1. My fear of asking for help.
I’ve always been afraid to ask for the things I need, let alone for the things I want. The act of asking created a discordant feeling of both vulnerability and imposition, which gave me worse indigestion than the dubious Chinese restaurant down the road from where I lived as a child. I was the kind of person who preferred to wait in miserable (but safe) silence until people decided to offer, instead of simply piping up, “Hey, I haven’t had anything to eat in what feels like seventeen hours. Would you mind if I had a bite of your sandwich?”