Needing someone’s help doesn’t mean we have to accept being made to feel small. That’s a lifetime lesson I’m still learning. This month, I’m taking a little change of pace to come back to something I’ve mentioned before—especially for those of us who have allowed others to belittle us, talk down to us, or speak to us as though we aren’t smart enough. For me, part of that lesson is recognizing when I’ve chosen to believe those messages—and learning to question them instead of letting them define what I’m capable of.

If you’ve been following my home project, you’ve heard me mention my main helper. We had done a couple of minor construction projects together in the past and worked really well together. That history was one of the reasons I chose him to help me on this journey. At the time, the arrangement seemed like a no-brainer.

Once the project was underway and the major issues were resolved, things were fine for a while. Then the project became more than either of us had anticipated, his life changed a little, and our expectations began to drift out of alignment. During phase one, I had no kitchen for meals or the other everyday kitchen things, and no living room where I could relax. My bedroom held just about everything I owned; otherwise, I had nowhere to just be. His day-to-day life hadn’t changed much, but mine had blown up. After my big life change and upheaval, I needed an ounce of normalcy to get my bearings and start getting back on my feet. That difference created a huge disconnect. A few months in, an unexpected change in his social life added another shift that hadn’t been part of the picture when we agreed to the arrangement.

How many times have you thought you explained something clearly, only to find the other person wasn’t on the same chapter, let alone the same page? That disconnect brings me back to a concept that has stuck with me: people think in pictures but communicate in words. I hear it often from Dr. John Delony, a podcaster I regularly listen to in the Ramsey Solutions family (Dave Ramsey/Baby Steps/Financial Peace). He is highly educated in psychology and helps people work through many types of counseling issues. I believe that gap between pictures and words helps explain why a message we think is clear can miss its mark.

I believe that difference between pictures and words is what happened initially with my helper friend. He didn’t understand the urgency, and at the time I struggled to explain how much I needed normalcy to calm the craziness in my world. I think I was assuming he would see it and understand. When I finally put it into words, I started with, “I know you don’t give two cares about this…” His response began, “You’re right, I don’t…” At least he was honest, but that exchange made me begin to wonder how this would all go.

Looking back, I can hear how that opening line put my assumption ahead of my request. Instead of hoping someone will understand what I haven’t clearly explained, I’m learning to say what I need directly, listen to the answer, and talk through where our expectations differ.

When the Help I Counted On Changed

Phase one finally got completed, and there was a couple-month break. This was around the time my cats returned after about a year with another family, which I’ve mentioned in previous blogs. During that break, it became obvious that things had shifted. I began to realize I could no longer count on what I’d dubbed my helper’s “man brain.” What I meant was the practical construction knowledge he and others who helped me brought to the project: how objects support other objects, how much weight those supports can carry, and what size connectors are needed. I understood most of the concepts, but the specifics generally escaped me. I also didn’t trust my ability to measure accurately or use sharp power tools, especially ones that spin, like table saws or circular saws. It wasn’t just another pair of hands I was afraid of losing; it was that knowledge and the second set of eyes.

By this point, I was clearer about what I needed. I tried laying out expectations and dates way ahead of time, and I opened the door for feedback and his ideas. But on day one of phase two, it became apparent that I couldn’t lean on my helper’s knowledge the way I had before. Requests for help were met with sarcasm, sometimes condescension, and blatant disrespect. Promises of help were made and broken. As I had at other times in my life, I felt incapable, stuck, and in dire need of the help—even when it came attached to that treatment. After a few months, I began to realize that help-ship had sailed. Luckily, the major parts of the first two phases were complete: I had a functional living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. The bathroom wasn’t complete, but it worked. What remained of the phase 2 renovation was work like trim and touch-up painting, so the rest could wait—and it did. I still didn’t trust myself to move forward to phase 3 without “the man brain” and the guardrails of a second set of eyes checking that I was doing things right.

Looking back, feeling incapable wasn’t the same as being incapable. I had gaps in my knowledge, but I was also letting my lack of confidence decide what I could attempt. That distinction became one of the biggest lessons of this project: needing help with something didn’t mean I couldn’t learn or make decisions for myself.

In that waiting, I also noticed something about myself: when I get wrapped up in things and get in my own head, I forget to pray or seek answers in the Bible. If I remembered to turn there, maybe I’d come upon a verse like this and find comfort in it.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” Isaiah 41:10

Taking the Next Step Anyway

By May of 2026, my helper had long since been released from the agreement. That month, my carpet salesman called to ask when I would be ready for the carpet they were holding for the second bedroom. That call pushed me out of the uncertainty I’d been sitting in: “man brain” or no, the work had to get done. I still needed muscle for some tasks, and a different “man brain” showed me a better way to complete the ceiling support. But I did things myself that I hadn’t thought I could do. Working mostly alone took much longer, especially with the anxious adrenaline of the early days long since diminished. The accomplishment still felt so good: needing help with some things didn’t make me incapable of doing the rest.

I didn’t suddenly know everything, but the call gave me a reason to stop waiting. I moved forward by learning what I could do myself and where I still needed help. Taking that step and accepting help with some things showed me I could do more than I’d given myself credit for.

This is a reminder to me, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.” – 2 Timothy 1:7

What This Phase of Rebuilding My Home Taught Me

This phase taught me more than when to walk away: it showed me where I could grow. I’m still learning to ask clearly for what I need, listen, negotiate respectfully, speak up before frustration builds, pick my battles, and trust my decisions.

This phase, like the rest of my life, has taught me more than how to put my home back together. I’m learning to trust myself, recognize when people aren’t who I thought they were, and accept that it’s okay to walk away. As I said in my first blog, I’m not throwing shade at my helper. I would have welcomed his help throughout, especially without the mismatch that developed. But God has again provided what I needed when the humans around me couldn’t, and I discovered I was capable of more than I thought. Needing help doesn’t mean enduring inappropriate treatment to finish a job. When someone walks away from a promise or commitment—in this kind of arrangement or any relationship—my “integrity meter” doesn’t have to keep me holding up both sides. I admire people who recognize that and nip it in the bud; I’m still learning. My part is to ask clearly for what I need and want, listen, communicate, and negotiate respectfully. Instead of avoiding conflict until frustration builds and I react negatively, I’m learning to discuss things in the moment and pick my battles. I’m stronger and smarter than I believed, and capable of making good decisions. Those lessons far outweighed the uncertainty and discomfort of the unknown.

There is a poem I loved growing up that kept me going when things seemed too much to bear. I’m sharing this shortened version I grew up with here as encouragement to keep moving toward what matters—not as a reason to stay in an arrangement where one is treated disrespectfully. Maybe it will help you take your next step, too.

“Don’t Quit” by Edgar A. Guest

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,

When the road you’re trudging seems all uphill,

When the funds are low and the debts are high,

And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,

When care is pressing you down a bit,

Rest, if you must, but don’t you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,

As every one of us sometimes learns,

And many a failure turns about,

When he might have won had he stuck it out;

Don’t give up though the pace seems slow

You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out

The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,

And you never can tell how close you are,

It may be near when it seems so far,

So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit

It’s when things seem worst that you must not quit.

If this situation brings to mind a relationship or a way you interact with people that leaves you feeling stuck or unsure of yourself, please get in touch with me. As a Life Coach, I would like to walk with you as you find your path to living in your strengths and leaving behind what doesn’t serve you. You don’t have to have every step figured out to begin. Today can be the day you take that first step.