I am going through a rough patch. The
pain is intense and I am constantly exhausted (– what did you expect, which new
mother ever wasn't exhausted?). This doesn't exactly improve my mood. This fact
has, however, its good sides as it makes me finally admit a few things.
Help is a wonderful thing – under certain
conditions that is. For one it has to be you who gives the help (may you never
be in the position of the receiver) and second, it has to be given
unconditionally and wholeheartedly or else it rankles.
Now, my experience of help somehow
doesn't fit the above rules and therefore it is driving me mad.
When I first got ill I was told to be
careful not to become a burden for society. I had not even asked for any help
then, I had just stated my condition – including my intention to continue
working etc. What this taught me was an unnecessary lesson (I was thoroughly
schooled in coping by life): NEVER show any weakness, NEVER EVER ask for help.
Well, so far so good, I didn't ask for
help until a well-meaning member of humanity threatened me with sending in the
social worker if I wouldn't call her myself. This left me with not much of a
choice and so the social services were involved: Me telling them that, yes, I
am not feeling well, yes, there is a lot I can't do anymore, but no, there
isn't really anything they could do for me. They insisted to help (we got a
reduction on child care and, in theory, a wee bit of support for paying a
cleaner. As she was never paid by the council we ended up paying everything out
of our own pocket) – only to tell me later that I didn't really deserve their
help but why did I always think I had to do everything by myself and why couldn't
I get others to do more and why didn't I employ someone for some more cleaning…
Then came the question: why do you work,
you know you could get a disability pension – there are many who get it and
deserve it less.
Then I was told that I couldn't be
feeling too bad as I was working – only, on second thought I was looking rather
awful and if I really thought it ok to show up at work in such a state?
Finally I was told that I couldn't expect
a single person to be always my helper (mind you she insisted on 'helping') as
I obviously didn't really need her help anyway – and besides there were at
least three more ladies who would be delighted to share the burden with the
first one – only I never asked and therefore deprived them of the opportunity
of helping me.
Now, what do these episodes have in
common? For one they seem, at least to my addled brain, absolutely and entirely
contradictory or senseless and second, they are a perfect example for 'damned
if you do and damned if you don't' – if you pardon my French.
The short and the long of it is that if
you don't ask for help you are irresponsible and silly and have to be forced to
do the right thing. Then, having received the help you didn't want in the first
place, you have to apologize for it because you don't 'really deserve' it. On
the other hand, if you do ask for help you will have to apologize
afterwards again for the inconvenience you've caused or you have to give long
speeches to justify your need...
I hate being at the receiving end. I
prefer to bungle along on myself. So I can't always cook, so my children do
watch Fireman Sam a little too often because I can't always do much by
afternoon, so I do limp and walk very slowly when fetching my middle one from
kindergarten – so what. Nobody ever said that life has to be easy – I never
expected it to be. I cope and I do not appreciate well-meaning people making
life even more complicated than it is (nasty, isn't it – I'm such an
ingrate!).
For those who want to know why I work: I
work because I love my job, because it is one of the things I am physically
able to do, because it gives me satisfaction, because we need the money and
because it keeps me sane.
Before you ask, yes it is very difficult
to get up and even more difficult to put up a cheerful face when in pain and at
work and yes, I regularly cry from pain on my way back home but it gives my
life the semblance of normality and it's worth while – most of the time that
is.
