Doing it Myself
an article by Kelly Love Johnson for skirtmag.com
I recently rented the Sandra Bullock film, 28 Days. The movie was okay, but what really struck me about it was just one scene. Sandra's character (the alcoholic/drug addict who is in the rehab program) gets a sign hung around her neck by her counselor as "punishment" for jumping out of a window after her Vicodins. The sign read: "Confront me if I don't ask for help."
Hating to blatantly steal from Oprah, but not knowing any other words to describe the feeling - the sign was an "aha" moment for me. "Aha - that sounds familiar." "Aha - I know how she feels." And "Aha - I need one of those myself."
I've always been independent - sometimes fiercely so. I had my first job at age 15. Moved out of my mother's house at barely 17. Sometimes I had a roommate, but much of the time I lived alone. I took out my own trash, bought my own groceries, cleaned the house, took my car in for oil changes, framed my own pictures, mowed my own lawn - everything that needed doing, I did it.
And at some point, I began to resent it.
Sick, with the flu and 102-degree fever, I drove to my doctor's office, to the pharmacy for my prescriptions, to the grocery store for orange juice and canned chicken soup. Back home, I nursed myself back from a combination flu and pity party. Why did I resent doing this on my own? Why was I feeling sorry for myself?
I had friends then, I have friends now, but I wouldn't think to call one of them and ASK for help. Not that they wouldn't be at my door in five minutes. They would. But then I would be ASKING FOR HELP.
Even when I was in a long-term relationship, I preferred the role of martyr to asking my significant other for help. He was present, but I took all the hard stuff on myself. Calling the cable company because there was an error on our bill? Me. Finding a new place to live? Me. Getting a second job when we were behind on our finances? Also me.
It wasn't easy. The feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction never outweighed the resentment I felt at having to carry the heaviest load. With my friends, asking for help would be like admitting I couldn't manage my own life. I pride myself on being the strongest one in the bunch, the boldest, the one who walks into a restaurant and asks for the best table, the one who knows how to whistle for a taxi, the one who makes her own plane reservations, installs a new shower head, and re-wires her VCR to her stereo - all in one weekend.
What could I tell them, even on my best days, to make them understand? That driving my car has become a task of such great difficulty that I begin to dread it while still in the shower in the morning? That I am often overwhelmed in the middle of the night by feelings of panic thinking that I have forgotten to do something/call someone/mail something? That sometimes I cry over my to-do lists?
From my perspective, being independent meant that I should be able to handle all of this - and more. Asking for help, even for someone to listen, is admitting failure. I lose the independence contest, no prize for me at the end.
Not too long ago, a dear friend of mine who was getting ready to turn 39 told me she had scheduled her first mammogram. I asked her if she was nervous. "Maybe a little," she'd said. I asked her if she wanted me to go with her to the appointment. She got the strangest look on her face, then tears in her eyes. "That's the nicest thing anyone has offered to do for me in a very long time," she said, hugging me.
I got it. She was like me. I think if someone offered to do something nice for me, I'd probably burst into tears. I've pushed people away for years. I don't want to be perceived as weak, yet I want help. See the Catch-22 here?
I don't think it's too late. I'm going out right now to get some cardboard and magic marker. I'm going to make a sign for my neck - "Confront me if I don't ask for help" - and start wearing it around the house and maybe just up to the mailbox. When I feel more comfortable, I'll start wearing it out of the house more - to family gatherings, to dinner with friends, to classes I'm teaching, to appointments. It worked for Sandra, maybe it can do something for me.
-Kelly Love Johnson