This feels like the third rail of aging for many people. There are many, many fears of disability as we move into the larger-numbered years. And for sure, the ability to seek out and ask for help is among the most difficult things members of my family ever have done, even when we were young.
Yet, if you are lucky to live long enough, you will likely need to get help with everyday things. As a teeny-tiny prep, this post will explore the dynamics of asking for help and then offer a couple of low-load exercises to help you explore your own feelings about asking for help.
Two examples, from both ends of life
When my nephew was about 4, his parents taught him an incredibly hard but very useful lesson — to ask for help. He was an only child and had older cousins running all around him. And he had cerebral palsy. So his parents taught him that when he ran into a difficulty to just say ‘I need help’ and one of them would come to his aid.
I learned this one day he was staying with us. We were all leaving the house and dashing down our front steps. My nephew stood at the top of the steps and without any anxiety or frustration, he just shouted, ‘Aunt Jeni, I need help!’ We all swung around, delighted he told us (in truth, delightfully shocked he was so poised), and then we asked him what he could do to get down the stairs and filled in the rest.
At the other end of the age spectrum was my dad. When my dad was in his 80s, he was dealing with the fact that his wife had dementia. Their lives were turned upside down. He sat on the edge of the bed in his guest bedroom and simply said, ‘Jeni, I am depressed. I think that is what this is. And I am telling you because I think I need help.’
Two really distant ends of the scale. The first was a child exploring what was possible for him. The second was a older man who knew his new situation was beyond his capacity. But they both somehow waded through their frustration and made a direct request for help.
The mind of the asker
In order for both my dad and my nephew to ask for help, they needed to be honest about the NOW. Where are they NOW (e.g., at the top of the stairs, not knowing how to get down)? What is being asked of them? What are their capacities NOW (e.g., sleep-deprived and emotionally wounded)?
Other members of my family who were older often had a hard time being in the now. Either they assumed they had the physical strength they had at 30, or they read the ‘now’ situation wrong.
If you are a parent and your children are typical adults, a very common way to miss the now is to not notice that your children are grown and that you are no longer in the position of having to protect them from everything. Parents often remain in a protective stance towards their children and end up RESENTING children who show they can help because they see this as role-reversal. These parents have a hard time giving up the part of the parent role that is nested in the incapacity their children had when they were very young.
So you have to be ready to be in the NOW in a radical way. This can take a lot of work. It can mean you are no longer ‘head’ of the family in the same way. It can mean that younger workers are just faster and better at your job than you are. It can mean you see the oceans of time coming at you in a terrifying way.
Yikes! Stop already!
Notice your emotions when you begin to move into the now. You don’t have to do anything about them. Just notice them. They are just emotions. But they are real and they may be driving your unwillingness to ask for help.
The mind of the asked
What I appreciated so much about my dad and my nephew is that they were able to tell me exactly what they needed. I did not need to be confused. I did not need to stumble over offering them help in a way they found intrusive, and that may have truly upset them. They led the way.
The fact that they were in the driver’s seat liberated me to trust their judgment. I knew I would be called when needed. As a result, asking for help gave them MORE FREEDOM and more space to continue exploring their changing capacities.
It is always a dance between the helper and the helped. The helped need to draw their boundaries well, and these will likely shift from day to day. They need to keep the now right in front of their noses. It is very challenging.
The helper needs to be flexible and trust that the person who needs help will be honest with themselves. They, too, need to keep the now in front of their noses, but they also need to trust the person asking for help.
Some exercises
These exercises are just a chance for you to notice the emotions that surface when you ask for help, which is the beginning of asking for help when you need it and to do so with ease.
(1) Take help that you often refuse from a relative stranger. Perhaps this is for something you can easily do on your own, like taking groceries to your car, or shoveling snow from your front step. Ask a checkout person for help at the store or a neighbor for help with anything.
The important dynamic here is that you don’t actually need the help. What you want to explore is how the act of asking surfaces emotions that may surprise you. Just notice them, and perhaps later ask yourself where those emotions come from and whether they are helping you or keeping you from the NOW.
(2) Ask a family member or close friend for help, again, for something you would typically refuse. Maybe you ask them for help by bringing food for a dinner party or ask them to check on your garden when you are out of town. Make it something that is 5% uncomfortable for you.
And then just notice how that 5% uncomfortableness sits in you. What emotions surface? Are they helpful emotions or are they getting in the way?
Were they unable to help? Did they not ‘come through’? Notice your emotions here, too. There is so much to learn.
For many of us, asking for help is a brand new skill. Start small, start easy, stay in the 5% uncomfortable zone. Let the emotions surface, approach them with curiosity, and then let them go.
And congratulate yourself for doing this hard work. It will pay off big time when it really matters.