped out of the classroom for a bit, and when I returned, the assignment had already been handed out. Everyone had a workbook. Everyone knew what to do. Except me.

I asked a few classmates if they had an extra workbook. Some ignored me. Some said no. I felt that all-too-familiar lump in my throat—the fear of falling behind, the ache of not belonging, the slow build of tears that comes from trying to hold it together.

But then something in me shifted. Instead of shrinking down or slipping into the background like I might have in the past, I stood up. I raised my voice. I asked the whole room, loud and clear: “Does anyone have a workbook or know where the workbooks are?”

And someone came through.

A girl walked up to me with not just an extra workbook, but her completed assignment too—something to help me catch up. I felt seen. Supported. And I made a new friend.

It was just a dream. But also, it wasn’t. Because sometimes dreams reveal what we’re learning to do in real life: to speak up instead of stay silent. To risk rejection in the hope of connection. To name our needs even when we’re afraid they won’t be met.

For many of us—especially adult children of emotionally neglectful homes or those who grew up feeling “too much” or “not enough”—asking for help can feel dangerous. Vulnerable. Shameful, even. We learn early that asking might lead to disappointment, dismissal, or shame. So we stop asking. Not because we don’t need anything, but because we begin to believe our needs don’t matter.

But this dream reminded me: when we ask, we open the door to be met. And even more importantly, we start to matter to ourselves again. Sometimes we do get rejected—and that hurts. But when we stop asking altogether, something in us slowly disappears. Not asking becomes another form of self-abandonment.

I can look at that dream now and see where I was and how far I’ve come. I can see that my asking had little to do with the outcome and everything to do with the practice of showing up for myself—of being brave enough to be visible, vulnerable, and willing to try again.

That’s what healing can look like. Not just learning how to receive but remembering that it’s okay to ask.

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