Learning to Want

Learning to ask for what I want has been far more challenging than I ever anticipated. As a child, I was trained that it wasn’t safe to want—and it definitely wasn’t safe to ask for what you needed. It felt safer to simply figure it out yourself. And in many ways, that created me.

The woman who can solve just about anything.
Outrageously creative.
Action-oriented.
Ambitious.

All beautiful qualities… until life places you in a situation where you physically, emotionally, or financially cannot do it all alone anymore. And suddenly, the lesson becomes receiving.

Over the past few years, the universe has created scenario after scenario where I’ve had to learn to ask for help, say yes to support, and allow myself to need people. Honestly, it has been one of the most vulnerable experiences of my life. Because when you’ve built your identity around being capable, asking for help can feel like failure. But something unexpected has happened.

The people in my life have shown up.

And with every “yes,” every check-in, every moment of support, my heart learns to trust a little more. There have been moments where someone met a need I finally had the courage to voice, and I completely crumbled into tears—not because the act itself was so large, but because being seen, heard, and cared for felt unfamiliar in the most tender way.

I’m learning that needing support does not make me a burden.

I’m learning that allowing people to show up for me and my family is not weakness—it’s intimacy.

And if I’m being honest, people are seeing parts of me I’ve spent years protecting behind strength, capability, and “I’ve got it handled.”

It’s messy.
It’s vulnerable.
It’s very… Raschel.

Some wants are realistic. Some are protective barriers disguised as independence. And somewhere in the middle is the ongoing practice of trusting that I don’t have to carry everything alone to still be powerful.

I want to be held.

I want the people in my life to check on me as a human—not just as a caregiver, helper, or problem solver.

And in return?

I can’t promise perfection. But I can promise a life that is honest, meaningful, and wildly interesting. And maybe that’s enough.

And so it is.