The Tender Work of Receiving

By Nayerie Youssefian

• Link

I used to find comfort in giving.

It made me feel useful. Capable. In control.
I was the friend you could cry to at 2am, the one who remembered your favorite tea, who showed up with soup and softness and the right words when life got hard.

Giving made me feel needed.
Receiving made me feel… exposed.

That’s the part people don’t talk about often: how vulnerable it is to be held.

And for the longest time, I didn’t know how.

Growing up, I associated strength with self-sufficiency. I learned to be the strong one, the reliable one. I picked up messages — quietly, over time — that asking for help meant you were weak. That showing pain meant you hadn’t prayed hard enough. That needing support was something to be ashamed of.

Then came the accident.

Everything in my life shifted in one breath — or maybe it was the one I couldn’t catch. One moment I was independent, the next, I was completely reliant. On my partner. On pain meds. On people to carry me. Bathe me. Feed me.

I was 24 and cracked open — not just in body, but in pride.

And you know what surprised me most?

It wasn’t just the physical pain.
It was the sheer discomfort of being seen — broken, dependent, and deeply human.

I remember one night, lying in bed, unable to even shift my weight without help. I whispered, “I’m sorry,” as my partner adjusted the pillows beneath my back. He looked at me — tired, tender — and said, “You don’t have to apologize for being cared for.”

That moment changed me.

Because no one had ever said that to me before.
Not like that.
Not in a way that made it safe to believe.

That accident didn’t just leave scars on my body — it softened something I’d kept armored for years. It invited me, slowly and painfully, to let myself be held. To stop over-functioning. To rest. To receive.

And here’s the truth I want to offer you now:
Some accidents break you.
Mine built me.

It taught me the courage of surrender.
The strength in asking.
The sacredness of not having to earn love.

These days, when I sit with clients — when they tell me they feel guilty for needing support, or shame for not “bouncing back faster” — I recognize the look in their eyes. I know that edge between independence and isolation. I know the ache of trying to carry too much alone.

And I remind them — gently, lovingly, over and over:
You’re not here to be invincible.
You’re here to be whole.
That includes the parts that need help, tenderness, softness.

Receiving is not passive.
It’s an active choice to open, to trust, to believe you are worthy even when you have nothing to give back.

It’s choosing to say:
“I don’t have all the answers.”
“I can’t do this alone.”
“I’m letting love in.”

And slowly, the walls begin to lower.

Sometimes receiving looks like letting your friend pay for your coffee without guilt.
Sometimes it’s not brushing off a compliment.
Sometimes it’s sitting in silence, letting someone hold your hand, while you cry without needing to explain.

Sometimes it’s the grace of forgiving yourself.

I’m still learning.
But every time I let someone in, every time I accept care without condition, I feel my heart expand — and the younger version of me exhale in relief.

So wherever you are on your journey, I want you to know:

You don’t have to carry it all.
You don’t have to keep proving your strength.
You are already enough — even in your asking.

Receive.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you’re human.

And loved.

With softness, always,
Nayerie

💌 Want more gentle reminders like this? Visit https://phoenixjourney.com and explore our reflections, offerings, and ways to walk this path together. 🌿