I used to act as if there was a black or white answer that would tell me when I would feel comfortable asking for or receiving help. Not having found one, as I get older I’m trying to develop the ability to simply notice and be curious about this asking for, giving, and receiving help business.
On Saturday, I walked into the bra and lingerie shop and informed the saleswoman that I was on a mission to find comfortable bras. She led me to a dressing room, took my measurements, and told me to wait. Several minutes later, I heard her say, “I’m back, may I come in?” She was carrying an armload! She politely inquired: “Would you like me to help you try these on, or do you want to do it yourself?” Looking at her pile of ‘these,” I felt overwhelmed. There had to be two dozen! With a question-mark in my voice I replied, “You’ve probably seen boobs before.” She responded with a grin on her face: “All day, every day!”
This young woman was a pro and her continual eye contact allowed me to retain a shred of self-respect. As the pile of yet-to-try-ons grew smaller, I began seeing fewer of the less than complementary aspects of my dear departed mother’s body in the giant full length mirror. There was the downward pull, of course, but the saleswoman’s calm presence helped soften my critical eye.
To make conversation, she asked what I was going to do when I left that day. Hallelujah! She really believed we would someday get to the bottom of the pile. I told her that I was going home to write – that I was a writer. She brightened. “You are? What do you write? I love to read!” She said she wanted to read my two books! I’ve tried many marketing plans but this was the first time asking for and being able to receive help sold a book.
Then on Monday, I visited my physical therapist for help with my posture. She recommended I pare down the exercise sheets I had been utilizing. She would show me which exercises would give me the most bang for the buck and suggested I purchase a pair of one pound and two pound weights. After I tapped my credit card, the receptionist and the PT began fighting over who was going to help me carry the dumbbells. I knew I could do it myself but began to think how it might be interesting to accept help. I hesitated, and before I knew it the PT grabbed the sack and out the door we went.
As the elevator lowered us to ground level, I ruminated on the post I had been working on regarding knowing when to ask for or receive help. This struck me as ironic and a bit funny so I said to the PT: “This strikes me as comical – when I get home I’m going to finish writing a blog post about asking for help.”
She looked at me using the same direct eye contact that the salesclerk had used in the dressing room to assuage my anxiety. Then she said: “It’s hard for you to ask for help, isn’t it?”
IMAGE: The Guardian at Dawn.
