Phenomenal Cosmic Powers... Itty-Bitty Living Space

I had the amazing good fortune to see Shane Koyczan perform yesterday. Being eight months pregnant, I naturally was openly weeping during several of his poems, and I had some lasting impressions from the performance. What made me weep was a part of a poem that described our determination and inability to go it alone. I’ve been grappling with this idea for a few months now.

When David and I moved here ten years ago, we didn’t have kids. We didn’t own a house. In other words, we had stacks of disposable income and were completely portable. It didn’t really matter then that we didn’t have any family around. If we wanted to see our family, we could just go visit. There was rarely an occasion when we needed help from our families. We were pretty darn self-sufficient.

Now I find it integral to try to build a community around me. After Marcus came along, I had times of loneliness. All of my friends worked full-time, and I missed being around grown-ups. I felt self-conscious trying to make friends at mommy groups. With Skyler, I was way more experienced. If I saw a lady I figured I’d get along with that had kids the same ages, I’d sidle right up to her and start a conversation. It was like dating again. I’d test the waters by asking about her kids, and then I’d casually invite them over for a play. And, just like dating, there were rebuffs. I’ve given my number to a few mommies that never called—totally uncomfortable when you run into them again at the playground. They’re all, “You know, I meant to call,” and then I have to be all, “Well ya, you’ve probably been pretty busy...” and then I’d pretend Marcus was calling and go running over to him. Soooo awkward. I’m not ashamed to say I’ve given my number out to dozens of mommies. I did make one super-good friend from it, and our kids absolutely love each other. They ended up moving back to the mainland but we’re still quite close and see each other every month or so. And even though the mommy-dating was anxiety-provoking, I would and probably will do it all again. We need people around us. We need to share our experiences and joy and sadness. We need to feel like we are part of something bigger than ourselves. We need support.

Now that we have kids, every once in a while there comes a time when we realize that life would be a lot easier if we had family close by. Every once in a while there is a daycare emergency or an emotional meltdown that knocks us over. We have plenty of friends in Nanaimo, but I’ve started thinking that maybe that’s not quite the same thing.

We don’t ask friends for help. Well, maybe we ask for help moving, or we ask for someone to babysit for a couple of hours, but we don’t ask for help with the stuff that truly matters. The stuff that knocks us on our asses on a Thursday morning and leaves us gasping for breath and sobbing uncontrollably. I don’t ask for help; at least, I didn’t ask for help when I found myself hopelessly overwhelmed at work and unable to function like a normal human being. I didn’t tell my co-workers I was having a really hard time. I didn’t approach my principal and tell him that I felt like I needed some support. I didn’t phone up my best friends for advice or coffee or hugs. I was barely able to explain to my husband when I had reached my lowest point. I don’t know if I was feeling too proud, or too shy, or if I even knew what was happening before it happened, but it occurs to me now that perhaps if I had asked for help I may have received some. And that may have made things feel better. I’ve just now come to the realization that pregnancy is hard! Pregnant women become overwhelmed because it’s hard! And it’s not the outward physical changes that make it so, although those don’t help; it’s the crazy hormonal nonsense that completely alters your personality. It only took me three pregnancies to come to this astounding revelation. Come to think of it, life is hard, pregnant or not. Most of the time, things go along wonderfully, but every once in a while, it floors you. We spend so much time feeling all alone in it, we don’t even think to look around and consider that other people may be, or may have been, wallowing in the same difficulties. Because we don’t ask for help.

At my last appointment my midwife gave me a phone number of a lady that’s been having a really hard time at work. The lady is a new teacher and this is her first pregnancy, and she has been feeling so overwhelmed that she’s been considering giving up on the profession. I found it somewhat ironic that my midwife thought I could give her some advice seeing as I’m on leave right now, but then I realized that I could give her advice. I knew that I had been having a really rough time because I was pregnant, and I also knew that when I eventually return to work, I’ll feel better about it. I’ll be able to cope again, because I’m a very capable person and I’ve never had this problem before. I know with certainty that pregnancy has left me completely vulnerable. I was able to phone this lady and give her what advice I could, but only because she reached out.

We have a tendency to want to do everything for ourselves. We live within our family unit and rarely pause to poke our heads out of our family shell. We cocoon-parent. We isolate ourselves. We pride our independence and capabilities and ability to do it all, all the time. When bad times fall upon us, we feel ashamed if we can’t handle it. We feel that it will inconvenience somebody else if we ask for help. That’s what help is, really, is an inconvenience. Nobody asks you for help when you’re lazing about the house, bored out of your mind and wondering what to do with your day. They phone you on a day when you’re running behind, you need groceries, and the laundry is piled up to your neck. And sometimes our initial reaction to that phone call is our gut reaction—I simply can’t help you because I’m too busy. It’s not selfish--it’s thoughtless; it’s a reaction based on the fact that most people are already operating at maximum capacity. To help somebody else means to sacrifice some very important thing that you were going to take care of. It takes a few minutes, or even hours, to adjust to the idea that plans can change. Maybe it’s best to ask for help on the phone, and then pretend to become disconnected. Give the person time to adjust to the idea and let them save face by not having to answer right at that moment. Of course, that could backfire—it could give them time to think up a skookum excuse.

I’ve had an eye-opening past couple of days. I always thought of myself as a helpful person, but the other day when my friend asked me for help, I had that gut reaction. I can’t possibly help you because I can barely take care of myself right now. My family needs me right now. My kids are my first priority. I’M PREGNANT!!! The more I thought about my excuses, the more I realized that all of those things are true, but that doesn’t change the fact that my friend needs my help. And right now, her problems are a little more immediate than mine. Of course I will help her! That’s what friends do. We help each other when asked or not. We take care of each other. We provide support. You have to have faith in the system for the system to work. That means, you have to be willing to give and ask for help.

Just so you all know, I’m good right now. I don’t need anything. But I do have a baby coming in a couple of months, and if you’re not busy, and if you have some extra time, and if your own life is looking pretty easy, or perhaps if you’re just lazing about the house, maybe you could drop by and lend a hand... I may need some support. I might not be able to ask for it.