This summer, I have found myself in quite an uncomfortable situation. Claiming I could live without it but fearing I might not, I packed about ten packs of Juul pods in my suitcase before leaving the country, fully aware I wouldn’t return to the UK until mid-September. I packed these ten packs, realising they’d be gone well before summer’s end, yet made no effort to get more or arrange a steady supply during my travels. I only had enough foresight for ten packs. Halfway through summer, the inevitable happened: I was podless. Podless and alone in my journey to find more. After exploring my options with different types of vapes and even trying out IQOS, I suddenly realised I am not as alone as I think I am.

I knew I would be seeing some of my friends over the summer. I also knew that some of them would be coming from the UK. So, without hesitation, I opened my phone and texted a friend I would see soon, asking her to bring me some pods. She said yes immediately, and I was alone no more. After a few weeks and several parties where my Juul became public property, I realised I was nearing the end of my supply again. What should I do? Who should I turn to? The answer was clear. I texted another friend to bring some pods when she visited, and she obliged. The problem was solved again. With my supply half full but a month left until I returned to London, I texted another friend to bring me more pods. At that point, I was just being greedy.

Now, you might be asking, what is the point of this story? Why did I have to sit through a paragraph of a girl describing her crippling addiction to electronic cigarettes? For that to make sense, we must jump to a different event that took place this summer. I was sitting at dinner with a couple of my close friends, and I asked them a simple question: What were the most important (non-traumatic, I had to specify) events that you think shaped your life today? What I thought would be a fun discussion about the challenges women in their 20s face on their journey to adulthood turned into us going around the table, crying and sharing how much our friendships shaped us. When my turn came, I wiped my tears and said that one of the most important realisations I had because of my friendships was that I finally had people I could rely on.

Now, it becomes clear. To some, asking your friends to get you some Juul pods might be trivial. For me, it’s the constant proof that I am not alone in this world, and if I need help, all I have to do is ask for it. I spend my life believing I can’t ask for help. I believed burdening people with my problems was selfish and annoying. I spent my teens wandering large airports and train stations, too afraid to ask for directions. It sounds ridiculous, but when I was 15, I’d rather spend an hour looking for the bathroom sign than ask a stranger, ‘Do you know where the bathroom is?’ And if I was that uncomfortable asking strangers for the most simple assistance, imagine how I felt about asking for something from those closest to me.

The thing is, I was never friendless. I’ve had a best friend since fifth grade, someone I’m still close to. I had friends in my boarding school, those I could rely on. I had a friend in high school and all the way into uni, the one I lived with and could always ask for help. But somewhere amid school bullying, moving countries, and being taken advantage of by people I considered close, I never learned my own worth. More often than not, when my friends invited me out or wanted to talk to me, I had a voice in my head asking, ‘Why? Why would they want me around?’ Since I could not answer that question, I tried to ensure that having me around was the best experience for them. I helped with anything I could, got gifts, made myself available 24/7, and, most of all, never asked for anything. Whenever a friend offered assistance, I would have a genuine look of surprise on my face. My friends felt it. They tried to tell me I could ask them for anything and that their friendship wasn’t contingent on how much help I provided or how often I avoided burdening them with my problems. It took a while to sink in, though.

I don’t even think there was an actual shift. I grew up, realising my self-worth in the process. I went through situations in life that taught me that my company is a privilege, not a death sentence. Year after year, I began asking my friends for help, and they helped without expecting anything in return. I got more comfortable, found a safe place for myself, and finally, after years of wandering around, I had a good group of friends I could rely on. I understood that my friends were not going anywhere. A lucky byproduct was me becoming much better at cutting people off. I knew my worth and was no longer desperate for someone to be in my life just to prove I was worth their company. So, the people I knew did not have my best interests at heart faded away in the background. And my friends, my true friends, became my family.

In the last couple of years, I’ve asked my friends for everything—from transporting my dog to another country so he could live with me (shoutout, Aizhan) to coming to my flat in the middle of the night to comfort me during an existential crisis. I know they will be there for me. Since the concept of asking for help was so unfamiliar to me, I now approach it with hyperawareness. My confusion and surprise turned into genuine gratitude, even if the help was as simple as satisfying my craving for Juul pods.