Learning to Ask

We were six steps down the grocery store cereal aisle when my mother hamstrung me.

“Mom,” I said, “can we get Honey Nut Cheerios this week?”

“You don’t ask,” she swiftly and bluntly responded. “Just because you’re here doesn’t mean you have a say.”

At six, I wasn’t surprised, but “you don’t ask” came to permeate all elements of my life. At fourteen, I didn’t ask to stay home from school another day though I could barely walk post-concussion. At 23, I didn’t ask if the latest news floating around the office meant my job was disappearing. At 34, I didn’t ask the kitchen to leave the tomato off of my sandwich even if I’d never willingly eaten a non-pureed tomato in my life.

Photo by Mae Mu via Unsplash.

I learned not to ask.

I learned how to work with what I was given. I practiced a MacGyvering ethos about everything. Plan for your walk to school to take 45 minutes instead of 20. Get a new job even though you like your current one. Take off the tomato and ignore the slimy bits left behind.

Make it work.

This habit of not asking for what I wanted or needed resulted in untenable situations. I found myself on the road, driving when I was too tired for that to be safe for anyone. My body rung its “get thee to bed NOW” bell five or six times every year. My interactions with people were surly because I wasn’t getting what I wanted.

That’s what happens when you don’t ask.

That’s what my momma broke.

Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and place for MacGyvering. I deploy my hard-won skill on the regular. Today, however, my sandwiches only come with tomatoes when the kitchen screws up, and I’ll ask a friend to wait a couple of minutes if I need to finish something up before I sit down with them.

So, how did I become a person who asks?

I started by listening to Mike when he said, “You know, Kelli, restaurants want to give you the sandwich the way you want to eat it. You can ask for them to leave the tomato off.”

I sat there poleaxed. I’d spent decades eating with friends and coworkers, listening to them order their meals the way they wanted them, and never even considered I could do the same because some part of me believed I was not allowed to ask.

I started small.

“Could I get a spicy chicken sandwich, no tomato?” A thing I already had a work-around for, so if it didn’t happen for some reason, the world wasn’t going to end. In fact, much of the early work I did in learning how to ask occurred in restaurants. Like Mike said, they wanted happy customers, so adjusting a plate for me was minor.

It took a couple of years, but eventually, I found myself comfortable asking to leave things off my plate or cooking the egg a bit more than traditional for a given dish.

Yes, it took years for those requests to not induce anxiety. And while I wish the progress had been faster, I remind myself the practice of not asking took years to stick, and I practiced it for decades. It was not going away overnight.

My next step in learning how to ask came when I sat in a circle with a group of people who were driven to serve. With the “can I get your bags” and “may I take your plates” flying around, I realized that sitting back and making room for people to serve helps both parties.

Being able to ask then becomes a way to connect. It humanizes me in a way that makes me approachable. It provides a way to know me beyond the surface level.

Being a receiver of service who both sees and appreciates it can’t help but build a connection between the provider and receiver. Receiving in that way also allows for switching roles because you’ve demonstrated that you know the value of service. My most cherished connections hold this reciprocal give and take at the center.

After more than a decade of practicing asking, I can tell you a few things.

First, if your childhood safety required not asking or not being seen, just the act of asking feels like you’re inviting doom. Breathe it, acknowledge it, and test it with something small.

Second, if you’re like me, you’ll get triggered when someone agrees to an ask and doesn’t follow through. My internal voice screams, “I mean, I worked up the courage to ask, couldn’t you at least do what you said you were going to do?” Breathe. Grant yourself some grace, see the reaction and let it go. Grant the person who brought you the tomato (in my case) some grace and implement a work-around. Consider having an “I know it’s a small thing, and I felt unheard when you served me a spicy chicken sandwich with a tomato on it” conversation if you want to maintain a working relationship with the person who failed on the follow-through.

Third, step up your asks over time. I progressed from making my asks in situations where such things were expected to making my asks to friends who can and do sometimes say no. The size of the ask also progressed over time, from a five-second non-task to a five-minute wait.

And finally, there will always be room for improvement. These days I’m working on accepting the offers of help and scrounging for the will to ask a friend to hang my wind chimes.

That, my friends, is a work in progress.