My Complicated Relationship with the Word "Help"

"Mommy, can you help me open this?"

"Mommy, can you fix this?"

"Mommy, can you wipe my tush?"

Any mother of small children has heard these phrases a million times, and has become accustomed to responding almost robotically to repeated requests for assistance: opening granola bar wrappers, tying shoes, separating tightly latched Lego pieces, and so on. And it's not just little kids who need our help; countless strangers can use our help throughout our days, whether it's picking up a coin they dropped or holding a door for someone who has their arms full. I guess it can depend on what part of the country you live in, but I'd like to think that more often than not, in this country we want to help people when we can.

I like to help; I really do. But I have a few problems in that department. I usually wait to be asked to help before offering it (something I have to work on every day), and I'm usually the one needing help (but not asking for it); we'll get to that conundrum in a few paragraphs. Living for so many years in a military world where everyone helps each other get through being away from loved ones, helping is part of a lifestyle. Adding to that lifestyle is being in a community of military spouses and moms whose generosity in the help department (in my opinion) is unmatched...except for maybe Mother Theresa :).

But my struggle with helping these days isn't a lack of willingness to help; it's the physical limits I have in my ability to help, which causes no small amount of guilt. I can't offer to babysit someone else's kids for a bit so they can take a break for a few hours. I can't help to clean up very much after a get-together or other social event. I can't go get slices of pizza or cake or juice boxes for other people's kids at a birthday party. I can't volunteer to do anything that requires standing for more than a minute or two or being outside on a warm (or hotter) day. Even though I wasn't the world's best helper when I was able-bodied, it's devastating to not be able to reciprocate the incredible amounts of help I get from other people now.

Not being one to wallow in self-pity or useless guilt for too long (as compared to useful guilt), I'm trying hard to focus on the things I can help with. There are lots of things I can do for the kids, and thankfully they have no problem asking me for help with things they are old enough to know I can do. I use a walker with a small basket at home, and while I have to take rest breaks often, I can take care of laundry, pick up most toys with my "claw" grabber, bathe the boys, wipe the counters, and put away groceries. I volunteer at our boys' school in the classroom, where I can sit and help kids with reading and writing. I can read to my younger son at the library. But it's not enough; I often hover on the line between not feeling like doing something and not physically being able to do something. It can be hard to figure out where that line is between pushing your limits in a good way and pushing yourself too hard and paying the price for overdoing it. I often find that when I offer to help with something I'm turned down, but the person getting the offer (usually my husband) is pretty happy just that I asked.

Which leads me into the flip/other side of my relationship with "help." People ask me if I need their help all the time, which is understandable. I'm always out and about with either my walker or electric scooter, and most strangers (around here in Tucson, anyway) are just plain nice. Sometimes I'm good to go by myself, and sometimes I accept; more so now than even just a couple of years ago. Accepting help has been hard for me, and asking for it even harder. Call it a pride thing or a Cuban/Latino thing. I just say that I feel bad taking time out of someone's day to do something for me.

Then I realize I'm just being stupid. People usually don't offer to help unless they really want to and intend to do it if their offer is accepted. People feel good about helping others, and especially if they're helping someone who's disabled. I don't want to be that bitter old person with a walker getting pissed off at people who just want to hold a door open, yelling "I can do it my damn self!!" I travel alone quite a bit for my work, and I've accepted the fact that I NEED help from strangers on occasion. Like getting a suitcase off the belt at baggage claim. Try doing that from a seated position on a scooter with a bunch of people crowded around. NOT easy! Or just needing an arm from a Southwest Airlines employee to get from my scooter at the end of the jetway to my seat on the plane.

So what's my takeaway or life lesson from all of this? I guess it's that "help" is a complex concept that can be difficult to master from either being the helper or the helped. It can be a sensitive issue for a lot of people. You can feel judged for not helping enough, or find yourself judging others who don't help as much as you think they should. You can feel totally comfortable with asking strangers for help, make life incredibly difficult by never asking, or take advantage of others by relying too much on others. I think it's a balancing act for everyone. For my part, I'm working on finding more opportunities to help others in ways that aren't physical but still contribute in a meaningful way. Maybe that's why more people don't offer to help others--because they think it always has to be hard work. As for me, I'm happy every time I discover new ways to help our family, and the kindness of strangers everywhere I travel lifts my veil of cynicism just a little bit more with every trip I take.