I remember with quiet emotion watching my first surgical operation from the observation gallery of a university hospital. My first calling had been to become a doctor. It was not the right path for me.

Imagine a surgeon.

A scalpel in hand, a diseased organ before him. But there is blood everywhere, obscuring the view.

So he does not cut blindly.

He makes a small incision, clamps a vein, and moves the tissue aside.

He clears the surgical field. Only then can he see the diseased organ.

It is not cruelty. It is the only way to reach the problem.

What if I approached myself this way? You this way? My students this way?

Without anesthesia, perhaps, but with gentleness?

How often we tell ourselves: “I don’t need anyone.”

The first vein.

“Clamp!” the surgeon calls.

We have spent years repeating this to ourselves. And we have done it so well that hardly anyone asks us anymore how we are really doing.

We call it strength. Sometimes, it is simply rigidity.

It is self-sufficiency dressed up as independence—the kind that insists on carrying everything alone.

Until the weight of it all becomes greater than we can bear.

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

The second vein: “I need a clamp!” the surgeon calls.

There is another version, a more polite one: the kind disguised as humility. We do not ask. We do not impose. We manage on our own. We help everyone else, but when it is our turn to receive help, we change the subject.

We don’t need anything.

It may look like good manners, but sometimes it is humility in disguise.

Some of us walk alone out of pride.

Others walk alone while apologizing for taking up space.

But we walk alone all the same.

“That’s just the way I am.”

The third vein. “Clamp!”

We have come to believe that needing someone means we have failed.

That asking for help means incurring a debt.

That leaning on someone means surrendering.

Behind the words “That’s just the way I am,” there is often fear. Fear of going into someone else’s debt. Fear of being seen without our armor. Fear of discovering that we would be loved just the same, because love is concerned with the person, not the armor they wear.

But the burden is heavy!

We reach a certain age and discover that we have become everyone else’s support system: our children’s, our parents’, our workplace’s. And hardly anyone stops to ask who is holding up the person who holds everyone else up.

Now the diseased organ comes into view.

Clamp. Move the tissue aside. Wipe away the tear. Now comes the time to disinfect, remove the diseased tissue, and stitch the wound closed…

The heart is exhausted. And that is not a flaw. It is a heart. Hearts keep beating because something sustains them.

And that exhaustion hurts.

The wound does not lie in our need for others, nor in our dependence on them.

The wound lies in having convinced ourselves that we should not need anyone. That we must carry our burdens alone.

And no, we do not need to rush out and ask everyone for help. Sometimes, all it takes is to lift our eyes and meet another person’s gaze—to look at someone and allow ourselves to be seen.

Just one person is enough.

Healing begins to come into view.

When Pope Leo XIV told inmates at Brians 1 Prison in Barcelona, “God loves you as you are, but He dreams of something better for you!”¹

He was speaking to people behind metal bars. But his words also speak to those of us living behind other kinds of bars: the bars of pride, habit, and the belief that “I can manage on my own.”

He loves you as you are—with your cracks, your needs, your light and your shadows.

But He dreams of something better for you.

God does not wait for us to become self-sufficient before He loves us. Saint Paul, who knew something about burdens, wrote without hesitation: “When I am weak, then I am strong.”⁴

There is a structure that expresses this truth beautifully: the Gothic cathedral.

Let us step inside.

Within, there is light. Walls that seem almost made of glass. Vaulted ceilings soaring so high they seem to disappear into the heavens. Everything appears to stand on its own.

But walk around the outside of the building, and the secret is revealed.

The flying buttresses—those graceful arches that absorb and redirect the outward thrust of the vaulted ceilings. The buttresses—massive structures that carry that weight safely down to the ground.

And they are there for everyone to see. They do not hide.

In Lourdes, Pope Leo XIV told the sick that there, “fragility is not hidden.”² The cathedral expresses the same truth in stone.

Not one part of that cathedral stands entirely on its own. Remove a flying buttress, and the vault may collapse. Yet no one calls the cathedral weak because it needs support. Its support is precisely what allows it to remain standing.

Addressing French authorities, the Pope spoke of humbly recognizing “our need for one another.”³

That is the humility of not being self-sufficient: standing upright while knowing Who sustains us.

Giving and receiving need each other

Those who never allow themselves to be helped deprive others of the opportunity to be a source of support.

Allowing yourself to be helped does not weaken you. It enriches you.

Receiving is also a way of serving.

Saint Paul urged us to do just that: “Carry each other’s burdens.”⁵ When we support one another, a burden becomes a bridge—a bridge that carries us in both directions.

This week, let us seek out our flying buttresses. Let us name them, one by one.

And let us tell someone, even if it is difficult:

Thank you. Without you, I would not be standing.

Scalpel down.

Wound clean.

Heart beating steadily again.

References

1. Pope Leo XIV, address to inmates at Brians 1 Prison, Sant Esteve Sesrovires, Barcelona, June 10, 2026, during his apostolic journey to Spain. Quoted in Verdad en Libertad: https://verdadenlibertad.com/leon-xiv-a-presos-en-cataluna/
2. Pope Leo XIV, meeting with the sick and their companions at the Accueil Notre-Dame healthcare center, Sanctuary of Lourdes, September 2026, during his apostolic journey to France. Vatican News: https://www.vaticannews.va/es/papa/news/2026-09/papa-leon-xiv-viaje-apostolico-francia-enfermos-defensa-vida.html
3. Pope Leo XIV, address to civil authorities, representatives of civil society, and the diplomatic corps, Élysée Palace, Paris, September 25, 2026. ACI Prensa: https://www.aciprensa.com/noticias/128727/discurso-leon-xiv-autoridades-francia
4. Second Letter to the Corinthians 12:10.
5. Letter to the Galatians 6:2.