....which is a handy thing to feel when you're 39, with kids who have bigger feet than you have.
After many months of fretting over my husband's shrinking salary being unable to stretch across the expanding waistline of our debts, we cast a cold objective eye over our finances and concluded that we need help.
It's wonderfully liberating to express this, without any shadow of shame or blame.
When you can look someone in the eye (be it a bank manager or a child psychologist) and confidently say that despite your best efforts you just can't manage anymore, it shows an ability to trust in other people.
It's not the same thing as abdicating responsibility. We still have to fix it, but now we have been given the tools (and the expert advice) we need to deal with this problem.
Because we asked.
The last time I felt like this was when I took my son to my Public Health Nurse at the age of 20 months, and said I need help. He's not talking, he won't look at me and even though everybody tells me I'm over-reacting, I know I'm out of my depth here.
I used to think maturity was something peculiar to cheese and fine wine, and was occasionally cited as a consolation prize for wrinkles and grey hair.
But learning that we don't have control over everything (and, crucially, not having a acute onset of the screaming heebeejeebies over the fact) is a skill that, in my case, has come with age.
I have a half-baked theory that OCD stems from a desire to impose control on a life we realistically have no hope of ever doing....we can alphabetise our CD collections and wash our hands until they're raw, but this won't prevent a lightening strike or a recession...or even a diagnosis of autism for our kids.
Sometimes no matter how hard you work, how diligently you monitor your purse-strings, or how fiercely you love your children, life can still throw you a curve ball.
The real skill is knowing that asking for help is not a sign of failure, but of finally becoming a Grown Up.