Yesterday I was getting stir crazy and the weather was beautiful so I decided I needed to get out of the house. I’m still not supposed to drive, because I can’t turn my head very well, and am not supposed to be lifting anything over 5 pounds, because of all of the internal stitches. Thankfully, we live within walking distance of Target and the Mall, if you don’t mind sneaking through a small break in the brick wall like a teenager and navigating a 2:1 slope that drops you neatly in the far reaches of the Target parking lot.
I had no sooner stepped out of the door before I was accosted by two of our neighbors, both of whom have retired. It’s a good thing, they look after us. Both of our neighbors were insistent that one of them drive me to Target,worrying that I would pass out at the store, or slip on the hill and twist my ankle, or just generally strain myself and they also worried that Craig would be upset if he knew they let me walk that far (2 blocks). I assured them over and over that I was fine and that I didn’t need a ride, and they worried that my purse alone was over 5 pounds (they were probably right).
Finally, we compromised and I set out for Target, walking, with a phone number in my pocket just in case I needed a ride. I assured them one last time that I was completely capable of a short little walk and that I did not need a ride to the store. And do you know what? I was right. I did not need a ride to Target.
I needed a ride home.
I realized as I was checking out that I was completely exhuasted, and I realized as I was halfway across the parking lot that my neck and face were throbbing and I felt a little whoozy. Did I call for a ride? I did not. Why? Because, as a two-year old would tell you- I could do it myself, and I suppose also because of pride.
I felt pretty stupid as I was telling Craig this last night, and I realized how hard it is to let someone else help. You would think it would be easy. But there is this thing about wanting to prove to everyone how capable I am and how tough, and how I can get by. It’s hard to admit when that isn’t true, and I know I’m not the only one. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve offered to help someone else and I’ve been brushed off politely.
So the moral of the story it, don’t be that person. Accepting help is a good thing. In fact, I intend to call up one of my neighbors today and get a ride to the grocery store, because I can now admit that I should not be driving over there, and I certainly could not walk over there. And I am strong and capable and I can do it myself, but just not today.