Many of you know that I’m asking for help. I’m emailing each and every friend I have (at least nearly). I’m working my way through family emails, reaching out one-by-one. I’m thumbing through neighborhood directories figuring out who I know well enough to ask.
And I hate to ask. I hate to ask for help. There’s part of me, my husband would share, that totally wants to be taken care of. That’s operates like a huge black hole, sucking in care and attention, to make up for all that was missing (or at least all I thought was missing).
But I hate to ask for help. There’s also a part of me that learned to be completely self-sufficient. To read the room, assess the situation, and carry on and make things okay. For myself and for everyone else. Actually, probably for everyone else first.
I don’t want to seem weak. “Only wimps eat creamy peanut butter” Danny told me when I was little. I eat chunky to this day. I like chunky – but who knows, would I still like creamy if he hadn’t inadvertently called me a wimp? I certainly don’t want to be a wimp. Never did. Never do. I certainly don’t want to seem needy. My mother never cried when she left us. She didn’t cry each time we said goodbye. I cried, but I tried to hide it. I knew I was wrong to cry. I was wrong not to be strong.
I cared for my brother and grandfather when my mother left. Eleven years old and handling the shopping and cooking and cleaning. I knew not to ask for help. I knew not to tell anyone she was gone. She was gone for God. That was good.
So, it’s hard to ask for help. I worry that people will think I’m too self-focused. Or self-centered. Or bragging about my book. Or something. But I’m asking for help anyway. I’m asking for help because I need help (as much as I hate to admit it) in getting this book birthed. And I’m asking for help because it’s (probably) okay to do so. I teach that it’s okay to do so. I know it’s okay to do so. But the voices scream loud in my head when I do so. They question me. They challenge me. The call to mind all the lessons I learned about not asking for help
But I’m asking for help. And thanking you for it. Thanks for reading my blog, signing up for my blog, and commenting on my blog. Thanks for liking my Facebook page. Thanks for thinking I have a story to tell. What gets me past not liking asking for help? Thinking I have a story to tell. I am excited to tell my story. I hope it can bring some good and joy to others. I hope it can bring a smile to someone’s face, and ease to someone’s heart. I hope it can remind us all that it’s okay, it’s fine, it’s good to ask for help.