I always do my own laundry.

My wife offers to help sometimes, but I never let her. Part of it is control—I want things done a certain way. But if I’m honest, it’s more about how accepting help can make me feel: exposed, dependent, vulnerable.

Then the other day, my 4-year-old saw the pile of laundry on the bed and asked if he could help. At first I winced, but then he looked up at me with those blue puppy-dog eyes. So, I let him match all my socks.

He lit up with pride, grinning as he found each pair. And surprisingly, it felt good to let him help me. To receive, even just a little.

It reminded me how much connection I miss out on when I insist on doing everything myself.

As a Five, this probably sounds familiar.

Today, we’re unpacking the quiet ways we resist support, even while a part of us longs for it.

Why Fives resist help, even when we crave it

On the surface, it might look like we’re just independent. Private. Self-sufficient.

But dig a little deeper, and you’ll find something else running the show: self-protection.

Here are a few of the hidden ways this shows up:

• The “I’ve got it” reflex — Even when we’re overwhelmed, we instinctively wave off support. It’s faster (and feels safer) to handle things ourselves than explain what we need.
• Selective transparency — We might share part of the truth, but not enough for someone to truly help. This gives us the illusion of connection without the vulnerability.
• Intellectualizing the offer — Instead of receiving the help, we analyze it. Why are they offering? Do they expect something in return? What does this mean about me?
• Shifting into helper mode — Sometimes we deflect care by becoming the one who gives it. We hide our needs behind advice, insight, or problem-solving.

All of these behaviors serve one purpose: to avoid feeling exposed.

But over time, they come at a cost.

The cost of always being the strong one

When we make it hard for people to care for us, we don’t just block support, we block intimacy.

We keep people at arm’s length. We reinforce the belief that we’re only safe when we’re in control. And we rob ourselves of one of the most nourishing parts of being human: mutual care.

It’s not that we don’t want help. It’s that we want it without the risk of feeling unguarded.

But that kind of help doesn’t exist.

Receiving is inherently vulnerable. It requires openness. Presence. Trust.

And yes, it feels risky.

But it’s also how we heal.

Try this: The 3-second rule for receiving

This week, try this: When someone offers help, count to three before you answer.

You don’t have to say yes. But pause long enough to notice what comes up. The urge to decline, the swirl of self-talk, the stories you tell about what it means to receive.

Then ask yourself, just for a moment: What if I didn’t push this away?

Let it be an experiment. Not a commitment. Just a chance to stretch the part of you that wants to feel supported.