If you’re anything like me, you read the title of a post like that and instantly go — that’s not me. I know what I need. When I’m hungry, I go for a snack. I can assess whether I want something salty or sweet, see if we have anything in the fridge that satisfies my craving, and if not, order something on an app that will be at my door in 30 minutes or less. Check. Gold star! I win at meeting my needs.
But that’s not the kind of need that I want to bring into the mix today. In Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, those are pretty close to the bottom of the pyramid. Physiological needs, safety, and security are important, but what about something deeper, like love or belonging? I want you to think back to a moment when you felt alone. Maybe you read the news and felt a sense of dread. Maybe you had a tough conversation with a family member. Maybe things just felt really heavy, and you couldn’t find hope to hold on to. What did you need in that moment?
Oh, I’ll wait.
Why is needing other people so hard?
I say this with love and compassion, but for many of us who consider ourselves competent, strong, and successful, we have no idea how to be with those deeper needs. And I think one reason why is quite simple: Those needs require other people. And other people introduce an element of chance, of chaos, of lack of control. My snack dilemma is completely within my control. I don’t need anyone else (except maybe the app-based delivery driver) to fulfill my craving for chips and salsa. But a moment when I’m having trouble finding something to be hopeful for? What if the friend I reach out to for comfort doesn't have time for me? What if my partner is afraid of my hopelessness and views me as broken? Needing something from someone else is risky. It asks us to be vulnerable. And for many of us, that just isn’t tolerable.
The worst part of this is I don’t even give myself the chance to have this inner conversation. It’s not like I look at what I need and make a conscious choice that it isn’t worth the risk. Something inside me senses the danger and shuts the whole thing down before the need ever surfaces. And so I go right on believing that I am totally self-sufficient and addressing my needs like a mental health champ.
So, how do we begin to address an unknown unknown? If we’re so good at turning away from these needs before they even arrive in our awareness, how can we ever get good at meeting them?
How do you notice a need you can’t see?
Remember when I asked you to picture a time you felt alone and to figure out what you needed then? I’m curious — did you actually land on something, or did you suddenly find yourself thinking about what you’re making for dinner, or your growing to-do list, or the path of that butterfly that just flew by your window? I’m willing to bet that you didn’t do it consciously. Rather, something inside you started to stir, and your attention left the building.
I often find this focus shift to feel quite light and easy — almost as if that part of me is saying, “pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” everything is fine, carry on as you were. Sometimes in my own therapy, when I get close to something painful, it quite literally feels like I bounce off of it, like there's a force field around it. I’m tapping into some sadness and then, boop, I wonder if that new Netflix show has good reviews. And while I might not be able to delve into the need that is there, I am becoming more aware of the bounce.
What if part of you doesn’t want to know?
Once I recognize the bounce, I find it helpful to think about our inner worlds as made up of parts. The way I explain it to clients is like this: You know when you’re staring at a menu, and some part of you wants the pasta but another part of you wants the chicken? It’s just like that, except one part of you has a need and the other is trying to protect you from being hurt. In Ego State Therapy (one approach for working with parts), we spend time getting to know each part. And parts work isn’t a diagnosis; it's just a way of describing what many of us already feel. Sometimes, I name the parts. Maybe one part is Frodo Baggins carrying the heavy weight of the ring and the other part is Gandalf trying to protect the hobbit from harm. Many of us can accept that a part of us has a need. It’s much easier than accepting that the whole of us does.
I find it helpful to acknowledge to Gandalf that you know he’s just trying to protect you and Frodo. Thank him for all his support. But maybe ask if you can spend some time talking to Frodo. Get to know him. See if he has any dreams for you, any yearnings, or any needs.
The harder I try to force these deeper needs to surface, the more activated my force field becomes. But when I slow down, notice what’s actually going on, and start engaging the parts of myself in conversation, things start to shift. Take a second and remember that moment you felt alone. Notice the protective part that rushes in to tell you everything is fine. Thank him for trying to keep you safe. Really mean it. Then turn to your inner ringbearer, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and ask him what he needs. And listen.