Ask for Help
In trouble? Ask for help. What could be simpler?
Nothing, unless you see your request as you becoming a burden, or worse incurring a debt that you will have to repay in the future, probably when you are least able or prepared.
If you have been told that you are a pain, a “bad” person, not worthy of any extra effort, reluctance to ask for help would be understandable.
Once you’ve opened the door to show that you are not fully able to take care of your problems you may find it difficult to limit other’s well-intentioned helpful efforts.
When some of the above noted conditions is part of your baggage then asking for help would be extremely difficult.
The request may come only if you are really desperate. Sometimes even an offer to help may be difficult to accept.
Such factors create a fear in Jill, the protagonist, in the my novel, Baggage burdens. Asking for help is very hard.
“What makes you think I’m so determined?”
“When you tried to walk across to the bathroom and your legs gave out, you didn’t give up. Like Matthew, you weren’t going to quit until you reached your goal. I figure that couldn’t have been an easy decision for you either. I guessed you were worrying about being able to make the return trip to your bed.”
“You’re right. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it. I hated the possibility that I would have to be carried. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Having people do something extra for me is kind of like doing me favors.”
“Something wrong with accepting favors?”
“Yes. I once read an unreturned favor is like an unpaid debt. With everybody visiting me in the hospital and covering for me while I’m stuck here, it feels like I have a ton of debts. In a way, it’s like I’m running a deficit budget. I’ll never be able to return the favors.”
“Have you thought of favor as being gifts?”
“Same thing.”
Jill’s quick response silences Bill for a while. His eyes narrow, and he looks down as if he’s trying to figure out an answer to a puzzle.
“Hmmm.”
“What?” Jill leans forward.
Bill studies her face, determining if she really wants to know what he has in mind. “You love your children dearly. Right?”
“Yes.”
“And you love to do anything for them to make them happy?”
“Yes.”
“I expect that you haven’t been keeping a tally to figure out how much they owe you?”
“Of course not. They’re family.”
“I see,” says Bill, dragging out his response as if he is carefully considering her answer.
“Immediate family?”
“Yes.”
“And what about favors from an extended family? Do you keep tabs on the number of favors or gifts they give you?” Jill’s puzzled look prompts Bill to add, “Would Julie still be considered family?”
“Yes.”
“So you don’t keep track of how many favors she’s done for you either?”
“No.”
“Now, what about close friends?”
Jill thinks of the good deeds she’s received at the hands of Rebecca. How many, she doesn’t know, but she does feel in Rebecca’s debt. Never has Rebecca indicated she keeps count. Thinking of Rebecca’s latest offer of help, Jill answers.
“None of us keep records. Things are done to make the other happy.”
“Precisely! You do favors as gifts because you care an awful lot for each other.”
“Yes.”
“So maybe you should reconsider being worried about all the favors people are doing for you while you’re in the hospital. Perhaps you can see them as expressions of love for you, as signs that they think you’re a wonderful person.”
“I think you’re pushing it now.”
“Pushing what?”
“I’m a wonderful person.”
“Ask them. You might enjoy their answers.”
“I think I’ll pass on that.”
“Well, at least consider not worrying about repaying favors.”
“Okay. I’ll give that some thought.”
Imagine Jill’s desperation in this midnight scene.
The house remains dark. After a long minute, Jill presses the bell again. She hears it ring through the house. Standing at the door, she feels an urge to go pee. As she reaches to press the bell for the third time, a faint light appears in a far room. Be patient, she thinks. No movement comes from the inside. Finally, she presses the doorbell again. A floorboard squeaks from the other side of the wall. Someone’s coming. A drape in the bay window moves. Jill smiles and waves.
As the door cracks opened, a gray-haired lady with wire-rim glasses appears. Jill steps back.
“Gramma Maxwell, it’s me, Jill Rezlay. I’m in trouble. I really need your help. Please let me in.”
haiku capsule:
Have to ask for help
Overwhelming circumstance
Independence lost
Nextblog:
Help Offering Precedes Request.
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