Regardless of the topic, my closest friends know that I have a natural tendency to passionately and blatantly speak of all the things that displease me. For example, I hate when I get kicked out of the library when all I’m doing is eating my lunch and huddling around a crowded table. But above all, there’s nothing more devastating than walking into the cafeteria after a long morning only to find that the torta station is closed.

It’s safe to say that a lot of my personal resentments are indeed superficial “first world problems”. There are millions of individuals around the world who deal with much more pressing issues such as poverty, illness and arguably the most prevalent in our lives, depression.

According to the National Alliance of Mental Illness, an estimated 16 million Americans — nearly 7 percent of the population — had a least one depressive episode last year. Though I can’t say that I’ve ever experienced a “depressive episode”, I can recall a time where I similarly struggled with vulnerability in both seeking and requesting help when problems have risen in my life. It didn’t quite come to me at first, but as a result of this experience, I’ve slowly started to accept the notion that I can’t keep fighting my battles alone.

To practice the concept of vulnerability and accountability, my pastors at church assigned each of our youth group leaders a Friday night where they would share their personal testimonies. One night in particular, the speaker had relinquished some of her deepest and darkest struggles. Though I sat there in awe of her courage, I questioned her openness of being able to talk about such painful experiences.

Once the speaker finished, my pastor opened up a time to practice our vulnerability by talking with someone we trusted. Knowing where this was headed, I tried sneaking out to the bathroom until service had ended, but my friend stopped me before I could leave. Thus, we headed over to a quiet corner of the room.

Quite to my surprise, however, I began talking about my family.  Without even realizing, I had broken out in tears, and all my friend could do was hold and cry along with me. Knowing my friend possessed such intense pieces of information about me made me uncomfortable, but after reflecting on the support and comfort he had given me, I did feel a lot better.

I wish I could say that since that Friday night, I have made tremendous strides in becoming a more trustworthy and open person, but I can’t. Change requires a long period of time, and for me, I’m still struggling with mustering the courage to ask for help when I need it. The leap of faith that I took by opening myself up to my friend broke down the layers of superficiality that our friendship entailed. This deeper connection allows us to look towards one another for encouragement in our darkest moments.

I think that’s the ultimate message that I’ve learned about vulnerability. The difficulties that arise as a result of not wanting to share our burdens is an inevitable aspect that we will all eventually have to overcome. I thought that by numbing my sadness and insecurities, I could rid myself of any past painful memories, as well as prevent any undesirable events in the future. Simultaneously, however, I was disallowing myself the ability to feel joy and companionship.

Becoming vulnerable can be dangerous and risky because we’re unsure of what consequences may emerge from placing such a high level of trust in somebody else, but it’s not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging. In order to feel more connected, loved, wholehearted and most importantly, worthy, I’ve realized that accepting my vulnerability is a risk worth taking. For those stubborn people who believe that they can handle their emotional burdens all by themselves, they’ll be quick to realize the impossibility of the task at hand. If they truly want it, help is only a phone call away: they just have to be brave enough to ask for it.