If I need help with anything at all, I just need to ask.
But usually I don't ask.
Oh, I ask my son to empty the dishwasher or take out the rubbish, but he lives with me. He helps dirty the dishes and create the rubbish. So it's OK to ask him to do those things.
I don't want to be the needy person who's always wanting something from someone. So even though family and friends have actually offered to do my vacuuming and things, I usually put them off. I'm going to do it. OK, maybe not this week, but I'll get to it eventually. And if the vacuuming is done once every two or three months, it's still done. If the stack of dishes in the kitchen reaches to the ceiling, I'll catch up one day.
I refuse help, I think, because if I accept the help, maybe I'll realize it's not an occasional thing, maybe I actually couldn't cope on my own. Maybe I can't be independent any more. And that would just be too much for me to accept.
Of course, when it's something really important, I can ask for help, and I can accept it.
When my handbag disappeared (presumed stolen because everyone has searched everywhere) I accepted help. I just searched, and stood by bemused while other people searched, checking places like the microwave and clothes dryer in case brain fog had led me to believe one of those places was the right place to leave my handbag. When my son said we were making a list of cards to cancel and change, keys to copy etc, I humbly and quietly accepted the help that's offered.
So I really am capable of asking for, and accepting, help. I'd just rather not do it. I'd rather be independent. I'd rather rely on myself... even if the self I'm relying on isn't very reliable. How's that working out for me? Well, some days it's OK.