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now “caught” what my relatives referred to as “the family curse.”
    In the midst of this intensely difficult experience, I realized that I needed help. And although my relationship with my dad had improved over the previous few years, it still wasn’t the type where I reached out to him for support. Quite frankly, at that point in my life, I didn’t know if I trusted him or felt safe enough with him to ask for his help. But, given what was going on, it felt like my dad might actually be uniquely qualified and well suited to support me.
    So I decided to call him. When he answered, I said, “Dad, I could really use your support. Can you come down and see me?”
    He didn’t own a car or have a whole lot of money at that point, so I understood that this wouldn’t be super easy for him. But he rented a car that afternoon, drove down to Palo Alto, and showed up at my apartment that night. “What do you want to do, Mike?” he asked when he got there.
    “I don’t know, Dad,” I said. “I don’t really care.”
    “Let’s go out to dinner and just talk,” he said.
    We sat at dinner, and my dad, who was usually a pretty big talker (which runs in our family), mostly just listened. I shared with him how I was feeling—scared, lost, sad, and hopeless. Without even saying anything, I could tell he knew exactly how I felt—I could see it in his eyes and feel it in his touch as he held my hand.
    After a long pause in our conversation, he asked me, “Mike, have you ever heard the ‘Footprints in the Sand’ poem by Mary Stevenson?”
    “No,” I said.
    “Well,” he said, “I can’t remember the whole thing word for word, but basically it goes like this, ‘I had a dream that I was walking along the beach with God. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky. In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets and other times just one. This bothered me because I noticed that during the hard periods of my life, when I was suffering most, I could see only one set of footprints. So I said to God, “You promised me you would walk with me. But I’ve noticed that during the most difficult times in my life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I most needed you, were you not there for me?” Then God replied by saying, “The times when you saw only one set of footprints was when I carried you.” ’ ”
    I had never heard this poem, and it really touched me, especially given what was going on in my life at that specific moment. I sat there holding my dad’s hand, looking into his eyes, and crying. For one of the first times in my life, I had the experience of my father carrying me—just like in that beautiful poem. I felt loved. I felt seen. I felt supported.
    Thinking back on it now, I imagine it was a pretty profound and important moment for my dad as well. Although I’m sure he was concerned about me, it probably also felt good to him to be able to support me, especially with everything that had gone down in our past and how few opportunities he’d been given to show up for me like that.
    Thankfully, due to a great deal of love, support, and help from my dad, my family, my friends; some good therapy and medication; and an amazing counselor named Chris (who I still work with), I came out of that depression. In hindsight, I can see that that experience was actually a pivotal moment in my life and my growth. I’m eternally grateful for even the pain of the depression, as it actually forced me to my knees and gave me almost no choice but to reach out for help.
    Unfortunately, it often takes something incredibly painful for us to finally get over our own fear and resistance in order to ask for the help we need. What if we allowed ourselves more permission to ask for help?
    There are a few important things for us to remember about asking other people for help. First, there’s a difference between a request and a demand . A request is when we ask for what we