swoon 10

I was listening to the radio the other day and someone was describing their grandma as having the strength of an ox. They said she was selfless, she was a giver, and she never needed anything. Swoon. Swoon. Swoon. Later that day I had a coffee with a friend. She told me about her sister. Her sister was selfless, and that this behavior was actually difficult on both her sister… and the rest of the family, because nobody ever knew what to do to help her. Interesting.

I am proud that I am a person that others can count on and I have always thought that not needing help was a good thing. Lately though, I am learning that when I say it’s all good, I got this… it isn’t always true. It is tricky. There are times when it is not only ok to need help, it is important to ask for it… and most of all, it is important to accept it. I realized this at a doctors appointment recently where I wrote the passage below. I felt better after writing it and decided I would never publish it because it was super personal and very not amusing… and because it might make my family sad. But in the last few days friends have posted their kids hardships and battles, others post about walks in honor of their child lost to suicide, others talk of depression that seems never ending, others about death of a beloved parent. I should be strong enough to post the truth. Life is not just one amusing little story after the next. Life is hard. Our strengths are our weaknesses, and realizing that is so important. So, with that…

When you’re the strong one you always go to scary doctor appointments and minor surgeries by yourself. When you are the strong one you do your mourning alone so you can make decisions at hospitals and run memorial services. You became the strong one as a child. Watching after younger siblings, being the one willing to go last, never getting the window seat in the car. You learn to say it’s ok, I don’t need help…because being easy, responsible, and self reliant gets you praise. You watch as others get taken care of wondering what it feels like. It looks really nice. When someone does reach out it is so foreign, you resist. “It’s all good. No need.” So there you are, in a waiting room alone. Again. They call your name and ask if anyone is with you, you smile and say no, they are at work, but they will be here to give me a ride home. You get the look. Men, women, anyone who figures out you are alone gives that same look… pity, confusion, a bit of both. Nurses become much nicer, they walk with you, arm on your back. You change, lie down, prepare for the battle of your tiny veins verses the needle. Cold. Scared. Wishing someone noticed you were not really so strong.