When I was younger
(So much younger than) so much younger than today
(I never needed) I
never needed anybody's help in any way
(Now) But now these
days are gone (These days are gone), I'm not so self assured
(I know I've found)
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors
When I was seven I
really wanted to be a singer. Specifically a singer in the junior
choir at my Church. I would watch the choir in their white gowns ,
sounding like angels and want nothing more than to be one of them. I
wanted it more than anything. I was determined to get to wear the
white gown and sing just as sweetly. At first I was told I was too
young but when the choir director realized I could read well, I was
allowed to attend my very first choir practice. I was so excited! I
still remember the song that we learned...”thank you for giving me
the morning, thank you for every day that's new...” I was so happy
leaving that practice, I had sounded just like an angel too. The
next Thursday I went to another rehearsal and I just knew I was a
singer now.
Two days later my
Mom had to explain to me that I was basically getting kicked out of
the choir. I guess “kicked out” is slightly extreme but I was
being asked to either leave, get one-on-one lessons or, most
humiliating of all, lip sync. I was heart broken. I was so sure that
I sounded like Debbie Gibson when I sang, how could I have it so
wrong? I still remember sitting in the Church pew the following
Sunday and watching “my” choir file in, wearing their white choir
gowns and singing “Thank you for music, light and gladness. Thank
you for them all.” And I cried. I don't think my family noticed as
my sister was in a white gown sounding like an angel after all, but I
sat there feeling so inadequate.
Somehow, my little
seven year old self became very determined. I spent every free minute
of every day, singing (badly!) I would sing along to Heart for hours
and then record myself singing the same chorus on my cassette player
(my apologies to anyone who at this very minute had to Google both
“cassette player” and “Heart”....) “These dreams go on when
I close my eyes...” I quickly realized that I what I heard in my
head when I sang and what the rest of the world was being forced to
hear twere two very different things. As much as I hated to admit it,
my choir director was right. I was cats-in-heat,
nails-on-a-chalk-board, ears-bleeding bad.
That summer after my
8th birthday taught me a lot of things. First, I learned
that I was indeed a terrible singer, tone deaf would be an
appropriate description in fact. Second, the bathroom truly does have
the best acoustics in the house. Third, practice may not lead to
perfect, but it does lead to improvement. By the end of that summer I
wasn't sounding spectacular, but I was sounding a little less like
Igor trying to sing along to Skidrow and a little more like Phoebe
singing “Smelly Cat.” It was progress.
I did go back to
choir practice that fall and I'm happy to announce that I did not
kicked out or put on lip syncing duty. I sang quietly at first and
listened carefully, continuing to practice constantly on my own. I
was never going to be Whitney Houston but at least I was less
embarrassing and most importantly, I got to wear my very own white
gown in front of the church weeks later. (Fun fact: I did proceed to
rip that gown a few weeks after that. Sadly, no amount of singing
could erase my Lisa-ness.)
What strikes me as
odd when I look back on that time, is not my music selections or my
obsession with singing (I'm always obsessing over something..) But
rather my need to figure it all out ON MY OWN. What kid finds
themselves in a sad and disappointing situation and proceeds to just
take care of it on their own, asking for no help from adults or
friends? I was offered singing lessons and turned it down. My sister
was in the choir, I could have asked her for help, and yet I didn't.
The stage was already set, wasn't it? I was going to be painfully
independent, “don't worry, I've got this” Hawkins, for the rest
of my life.
Recently a good
friend pointed out to me that I've created a life where I never ask
for help so when I need it, no one realizes it. Apparently I've
convinced the world (and myself) that I have everything under control
and really don't need anyone for anything. And I know that I'm not
alone in this. Many of us put on our “badass” persona and make
the world believe that we are handling everything just fine. Ne help
needed at this time.
It reminds me of a
time when I was a kid and broke my foot and refused to have it looked
after. I wouldn't see a doctor (until I got tricked into it) and
proceeded to refuse any help while it healed. Some will say it's
because I'm stubborn, and others will relate it to my fear of
hospitals (which is partly true) but my personality really doesn't
allow myself to accept help very well. I have hundreds of stories
just like that where I clearly needed help and rather than asking for
it or even accepting it, I just trudged along on my own.
This behaviour gets
you labeled as “tough” or “independent.” You seem
impermeable, indestructible. And for me, I think wanting to take care
of things on my way, in my own way is built into my personality and
not learned behaviour, or “nurturing” for you mental health
people. This is clearly marked on my DNA and how I stormed into my
little world. “Just relax folks, I've got this” could perhaps be
inked onto me somewhere. I realize for others, however, it's a little
less innate and a little more “learned.” After years of asking
for help and getting shot down, accepting help only to have it thrown
in your face, receiving help with the expectation of payback and then
some... eventually leading to just taking care of everything, all the
time because it was just easier, less painful with less risk.
The irony is that
“goin' it alone” isn't strong behaviour at all. One of the
hardest things we have to do in life is to ask for help sometimes. In
some cases it is for the big stuff; an addiction, a health issue, a
fear. In other cases its for much smaller things, like a drive to the
garage or accompaniment to a dance. It is hard to put yourself out
there and risk rejection. It's also hard to accept help. For me, it's
hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that someone could know
about a weakness of mine and still want to help me through it. It's
almost too humbling to bear.
The positive part of
this lifestyle is that I'm completely independent and hold autonomy
over how I react to everything that goes on around me. I don't have
to trust anyone with anything – ever. I don't exhaust the people
around me (well in regards to helping me, I am clearly exhausting in
many, many other ways!) and I'm able to give back to the people I
love and community I live in quite easily. Unfortunately, the
negative parts are becoming more and more evident to me lately.
With no risk, comes
no gain... If I don't risk it, actually trust someone with something
in my life, will I always be just a little stuck? Plus the longer
life goes on where I don't ask people for help or accept help when
it's offered means that I create a system whereby I exhaust myself in
the giving. I can't even blame anyone for this situation I find
myself in, except for myself. I'm more comfortable helping others
than being helped (by a long shot!) so it's easier though more
detrimental.
When I need help
does anyone notice? If I actually muster up the nerve to say it
out-loud, does anyone really hear it? When people offer help 20 times
and I turn it down, do I have any right to ask for a 21st?
Would it matter really or would people just think, “Oh that Lisa is
tough as nails, don't worry about her.” It's a terrible cycle
really. Not only have I built a life that leaves me playing a
superhero in my own life but also I have possibly become someone who
can't properly accept help even if I do receive it.
I can assure you
that I didn't build this life intentionally, this whole business is
only becoming real to me now. I sure wish I had realized this about
10 years ago. I still don’t know if I could have changed a lot but
at least I would have been more aware and possibly rethought some of
my decisions and forced myself out of my comfort zone. For example,
last year when I was hauling a very heavy air conditioner out of my
house and 2 separate men stopped to help me. The correct thing to do
would have been to accept some much needed assistance. What did I do?
I grinned and suggested that I was completely fine while my lower
back was screaming, “for pete sakes Hawkins, take the help, take
the frigging help!”
I suspect this is
partly an issue for us Type A personalities. Sometimes however, it's
much bigger than that. It's the kind of thing that harms us
physically and emotionally as the bottom inevitably falls out. It's a
pace and level of expectation that can only be sustained for so long
until life starts unraveling like skin on an onion... we snap at the
people we love, we stop sleeping, we avoid the things we usually
love, we get sick, we stop recognizing ourselves in the mirror...
One way or another, the universe will force us to accept help from
others no matter how much we fight it. The key is to keep people
around long to be there for those huge, walls-closing-in moments.
I have a prediction
and I will eat my shoe if I'm wrong (well my flip flop...) I predict
that there is not
one person reading this right now who doesn't need
help with something that they haven't mentioned to anyone. By
default, that means that we all have people in our lives who need
support and/or help right this minute but are staying silent about
it.
The thing about
letting people help you (and by “you”, I mean “me”), it
changes things for the better. You just never forget the people who
helped you through the really tough times in life and you never
forget the people you were able to help. Sharing a burden not only
lessens the load but it also forces you to trust someone with part of
you. And is there anything more self-less than putting your own life
on hold a for a few minutes to help improve someone else's?
The toughest people
you know, aren't always the strongest, they may just be the people
who hide their “stuff” best...
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