So, if any of you know me on a fairly personal basis, you know that I really despise asking other people for help. There really is no logic behind it, considering that I actually like it when people ask me for help with things, but somewhere inside my rather odd brain, a conversation along the lines of this takes place:
Me: I probably shouldn't do this by myself, I should definitely ask for help. . . who might be available to help?
Brain: Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don't want to do that.
Me: Yeah, I actually do, I need the help.
Brain: But, if you ask for help, you might inconvenience them, and they might resent you for that.
Me: That's silly. They're my friends, I'm allowed to ask for help.
Brain: But that makes you pathetic and weak.
Me: Crud, you're right.
And then I end up doing something I should have asked for help on.
There is a reason that "acts of service" is low on my love languages list.
And today, I had to switch dorm rooms, which meant lugging all of my stuff from third floor to first floor. Doesn't seem that difficult, right? Well, when you recently had surgery, and have been working to strengthen that shoulder, but have only achieved an 8 pound dumbbell, things get a little tricky. Which is why I had the above conversation with myself.
Luckily, I have some friends who know that I occasionally (okay, ALWAYS) talk myself out of asking for help and they offered it. Which was a huge blessing, and (sadly) extremely difficult for me to accept.
Well, after months of thinking I'm making this huge progress with my shoulder, and then suddenly being incapable of moving my own junk down two flights of stairs, my pride started to get injured, and I started to get stubborn. I began moving stuff I knew I shouldn't lift, I just didn't want to feel incompetent. My shoulder started to ache, and I ignored it, reminding myself that I didn't want to be pathetic. Stubbornly, I refused to take Advil until I started feeling a sharp stabbing pain towards the end of my scar. I finally broke down and took one of the stronger painkillers the doctor gave me when I reached the point that every stair was excruciating because it jarred my shoulder. But I didn't want to sit down or stop because I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn't pathetic.
Multiple people stopped me during those few hours of self-inflicted torture, to ask if I was okay and to ask if I needed help. And stupid, stubborn me told them I was fine and I didn't need help. Why? Because I didn't want to be pathetic in my own eyes.
I learned a few pretty important lessons tonight.
First, being stubborn comes with its own consequences, and I will probably experience those consequences for the next week.
Second, having limitations doesn't make you pathetic, it makes you human.
Third, real friends will not resent you for asking for help.
Fourth, I have a God who sends some pretty amazing and insightful people my way, who refuse to let me be too stubborn by telling me that I am going to learn to accept love in all the love languages including acts of service.
And finally, God always provides. He provided me help MULTIPLE times, I was just too stubborn to take it. I mean, He might as well have whacked me over the head with a brick that reads "Allow them to help, you idiot." But, silly, strange, and downright obnoxious human pride stopped me from accepting the help. And for what? To prove to myself that I could lift a box? To show myself I wasn't pathetic? Honestly, I feel like my stubbornness just made me even more pathetic. I was too prideful to accept the help I knew I needed, despite the fact that literally my entire body was screaming at me for what I was doing.
All in all, I learned my limitations, and realized that pride can make me a real idiot. I need to learn to humble myself enough to ask for the things I need. Like help dragging boxes down two flights of stairs.
Til Next Time,
CrazyGirl
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