Life Rehab Resources | Open Space Practice, (AKA: A Thousand Shades of Gray)

ringo blue “helping” me do laundry

“I tried carrying the weight of the world, but I only have two hands.” ~ Avicii, song lyric from Wake Me Up

It’s hard for me to ask for help. I am the helper. I provide support for others. I fix all the problems, anticipate the needs. When I find myself overwhelmed, confused, unable to handle what is happening, I don’t reach out. I am convinced that I should be able to do everything myself.

Right now my life is difficult. I took on too much at once — a new project at work, a new puppy, a sick dog, and yoga teacher training. At the same time, I am still working with the grief from the loss of Dexter, and even Obi and Kelly before him, as well as deep sadness about other things. I’m also working with a therapist, trying to heal 30+ years of disordered eating, distorted thinking. Because I’m so busy, I haven’t been taking care of my body like it needs. I feel weak and tired, sluggish. I’m convinced I am failing, making a mess of things even though I am trying so hard, doing the best I can.

A few times on Facebook, I requested support. I was asking specifically about raising a puppy, needing to hear from people just how long things would be this hard. I’ve done it three other times, but am suffering from some sort of amnesia about how this works, and keep getting stuck thinking this is how it’s always going to be, that the difficulty will never end. But every time I post about it, ask the question, it seems like people don’t take it seriously and end up either joking with me or offering more general encouragement. This helps, but I am desperate for a timeline. When will this ease up?

So I asked for help directly. Stacy Morrison is an online friend. We’ve never met in person, but follow each others blogs as well as being connected through other social media, and have developed a friendship that way. We have a similar way of seeing the world and are working with similar struggles. She also just so happens to have a six month old puppy, a Lab/Terrier mix, so I knew she would still remember, be able to give me an answer. I reached out.

Her response was immediate, direct and compassionate. What she said didn’t change the specifics of my situation, but I immediately felt better about it. The support she offered made all the difference. And all I’d had to do was ask.

There is no shame in needing help. There is no shame in weakness, illness or sadness or confusion. There is no shame in being overwhelmed and not knowing what to do. We don’t need to hide our broken hearts, our struggle, our suffering. Telling the truth, being vulnerable is how we access the support we need, is how we heal. We can start by admitting we can’t do it all ourselves, that we can’t fix or handle everything that comes our way.

Go ahead, kind and gentle reader. Say it with me: I need help. Can you help me?

I had an idea for what I wanted to write about today, but then a puppy happened. I don’t know if you’ve ever had a puppy, or a baby or anyone else in your life that needed constant attention and care, but when you do that’s pretty much all that can happen. The days you manage some self-care in addition to their care, like showering and eating, count as success. I am lucky and have help, an amazing co-parent who has made room for me to meltdown, to freak out a little, to feel disappointed because of my unrealistic expectations, to struggle and suffer in a confusion of my own making, to give me a break when I need it, but it’s still hard and requires effort, time, focus.

The only reason I can write this is because Ringo is in his crate napping. I feel so lucky to have this time, the calm, the sweet and soft of these moments to counter the ones when he’s feeling punky, fussy, tearing at my clothes, trying to nurse on me, frustrated and crazed, caught up in his baby brain which wants what it wants and has to have it right now.

Sam needs me too. He tore up his accessory carpal pads showing off for Ringo in the backyard (when the ground is frozen, it’s hard as rocks, and it’s happened one other time, is known as a “braking injury”) and we have him back on a higher dose of the nerve pain medication after another visit with the Neurologist. He also has a new little dude in his house who is getting a lot of attention, causing chaos, and Sam is a very sensitive dog. I am working on relaxing, trusting we are doing what we can for him, giving him a good life, but I sometimes feel like I’m failing him, failing all of it.

So that brings me to an essential life rehab resource: having reasonable expectations, knowing your limits and when you reach them taking a break, asking for help. Allowing what is happening in the moment, whatever arises, meeting it there, and constantly reconsidering “what is needed, what can I do in this moment, what support do I need?” For me right now this means relaxing my expectations, lowering the bar, only doing what absolutely has to get done. For now, I can only do what I can do, even though there’s a whole list of what “should” get done. I am aware that this time, when Ringo needs us so much to just get through a single day, is brief. Instead of wishing it away, rushing it, rejecting or regretting it, I can drop everything else and be here. This is practice, life — the willingness to meet what comes with an open heart.

But being in that here means being less in this space, skipping some things that would typically be happening. So if I seem distant, if I forget it’s Friday until late in the day and write my regular post late or skip it altogether, don’t take it personally, kind and gentle reader. It’s temporary. All of this is temporary — that’s the good news and the bad.