This is my least sexy post, ever. You have been warned.
On Monday night, my stomach dragons smote me. Repeatedly. It started at 7pm as I was tucking my wee ones in bed.
I dropped all storytime activities and did battle valiantly(ish) (this is fancy talk for “I threw up”) while the little ones wailed in their bedrooms.
“I am so worried about Mommy,” sobbed my eldest.
“Mama’s sick, I’m so scared,” wept the youngest.
Torment. I couldn’t leave the bathroom yet my babies were distraught and needed me.
So I called them into my bedroom and told them to get into my bed. Then they’d be close to my new station.
That wasn’t close enough. They ended up making nests of towels and pillows on the ensuite floor and my five year old rubbed my back while my little one fell asleep at my feet. Eventually we were all sleeping/resting on the bathroom floor.
As I laid my head against the cool grey tile, my thoughts were as follows:
- ohgodohgodohgodohgodnightmareohgodohgod
- someone (me) could be doing a more enthusiastic, thorough, and frequent job of scrubbing this floor
- My kids love me so much. I wish I could violently vomit in a way less traumatizing to them
- I will never eat a turkey sandwich again. Food poisoning, you are my nemesis
- I sincerely hope this is food poisoning (welcome, botulism) because if this is contagious, tomorrow is really, really going to suck
- who has (not) been cleaning this floor? (me )
- I still haven’t started or finished the Operation Secret Valentine postinto which I asked Amanda Farough to paste the Valentine badge she designed
- this is why humans (usually) have to have sex to reproduce. Minimum sets of two big people are really useful for rearing little people
- I wish I had some help. I need help
After a while, I gathered my wits, my moxy, and my balance, and carried my sleeping kids from the bathroom to their beds. I wrote the blog post that was haunting me. I curled up in bed and tried not to move or anger my stomach in any way.
My friend (aka my Gentleman Caller who keeps calling all superfriendlylike even though I’m on a man-diet and he is pretty much #1 on my list of restrictions) called at 10ish to say hi. I whimpered and whined. He said, “Why didn’t you call me? I’d be there in a flash. You should have asked me for help.”
I was shocked – not at his generous offer (and it is generous – he lives an hour away) because that’s just how he is – but at myself.
I hadn’t even considered asking for help. I wanted help, but it never even entered my mind that I should call someone and ask for help.
My friend Heather and my sister Julie live within blocks of me and I knowthat they would drop everything, any time, to come to my rescue, and in fact they both did, just last week.
(This is in fact why I moved to the suburbs almost three years ago – to be closer to my family and be able to lean on them – and be leaned on – when necessary.)
My other sister lives – get this - in my house AND was home at the time.
When I say “didn’t consider asking for help”, I don’t mean that I thought about asking for help and rejected the idea. I mean that although I wanted help, it never occurred to me to actually ask for help.
What does this have to do with sex, money and meaning?
Sex – not having any. Temporarily. I reserve the right to change my mind on this issue at any time without issuing updates. (Who am I kidding? I will totally issue updates.)
Money – I am going to hire someone to clean my house. It is an investment in my mental well-being. The less time I spend cleaning, the more time I can spend writing and making money. And the next time I attempt to merge with the bathroom floor, it will be marginally less distressing.
Meaning – Even though I have resolved to work out my askus requestus muscle, it seems that I have (mostly) trained myself not to ask for help. And that is phony and a power play. It is weak, but not in a “I don’t deserve help” kind of way. Instead, it is a weak in a “I’m going to pretend to be so superior and superwoman-y and got-it-together” way. Which is appalling. I’m going to get right on over that.
I’m getting better at this. Recently, I was overcome with an unfortunate, untimely and unseemly crush on an unsuitable woman.
No one is immune!
Fortunately, I had friends to call. We shared some laughter and good cheer. My friends helped me a lot.
And the crush? No worries. We’re oil and water, but that’s cool. No harm no foul.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:22 am
@Dave Doolin, “unfortunately, untimely and unseemly”. This is so excellent. Not that the crush was in fact those things. But just excellent adjectives.
so glad your friends were there and that you sought them out.
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So, here’s a story that mostly cured me of this little resistance so-lovingly passed down to each one of us in this oh-so-compassionate society we live in:
The stage: my brother, who has moved as far away from my parents as possible while still remaining on the same continent (though he swears that wasn’t his intent: something about “grad school” and “career”, pfft), has landed in the hospital on the far side of the continent. My mom, being a mom, goes out to him. She decides to take care of herself, takes a break from his bedside, and takes herself out to a park. She uses a mobility scooter: scoots herself up a lovely hill, cruises around, breathes the fresh air.
The action: after scooting around the top of the hill for a while, she starts to head back, only to realize her battery is shot. Her breaks run on the battery. No battery, no moving — or, take it out of gear, and it free wheels. She needs to get back down the hill, somehow.
The decision: Does she ask any one of the other friendly-looking people also out on this beautiful day enjoying this lovely park? She does not. She takes it out of gear, and gently rolls herself over the crest of the hill.
At which point gravity takes over.
The consequence: she crashes. She rolls (speeds) down the hill, out of control, and crashes into a ravine at the bottom. Her mass is shoved quite violently into the steering column when it suddenly ceases moving, and her body does not.
Then people race to help her, people who would have gladly helped her before if they’d known she needed it.
She is in the hospital, but not even the same hospital as her son, on the other side of the continent from her family, her friends, her support, for a month, before they can move her back home.
She loses a kidney.
Later they calculate that if the force had been three inches to the side that rather than losing a kidney over the course of several weeks, she would have lost her life within minutes.
The moral: Ask for help.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:17 am
@Arwyn, I don’t know what to say. I am so sorry for what your mom went through. I am so glad she survived. Thank you so much for writing this.
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I know EXACTLY how you feel about not wanting to ask for help despite you clearly needing it.
I’m the same way. I put on my “Superwoman” cape and do my daily duties no matter how I’m feeling. I guess it’s the mother in us that tends to feel weak if we decide we need help in some form or another.
We always want to feel like if we can push out something that lived inside us for so long then we can overcome anything.
It really is ok to ask for help. You’re superwoman for just getting through that whole bathroom fiasco.
Thanks for sharing hun.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:40 am
@Kerry Ellington, it WAS a fiasco. I just keep thinking that underlying this fiasco is something pretty sweet. My girls and I – we’re a pretty tight little unit.
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I really enjoyed this post. There’s so much of you in it and you touch on something that is an issue for many women (probably men as well…)- asking for help is hard!
Hope you feel better.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:40 pm
@Regina, there was a lot of me in it…after I posted this, I thought, umm maybe this is TMI. Or, maybe not
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Kudos to you for getting this post out.
I too must ask for help with a few things. It’s tough, because you won’t do it unless you’re absolutely sure you can’t make it alone. If you can make it through alone, why involve others in your mess? That’s how I feel about it inside.
Remember that part of intimacy is letting someone in on your “mess.” That’s another way this subject relates to sex and meaning.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:18 am
@Positive Mitch, “Remember that part of intimacy is letting someone in on your “mess.” well said. Exactly.
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I hate when you realize, after the dust of battle has subsided, that you could have asked and received help if only you had been smart enough to ask for it! My excuse is that the battle is often too consuming for me to think about things like that.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:41 am
@Steve @Life Change For You, Oh yeah. What you said. Thanks for saying it!
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I hope you are feeling better! I should “resolve to work out my askus requestus muscle.”
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Been there–done that. Spent two decades (one weekend after bad tunafish) where I finally took a blanket and pillow into the bathroom. Had a 2 am migrane so blinding that I had not only take a cab to the drugstore–but asked the driver to buy the analgesic for me. And too many other instances of “askus requestus negatus” to mention.
After all these years I can tell you two things I’ve learned. One: getting yelled at by the people who love you when they find out is worse than asking for help. Two: there is a sound reason why every 12 step program is firmly founded on learning to ask for help.
Have I learned these lessons–yes. Do I practice what I’ve learned on a daily basis–not so much, not often enough.
Finally, my now adult daughter tells me that learning NOT to be uber-self-reliant is one of her greatest challenges. Wonder where she got that from.
Feel better–we need you!!
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:41 pm
@Julianne Fuchs-Musgrave, I didn’t know that – every recovery program is built on the ask for help premis? Really? That is significant. I’m going to mull on that. You just taught me something.
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Oh, Kelly! That makes me so sad that you were (are?) so sick! I hope you are feeling better, and may the lesson of “ASK FOR HELP, DAMMIT” stick with you….
*Mwah*
Dani
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sad. sweet. gross. sorry. feel better.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:41 am
@Carlos Velez, I do feel better, thanks.
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Wow, Kelly. Thanks for sharing this experience in all its messiness. It’s a jolt of inspiration for my own “examine the DIY default” quest. Hope you’re feeling much better now.
(and God help anyone who had to put their face on my bathroom floor these days)
[Reply]
I am so sorry you went through this. It is so difficult to ask for help because, yep, we are all “superwoman” – or at least we are trying to be.
Same thing happened to me – I had what turned out to be a raging sinus infection that totally went untreated because I was too “tough” to go get help. My head was in agony, I was trying to get through school, I was a single mom with a 2 year old sleeping in bed with me because I was too exhausted to fight with him. I could handle it all….so I told myself anyway!
Then (as 2 yr olds do) he was wriggling around and we bumped heads. The agony was too much on top of everything else. I sobbed and sobbed and he felt so terrible and was so upset. Then I felt even worse and sobbed some more!
Like you, I HAD help living with me! My brother was downstairs! He finally heard my sobs and came up and asked me if I was OK! He was there for me, and I didn’t ask. He called our mom about me, and they ended up taking care of my son while I got some overdue rest! I didn’t ask her either!
We all do it to ourselves don’t we? I hope you feel better and that you are able to ask for help next time!
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Yikes Kelly – do you even HAVE an askus requestus? Perhaps you misplaced it – or accidentally flushed it?
Well, glad to read you are on the mend.
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 6:43 pm
@ami | 40daystochange, I do! I really DO! I just left it in my purse. I think.
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My askus requestus muscle has serious atrophy too. Since my daughters kidney transplant I haven’t asked for much of anything from anyone. It was hard to ask for help through all of that.
Hope you are feeling better my wife had something similar last weekend but she is pregnant so it could just be that.
hope this weekend is a good one!
Justin
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Ah yes. Asking for help. I believe that we’re all guilty of the superhero complex at some point or another. It’s an easy trap to fall into. I do it all the time.
Added note: your girls are amazing: strong, intelligent, and articulate. I hope that when I have babies that they turn out at least a little bit like yours. <3
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(a) I had food poisoning in March. Also from a turkey sandwich. NEVER. AGAIN. I threw up on the street outside Starbucks at rush our. Klassy.
(b) You are making me laugh even as I wipe tears of affection and empathy from my eyes
(c) I totally relate. Was at the ER alone (husband traveling) all night long with my newly diagnosed peanut allergic son in anaphylactic shock and his traumatized sister without ever thinking of calling my mother who lives half a mile away. She was pissed. I was wondering why it never occured to me.
(d) I look forward to learning askus requestus exercises from you.
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My best friend has this problem. She will do anything for anyone but has trouble asking for help. This summer she started building her art studio- we had spent years talking about it and dreaming together about what it would look like, and even buying things at thrift stores that were going to “be prefect for your studio someday”. So here it was happening and she was doing it all herself, getting tendinitis from hammering, etc – “I know you’re busy”and “I can do it myself” she would say when I complained that she hadn’t called for help.
Finally she saw the light when I told her this story, which I heard from the phenomenal Jan Phillips:
Jan was in India in a small village where they were building a school. They were making cement for the walls and to do this they had a line of all the people from the village from the banks of the river up to the building site. The person at the river would take a small container, fill it with sand from the bank and then the container would be passed from person to person up the line.
Jan was in the line helping, and as they worked under the hot sun she noticed a small tractor and truck sitting idle not too far away. Jan was getting very hot and uncomfortable, so she said to the woman next to her, “This is crazy, why don’t we just go get that tractor and use it to fill up the truck with sand and the drive it up there? It’ll be so much easier and faster instead of all of us baking in the sun here.”
The woman looked at her and said, “You don’t understand, every person in this line wants to be here. When this school is done they want to be able to walk by and say- I helped build that. And they want to tell their children and grandchildren about the day they helped build the school. If we use the tractor and trailer, we will be robbing them of that joy.”
So whenever I dismiss asking for help, I think of how much I like to help others, and I realize that it is not my right to rob others of that joy.
(ps, I notice in my coaching practice a strong correlation between people who have trouble saying no and people who have trouble asking for help. Once you can trust yourself to say no, you can trust other people to say no if they need to and then it will get easier to ask.)
[Reply]
Kelly Diels
replied:
on February 5th, 2010 at 7:14 pm
@Lianne, this is a wonderful, meaningful story that doesn’t deserve to be buried in the comments. Please cut and paste it immediately into your blog. It is so good, Lianne. You are a gentle force of reckoning.
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oh, sugar. i wish i lived closer. we’d go to the mat every day as workout buddies strengthening our askus requestus muscle. we would.
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I so appreciate this post Kelly – I’ve seen my equally ignored bathroom floor from this angle – although it was pre-kids – and I felt your push and pull there. Nothing like actually wanting your pillow next to the throne.
For some reason, I can understand not asking for help at that point. I can imagine your small team huddled around you – taking care of their captain. When you’re that yucky, you sort of have a one track mind anyway…
Can’t wait to dig into your files and see what else I can find – I really enjoy your writing… good luck to you.
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