Help Me!

As a modern woman, no concept is more difficult for me to grasp asking for help.

Some things are fine. I can ask for a shoulder to cry on or a book to borrow without any worries. It is only when I enter the realm of the “manly” that my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth.

I am not a mechanically minded person, at all. I also have the world’s worst sense of direction. Yet I will not ask for help if my car breaks down, or if I am lost. I CAN DO IT MYSELF.

You may have seen me. I was the woman lugging the ridiculously large suitcase up the stairs of the Tube. You may have been shocked that none of the strong, able-bodied people walking past offered to help. They all did and I refused. I CAN DO IT MYSELF.

If I was to pass out at the top of those incredibly steep stairs, and if my 50 lbs. bag were to land on me, pinning my torso to the ground I would still likely refuse assistance.

“Thank you, but I’ve got it,” I would say through clenched teeth to the emergency services worker, “Your assistance is not required.”

I was born stubborn, but that is not the whole story. The things that bother me the most are the things that people used to take for granted that men could do and women could not. An irrational part of me thinks that by asking for help I am letting my side down.

I don’t feel like a failure for preferring words to numbers, or for hating sports. Yet asking my husband to open a jar is akin to holding my hand over a hot flame.

One of the wonderful things about feminism is that I don’t have to feel this way. By recognising our equality, we recognise that all people have different strengths and weaknesses.

One day I will be mature enough to turn to my fellow human being and ask for assistance, not as a woman but as a person. I CAN DO IT.