What Do You Most Need Right Now

It was a regular workday in my home office—checking off to-do lists, juggling Zoom calls—when the text came in.

A dear friend and trusted colleague let me know she was in a tough spot. She wanted to share what was going on—but only by text.

My reply: ABSOLUTELY.

What followed was a series of exchanges: a brief description of her situation, replies of concern and support, and whatever else I could express through empathetic words, overused emojis, and short texts.

Then I asked a simple question:

“What do you most need right now?”

Radio silence. I returned to my work. Three hours later, she replied: what she needed was a shower and a walk. Both of which, she said, were just what she needed.

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That small moment stuck with me. Since then, I’ve started asking myself this question more often:

What do I most need right now?

It’s a question of presence, of awareness.

Of self-awareness and self-acknowledgment.

And often, what I need is surprisingly simple—and within reach:

• A walk outdoors

• A hot shower

• A long bath

• A cup of tea

• Some upbeat music

• Ten minutes of stretching

• A short nap

• A call to a friend

These small acts are soothing. They center and ground me. They’re low-cost, easy to repeat, and take little time.

Yet they are deeply restorative.

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But sometimes, I need more.

Sometimes, what I need might make others—or even myself—uncomfortable.

I remember the days after my mother died. A friend mentioned the concept of keening—a traditional Gaelic practice of vocal lamentation. Loud, guttural, and raw, it is the opposite of quiet sobs. You wail. From the gut. Not melodic, but deeply cathartic. I brushed the suggestion aside. It felt too dramatic, too much.

Until one afternoon. I returned from work and opened a letter from my mother’s best friend. Enclosed was a photo from my mother’s wedding day. She was radiant—beautiful, hopeful, glowing. Her absence hit me like a wave. I fell to my knees. The sobs began. And then I knew: I needed to keen.

So I did. I wailed. Loud, mournful, unrestrained. I let my grief pour out in a discordant, guttural song. Until I collapsed on the kitchen floor, photo in hand.

Spent—but somehow, cleansed.

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This question—“What do you most need right now?”—turns my thinking upside down and inside out.

Upside down because it asks me to act now, not later.

It interrupts the habit of pushing through, deferring rest, delaying care.

It invites presence, not planning.

Inside out because it puts the focus on me, not others.

I’m often tuned in to what others need—quick to offer help, suggestions, or support.

Sometimes, I even anticipate needs before they’re spoken.

But for myself?

Not so much. That’s why I’ve been keeping this question front and center lately—not to ask others, but to ask myself.

So when I was tired, I took a nap.

When I had too much screen time, I stepped outside for a brisk walk.

When I needed help from my spouse, I asked—clearly and directly.

And so, I offer this gentle invitation to you:

What do you most need right now?

Pause.

Ask.

Listen.

Then take action—immediately, if you can.

And see what shifts.

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