Asking for Help? Who, Me? Why Bother?
Here is a story from 129,000 years ago:
I was a new volunteer in the Kripalu ashram. The year was 1989. As I said, 129,000 years ago. My seva, or selfless service assignment was in the Household Department. Ours was:
- To change and make all guest beds.
- To clean guest toilets. Don’t ask.
- To vacuum long hallways that weren’t apparently dirty.
- To gather great life lessons from the wisdom of one’s relationship to endlessly long vacuum cords.
- And—Etc. To clean.
- To clean. Everything. Even if it isn’t dirty. I learned during my time in Household, it wasn’t dirty because we continued to clean it. Revelatory.
- And to grow spiritually.
I hadn’t done many physical jobs in my life. Wait. Let me ponder. Nope, come to think of it, I had zero relationship with physical work. I did work on a farm in the Catskills once. For one-half-day. My relationship to the prickly squash I was picking was irritating. And so was the constant bending over. Damn it, why didn’t anybody find an easier way to pick that squash?
Suffice to say, I hadn’t much of a relationship with physical work. This seva, this mirror into which I looked to learn and grow, this arm of karma yoga, the yoga of service, was new, oh so new to me.
It was a Sunday, our busy day. To accommodate the changeover in guest rooms, there were many a bed to be made. Our tiny yet committed team of 6 volunteers went down to the Brothers’ Dorm in the basement. (We called male guests, brothers. Ah, if only the men in leadership on the planet could act as brothers today). Our afternoon job was to change the bunk beds in the three dorms. I was already tired and anxious. I had no relationship with bunk beds in my life. No intimate bunk bed experience. None. Zippo.
It was afternoon. We had worked all morning cleaning the bathrooms. (Seriously, don’t ask.) I was always just over the edge of self-doubt. How do you clean a toilet? How do you vacuum? Our coordinator, Arpana who had been in the ashram a few years longer than us new kids, was with us, to organize and to support.
We walked into the first dorm, Room 342. It was a large dark room, very grey. A grey room. It smelled stale and strangely grey. Then! Then I noticed how many beds……The amount of bunk beds that greeted me was startling—I was unable to count them, although I continued to try.
Sixty beds? Thirty pairs? OMG.
I was always on the edge of self-doubt. Propelled wildly by my out-of-control people pleasing—I just wanted you to love me—I was committed, COMMITTED to being the best little bunk-bed-maker on the planet.
As Arpana started her explanation of the procedure, I could feel tension gripping my back. The procedure. The process. Everything in the ashram had a procedure, a process, a way of doing It. Whatever the It was. There was obviously a right-way to change the sheets on a bunk bed.
Her voice was level and calm, as she stood in the middle of the room. A short woman with a glowing abundance of curly dark hair, her exuberance was tempered by a touch of spiritual grace, I imagined. OH, if she loved me, then I would be okay.
I didn’t, couldn’t, wasn’t able to take in most of her explanation. I was too busy trying to figure out how to do it on my own.
She asked:
“Does anybody have any questions?” I certainly didn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
“Okay, divide into your pairs. Claim a section of the room. And let’s get going.”
I hopped onto the top bunk, ready to go. I looked down at the sheets to be replaced—oh! So complicated, a fitted sheet (bastards!) and a top sheet. Two damn sheets per bed. Oye. I felt my face flame. I didn’t know how.
It started with sniffles. The sniffing got caught in my chest and multiplied. One renegade sob broke loose, and I found myself heaving to contain the others, those sobs, wanting to exit my body. I lost the battle. I collapsed on the damn top bunk bed in Room 342, sobbing, with loud, chesty sobs growing in volume.
My sobs filled the room. Arpana came over, climbed up to join me, put her hand on my shoulder, to console me, only to intensify the sobs.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, with all the kindness on the planet.
Unable to talk, I managed syllables:
“I….do-n’t….kn—ow—h—o–w,” followed by a giant wail.
I will never forget her response:
“Of course you don’t know how. You’re not supposed to know how. We’re here to learn.”
Once spoken, this lifelong pattern of expecting myself to know what I don’t know, this pattern of trying to hide that from everybody and pretending I did know, flashed before me.
Things changed from that moment forward. Incrementally and slowly, of course. But insight shined its light.
Arpana called my teammates around me. They did a little prayer circle, extending their palms toward me, as my sobs slowed, as the snot coming from my nose lessened.
Their affirmation for me was:
“You, Aruni, you are learning how.
You, Aruni, you are learning how.”
I made those damn beds.
And I’m still learning.
It’s not over yet.
~~~
Asking for help is—?
Too hard?
Too revealing?
Too intimate?
My compulsive pattern of pushing through alone has followed me for decades and decades. It’s not gone-gone, but this is what I know to be true today—this is what I practice today—this is what I believe today:
- Permission to be human is fully granted by the universe.
- Not knowing how is inevitable and fine.
- Asking for help—still edgy for me—is a muscle I am slowly developing.
And you, dear friends.
Do you easily ask for help?
Do you push through alone?
What’s your relationship to getting and receiving support?
~~~
Music. Here’s a good one, and pretty dang relevant for these wild and wacky days—
One Love by Bob Marley
Featuring Manu Chao
Playing for Change
~~~
Here is a modified version of the Third Step Prayer from Anonymous Fellowships:
Please release us
From the bondage of self.
Take away our difficulties
Such that victory over them
Might bear witness to those
That we might help
Of Your Power,
Your Help,
And
Your Way of Life.
As best we can,
May we do
Your Will
Always.
May all beings benefit from our shared words.
Stay blessed,
Aruni
~~~
Time to Ask for Help?
Spring is here. Sort of.
Summer is coming. Eventually.
Much is shifting.
Unfolding.
Changing.
It’s a good time to ask for help.
Please consider Mindfulness Life Coaching.
You know me.
I know you.
Do you want to talk?