Are We Helpless Beings? Do You Disagree?

Before I ever knew about the red and blue pills, I was someone who constantly planned for tomorrow, chased dreams, and worked tirelessly to achieve them. Without deeply analyzing situations or people around me, I carried values instilled in me from childhood—don’t harm others, don’t lie, be honest—and moved forward, unlocking doors as I went. My sense of control, though unrecognized, heavily focused my energy on planning and taking steps toward my dreams. Control wasn’t an obstacle for me; it was a catalyst, an ally on my path. The exhausting part, however, was constantly aligning my surroundings with my own vision, surrounding myself with people who were okay with that.

These were relationships where the other person refused to grow up, constantly deferred to me for decisions, or rebelled when they wanted to do things their way. It was like I’d built a “daddy club,” using brilliant minds as pawns for my agenda. A perfect parent-child dynamic, with me playing both my mother’s role and, when necessary, little Sara.

Then one day, I was handed a pill. Slowly, it began to pull all the energy I was pouring outward back into me. Things started to become clearer, though it took me a long time to understand how much I’d been seeing the world through the lens of a constructed identity. As my perspective sharpened, I realized that things were not as I had assumed.

At the heart of every relationship were needs—basic, human needs: to feel safe, to be seen, loved, respected, heard, validated, and appreciated.

Initially, my reflex was to try and understand the needs of others. It felt like I had unknowingly been playing a game whose rules were only now being revealed to me, and I was furious for not being told earlier. When I realized the importance of boundaries, I saw that I had already achieved so many of my dreams, yet I remained angry. I had fully lived the saying, “Ignorance is bliss.”

This anger needed a target. First, my parents. Then the people around me who were aware of these dynamics but didn’t inform me, instead using me to meet their needs. I was overwhelmed by disappointment, anger, and even a desire for revenge.

My first step was to test everyone around me: Were they with me because they genuinely cared, or would they leave once I stopped meeting their needs? Rebuilding relationships with new boundaries was challenging. Those who were aware of the dynamic felt ashamed, while those who weren’t were confused. Some were frightened, wondering where they’d now get what they used to take from me. Others resisted giving up their manipulation tactics. There were so many versions of this dynamic.

Then suddenly, I slowed down. I stopped dreaming and shifted my focus to understanding. Dreaming had always been second nature to me, something I’d mastered by the age of seven. I’d always known I had the potential to achieve whatever I wanted. But now, uncovering the secrets behind these patterns felt far more meaningful.

For a while, I focused on understanding people’s needs through my interactions with them. This brought heartbreaks and the process of healing those wounds. Eventually, my awareness turned inward, and I asked myself what this was trying to teach me about my own needs. The belief that having needs was selfish was deeply ingrained in me and required significant work to overcome. What did I deserve? Where could I say yes or no? Where could I ask for help, and where could I let go? Not knowing the answers to these questions and arriving at this point with such naivety felt miraculous.

In hindsight, I see that my reflex to control was a way of protecting myself. Or perhaps, rather than control, I had simply gone with the flow without questioning. A greater power had supported me, protected me, and blinded me when necessary. Because honestly, I couldn’t have done all of this on my own. Not with my current awareness.

And so, I turned to my own needs. This journey became one of self-discovery. Recognizing myself as a being with needs meant:

• Allowing space for others’ needs, showing compassion and empathy.

• Accepting that I can’t do everything and letting go of self-criticism.

• Surrendering to a greater power.

• Understanding that meeting my needs starts with recognizing and expressing them and, when necessary, asking for help.

• Setting realistic goals.

• Refraining from intervening in others’ lives.

• Realizing the futility of comparison.

• Recognizing the uniqueness of everyone’s journey.

• Accepting my vulnerability.

• Understanding that not everything revolves around me.

• Accepting that as needs change, everything is impermanent, and holding on is futile.

• Identifying the root of greed.

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In a world that moves so fast, where we witness countless people living extraordinary lives and chasing their dreams, focusing on needs might feel harder than ever. But gaining the awareness that we are beings with needs and living with this focus requires slowing down.

Fulfilling our needs brings the satisfaction we chase in all our busyness. Yet, the dreams we achieve and the successes we accumulate often fail to provide that satisfaction because they don’t address our true needs.

Knowing this, would I still take that pill? I would. Even if it cost me fewer achievements or realizations, I would. Because the life I live now—focused on my needs—is simpler, more peaceful, less complicated, and deeply fulfilling. It’s right here, close to me. Sometimes, I don’t even need to go anywhere or complete anything to feel whole.

I say I need nature, I need to hug someone, I need safe connections, freedom, independence, and solitude.

Many tools have supported me on this journey, but Marshall Rosenberg’s Nonviolent Communication method has been the key. Understanding our needs starts with connecting to our emotions, expressing them, and finding ways to meet those needs.

I hope my story inspires you to connect deeply with your own needs and opens the door to a life of greater fulfillment.

With love