It takes a village
I have always prided myself in being an independent woman. A woman who prefers to help, rather than be helped. Perhaps this is due to me coming from a line of strong women.
My gran raised four kids on her own without any help. This was during a time when being a single mother was more taboo than the lack of email is today. She dealt with the drowning of her youngest son whilst needing to be a source of strength and support for her remaining three children. At the age of 80 she survived breast cancer, and to me, has always been an example of strength and independence.
My mom took after my gran, and had to look after my sister and I on her own for two years whilst my dad set up a life for us in another country. I watched my mom manage work, volunteer to chaperone school trips, and spent her time off ensuring that my sister and I never felt a lack of family time.
Then there is my sister who is juggling a high pressured career, three kids and somehow still manages to make time for whatever is requested of her. When she has a challenge she takes it head on and I don’t remember the last time she asked for help.
Being independent seems to run in my family. Being a single mom has resulted in my life being run like a well-oiled, organized and scheduled machine. There are school runs, work commitments, play-dates, homework, birthday parties; and I manage to handle it with little assistance. I’ve become accustomed to just getting on with it. This is out of choice, as coping with the organized chaos that is my daily life independently gives me a sense of pride and perhaps, if I’m to be truly honest, a sense of self-worth.
When an incident rendered me immobile for a few weeks, panic set in. This panic wasn’t over the upcoming surgery, it wasn’t about the inevitable pain during the first stage of recovery, or even about the lengthy recovery. The panic was about the necessity to ask for help, help that I would need for at least a month of school drops, grocery shopping and cooking. The basic daily routine things that I was so used to doing on my own. I would be crutch bound, bonding with my couch and exiled out of my car; and the panic that was setting in had a lot to do with the idea of losing my independence. And cabin fever, definitely cabin fever.
I mentally made a list of what I would need help with and from whom I would require this assistance. When I eventually reached for my phone, my fingers were shaking and palms were sweaty. A part of me struggled to understand why this was so difficult for me. I knew that my family and friends wouldn’t think twice about helping me, and realistically I understood that I really needed their help. Somehow this dependence made me feel as though I have failed, and it made me feel embarrassed.
I am fortunate to be surrounded by incredibly kind and selfless individuals. Individuals who know me, and who understood how difficult this situation was for me. Before I even had to ask the offers to help started pouring in, and soon enough I had a roster of school runs, a schedule of grocery shopping and a freezer full of food that could last me for months. When the cabin fever eventually set in I was stolen away for some fresh air and sunshine. It was humbling to have people there for me when I needed them most, and at a time when I felt as though I had lost a part of my identity.
This experience has made me realise there is no weakness in asking for help, and that who I am is not defined by what I do. I have also realised that help doesn’t need to be a grand gesture, but that sometimes even a simple, selfless message of kindness and support can make a difference in someone’s day. I am grateful for the remarkable circle of people I have in my life. People who were there for me when I needed them the most.
There are circumstances when we need our circle, and there is nothing wrong with admitting to needing those closest to us. There is strength in reaching out. Perhaps the more we all asked for help, or reached out in times of need, and kept silent a lot less, a few tragedies could be prevented.
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