Why musicians like me find it so hard to ask for help

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Do you ever walk into a store and tell yourself,
“I’m just grabbing one thing,”
and somehow end up restocking your entire cupboard?

Not me.
I’ve got great self-control when I shop.
In and out in ten minutes — especially at IKEA.

I don’t mess around with flatpacks.

But I wish I had that same discipline when it came to my music career, my ego and my mental health.

There’s something I need to admit. Something I was too proud to say for a long time.

When depression started bleeding into everything — the music I loved, my energy, my sleep, my will to keep going — I hit a fork in the road:

1. Take time off. Go to therapy. Rest.
2. Go all in. Invest every dollar into my dream. Build a music school.

I chose the latter.

If you’ve been reading my work for a while, you’ll know part of that came from feeling like I had something to prove — to my family, to old teachers, to myself.

But there was another reason.

A reason I’ve never said out loud until now.

Because I couldn’t help myself…
…I thought helping others would be enough.

I threw myself into teaching because it made me feel useful. Needed. Like I mattered.
And eventually, I grew to love it.
Some of the kids I taught became like little brothers and sisters. The parents treated me like family.

But the truth is, I became a teacher not because I had some noble calling —
but because I was scared to admit I needed help.

Because asking for help felt like weakness.
And weakness, I thought, would mean losing the only thing that gave me purpose: music.

That’s ego talking.

My ego told me I could build a career with my bare hands. That I didn’t need rest. That I could white-knuckle my way through it.

And even when I knew deep down that I needed to slow down, I didn’t.

Even when I could barely sleep.
Even when I felt my body shutting down.
Even after two seizures in late 2024 — I still didn’t stop.

Because stopping felt like failure.

Ironic, isn’t it?

We musicians talk so much about wanting to give people love, healing, connection through our art.

But so many of us can’t give those things to ourselves. At least for me.

We burn out quietly.
We hide behind the songs, the gigs, the smiles.
We keep going — not because we’re strong —
but because we’re scared of what happens when we’re not.

It’s painful to admit that the thing keeping you alive might also be breaking you.

That was me.

And I couldn’t face that — so I hid behind work. Behind being the “reliable” one.
The teacher. The business owner. The guy who always kept it together.

And the saddest part?
The people around me — my friends, my family, even my students — they saw it.
They tried to help.
They offered their love, their presence, their concern.

And I ignored them.
Pushed them away.
Told myself: “I’ve got this.”

But they stayed.

And when people stay, even when you push them away —
you realise something:
They don’t care about the version of you who performs.
They care about the version who’s quietly breaking.

That’s when I knew it was time to let go of the ego.

It wasn’t easy.
It still isn’t.

But I’ve learned something:

If you really want a long, fulfilling, meaningful life in music —
you can’t just protect the art.
You have to protect the artist too.

You.

And yeah, about IKEA…

If I walk in and can’t find what I’m looking for, I leave.
Even when someone offers help, I usually decline.

That’s the ego too.

But here’s what I know now:
Your ego won’t keep you alive.
Letting people in will.

So if you’re where I was — tired, drowning, holding it all together just enough to keep up the image…

Let someone in.

You don’t have to do this alone.

💬 So now I want to hear from you:

Who is someone in your life you know will always be there no matter what?

Reply here or comment below — and show some love for the people who love you the most.

📌 P.S. If this post resonated, would you consider sharing it with a friend?

It helps me grow this newsletter and keep it free so I can continue helping musicians build a thriving music career without sacrificing their mental health.

Thanks for reading The Mental Musician.

📹 Check out my latest Youtube video: This one is raw!

🎗️And if you want more support:

I created the Burnout to Breakthrough Mental Health Journal for Musicians like you — your personal mental health companion designed to help you reflect, reset, and rebuild your creative life without falling apart in the process.

Inside, you’ll find:

✅ A 3-part strategy to rebuild your energy, reset your mindset, and redefine success
✅ A fully interactive Notion journal to help you stay grounded and focused
✅ Daily, weekly, and monthly check-ins to track your wellbeing and goals
✅ A simple system you can return to anytime you feel lost, overwhelmed, or burnt out

This journal is a reminder:
you don’t have to keep burning just to keep going.

Grab your journal down below, and start turning this dream into your reality 👇

Click here to grab your journal today

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