After my breast cancer diagnosis, I received endless offers from friends and family who offered to help me. I was offered meals, babysitting, errands, escorts to appointments, and two faraway friends even told me they would hop on a plane in an instant to come stay with me. I accepted a tiny bit of help -- like a meal here and there and a morning of babysitting -- but I really did not want much assistance. Mostly because I am do-it-myself type of person and however unhealthy this can be -- especially in the midst of a health crisis -- I wanted my life to remain as normal as possible. And if that meant taking care of my kids, despite nausea and fatigue, I wanted to do it. I wanted to be the one in the driver's seat on my way to treatments and procedures. And I wanted to run my own errands. Part of me believed that accepting help meant I was really sick. And I couldn't admit that. Yet it was true. I was sick. I needed help.

And I need help now too -- while I am healthy and strong and able to do everything for myself. And maybe that's why I am able to ask for it -- because it doesn't require my confession that something in my life is not alright. And actually, asking for this type of help helps me express that I am really okay, that I am able to use my health to help others.

I sent an e-mail to about 100 people recently. Each person who received my e-mail is connected to me in some way, and each person somehow has been involved in my personal healing. Many are those who offered to help long ago but whose offers were not accepted. But now I happily allow them all to help -- by pledging a donation in support of me as I prepare to run in the third annual Making Strides Against Breast Walk in Gainesville, Florida. Last year -- my first time participating -- I was stunned by the amount of financial support that flowed my way. I raised $3,500 when my original goal was just $500. So I guess it should be no shock to me that just 24 hours after sending my e-mail this year that I have already raised more than $550. I am amazed. I am in awe. I am bursting at the seams with gratitude that so many people would open their wallets because I asked for help.

I had no idea how much power rested quietly in my e-mail address book. Now I know. I know that all those offers of help -- most now two years old -- still stand. I know that the people in my life are caring, loving, generous souls who truly do want to help, if just given the chance. And I know that their help will not only benefit me -- a survivor hoping that additional funds will help locate a cure for a horrible disease -- but so many other women too. Mostly, I know that asking for help can be empowering, uplifting, strengthening, and unbelievably comforting.