The Day I Realized I Had No Needs

For me, the essence of a successful relationship has always been straightforward: meet your partner’s needs. That was my golden rule. Relationships are complicated, sure, but if you can figure out what the other person needs and fulfill that, you’re good.

That belief worked well in theory—and for the most part, in practice too. Until one day, my wife turned the tables on me.

We were having one of those late-night, heart-to-heart conversations, the kind that meander from the trivial to the profound. We talked about her needs in our relationship, and I felt proud of how well I understood and supported her. Then she asked, almost offhandedly:“And what about you? What do you need?”

I froze.The words got stuck in my throat. The question lingered awkwardly between us like a ball I had no idea how to catch.

The truth hit me like a ton of bricks: I had no answer.

I don’t need anything

That’s my default position. It has been for as long as I can remember. It’s not just how I approach relationships; it’s how I approach life.

When I was younger, it felt like a strength. If I needed something, I’d figure it out on my own. As an adult, the logic became even simpler: if I need something, I’ll just buy it or solve the problem myself. Why complicate things? Why bother anyone else?

At first glance, this seems like an ideal way to live. Self-reliance is practically a virtue in modern culture. But it wasn’t until that conversation with my wife that I started to realize how much this mindset limits me—how it cuts me off from deeper connection.

Why Avoidant Types Struggle to Voice Their Needs

It turns out, this isn’t just a quirk of my personality. People with avoidant attachment styles often struggle with identifying or expressing their needs. Psychologists like Amir Levine, in Attached, describe how avoidants value independence so much that they suppress their needs, often to the point where they genuinely believe they don’t have any.

Brené Brown, in her work on vulnerability, talks about the discomfort of asking for help. To ask is to admit that you’re incomplete, that you can’t do it all alone. And for someone like me, who’s spent years building up this internal myth of self-sufficiency, admitting a need feels like pulling the rug out from under my own feet.

But the flip side is this: connection only deepens when we let others see us as vulnerable, incomplete, or in need.

Learning to Ask

Since that conversation, I’ve started experimenting with expressing my needs. It feels clumsy, awkward, and forced—like speaking a foreign language you’ve only just started learning.

A few weeks ago, I asked a friend for advice about a work problem I’d been stuck on for months. Normally, I’d just Google obsessively until I found an answer. But this time, I reached out.

It felt uncomfortable, like a betrayal of my usual “figure it out yourself” rulebook. But you know what? My friend’s insights were incredible. Not only did they help me solve the problem, but the act of asking deepened our connection.

Similarly, I’ve started asking my wife for support when I feel overwhelmed. These are small requests—a hand with something, a listening ear—but they’ve made a huge difference in our relationship.

Overcoming the Knee-Jerk Reaction

Daniel Kahneman’s idea of “System 1” and “System 2” thinking feels relevant here. My immediate, knee-jerk reaction (System 1) is to shut down any acknowledgment of a need. That’s the voice in my head that says: “You’re fine. You don’t need help. Just figure it out.”

But I’ve learned to pause and activate System 2—the slower, more deliberate part of my brain. This part reminds me that asking for help isn’t weakness; it’s a bridge to connection and growth.

Every time I override that knee-jerk reaction, it gets a little easier. And every time I ask for something, I feel the reward—both in getting what I need and in deepening my relationships.

Reflection Questions

• Do you struggle to recognize or express your needs?
• What’s your immediate, gut-level reaction to asking for help?
• Think about a time when you allowed yourself to ask for support—how did it feel?
• What’s one small way you could practice asking for what you need this week?