To Receive is Active

I love when I read a book or blog post and it feels as though the author is my long, lost soul sister. When it feels like the very words on the page were written just for me. When it is as if the author is looking into my soul with a flashlight, seeking those dark corners where I tuck away my shame, thinking if I bury it deep enough, no one will know it is there. When that author gently tugs away her carefully constructed facade as an invitation for me to do the same – reminding me that I am not alone in my struggles.

Every time I read something that speaks to me in this way, I’m amazed. Amazed that I’m not the only one that feels a certain way, or questions myself, or wonders if I can possibly keep it all together. Throughout my life, I’ve carefully crafted stories around my own insecurities and have convinced myself that everyone else has it ‘figured out’. I convince myself that if I just try a little harder, I can banish these shortfalls forever and be more like everyone else.

I have a list of authors that speak to me in such a way. Susie Caldwell Rinehart in her book Fierce Joy did just that. Page after page I found myself nodding. Nodding, almost spasmodically, because I kept seeing myself in her stories. I felt a sense of relief as I was reminded that what we see of most people is just a carefully constructed facade, but underneath we’re all fighting the same battles of fear. I found myself wiping tears away as she bared her soul and shared her story.

I was stopped dead in my tracks as she delved into the idea of asking for and receiving help. The book is a story of transformation. After years of hustle, Rinehart was diagnosed with a tumor on her brainstem. This obviously threw a serious curveball in her life and forced her to both ask for and receive help.

While most of us haven’t had a brain tumor halt life as we know it, many of us have experienced some sort of moment where we must ask for help. I think many of us down play these moments where a call for help could be warranted. We almost feel that we must have something monumental like a brain tumor or the death of a child to reach out.

But I’m a prime example that monumental event or not, asking for help is hard. I’ve had small moments in my life, in my career, in my time as a parent or wife, when asking for help would have made things easier. I’ve had that monumental event of the accident and losing Rylie, when asking for help wouldn’t have caused anyone to blink and eye. In fact people were coming out of the woodwork to offer help.

But here’s the thing – the degree of need whether a simple word of advice or a massive coordinated effort to care for Tanner while we cared for Rylie in the hospital is irrelevant. Asking for help requires us all to be vulnerable.

For some, just asking for help is hard, but once it’s done the relief of receiving help outweighs the pain of putting ourselves out there. For others, like me, asking for help is just the first hurdle. It’s probably the biggest because it means outwardly admitting that I don’t have it all under control. It means feeling like I am weak because I can’t power through it on my own. The next hurdle comes with receiving the help.

This is where Rinehart stopped me in my tracks.

Let that sink in for a moment…

This idea of giving and receiving as relationship takes me back to my school years. The years when I was forced to be in a group with several other people to do a project that had high stakes for our grades. In just about every group, there was a “Meghann” also known as the control freak, or person who feared getting anything less than an A. This also meant that in nearly every group, the “Meghann” did all of the work. This person was the giver. Always working his / her butt off to ensure the best possible outcome.

Now I could probably do fifty sessions with my counselor on this example alone, so we won’t dig in too far, but that’s where my mind goes when I think of giving and receiving as a relationship. There’s one person that is active – the giver – making sure that the project is done just so. Meanwhile everyone else just sits back and passively ‘receives’ the A.

In a way, this memory is an example of relationship. Two or more beings are connected, but in this case maybe not in the most desirable way.

As I’ve gotten older the word relationship has taken on a different meaning. Relationship, for me, is something longed for. It indicates mutual respect. It hints at dedication. It involves a willingness to dive deep and love unconditionally.

When I consider that definition of relationship and add in the idea of giving and receiving, I’m again stopped dead in my tracks. I naturally default to my group project days and always want to “do”. This pretty much means that I think I must always be “giving” and “doing” for others.

As I read, I thought of moments in life when someone has offered to help me do something simple like clear the table or wash the dishes. My first response is always, “No worries. I’ve got it.” Deep down, I have a skewed belief that I must always be serving others. I tell myself that it would be a sign of weakness or disrespect to accept help.

Never before reading Rinehart’s words did I consider how not accepting the help that is offered as what is truly disrespectful. If I am ‘in relationship’ with someone, we should both be invested in each other. It means that there are moments of give and take for both of us. When I refuse help from someone that I care about, it’s as if I am dismissing them as a being who wants to invest in me.

Of course this is not my intent, but it is in essence what I say when I refuse help. Reinhart points out that it is a “necessary half” of the relationship. It is what actually “strengthens relationships.” Mind. Blown.

I literally had to put down the book and stare blankly at the ceiling while I let the idea sink in. I thought about the simple times that I’ve refused help. I wondered about who may have walked away from that situation and felt like someone less simply because I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, humble myself enough to accept it. I thought about the accident / hospital time when I was just too consumed with other things to really actively accept or decline help. When people just made things happen.

While that’s not exactly an “active” form of receiving, it was at least not actively resisting the help. In those instances, people just wanted to do something. They wanted to show their support and love for us. So they acted. They acted in big ways – coordinating someone to clean the house. They acted in small ways – making a card, or sending a silly text.

Each time they offered help or support it was their way of offering a little of their heart. For the most part I assume that help was offered because their hearts were leading. They just wanted to love us and love us well. They weren’t thinking about a quid pro quo. They weren’t expecting that we’d pay back the help. In fact because of the momentous nature of the situation, the thought of ‘owing’ people for their help never crossed my mind.

I was in such a state of need, the only thing I could do was accept love. So I did so openly (or at least openly for me…). As I reflect on that time, I’m realizing I could have actively received more than I did. By default, I did refuse things here and there, but I accepted more than I would have in a ‘normal’ situation.

What’s crazy to me is that qualifier I put on when it’s ‘okay’ to accept help. During the accident / hospital time, I decided it was more ‘okay’ to accept help. However, on any given Tuesday, when a friend offers take Tanner to hockey, or my mom offers to put away the leftovers after a shared meal, I balk. I don’t think it’s okay to accept help in that moment. I suddenly see it as a judgement.

That’s what I love about Rinehart’s statement though. It’s a challenge. She’s challenging me to throw away that conditioned response. She reminds me that whether it’s a trivial or monumental situation, we can actively choose to receive. We can honor the relationship and the person offering help by actively accepting their love. Accepting help is not a reflection on our abilities or our worth. It is simply a reflection of the way we value each other.