How blessed we? I did not sleep well last night. I have to stop eating like a teenager! We just completed Yoga for the Belly in which I was finally able to get into some semblance of a Dancer pose. Despite a slight uptick in my body weight due to some holiday festivity, yoga practice ever deepens. Today, in my exhausted state, was profound in that I was able to focus on my breath and the heat emanating from my body. Stopping the world of a sometimes tedious internal dialog in the process.
In the wee hours of the morning a realization occurred. I write in the introduction of my memoir “My Brother-in-Law’s Kitchen” about how self-sufficiency was baked into me by my not only my parents, but the world around me as well. It is a powerful value, especially here in the United States, this independence and rugged individualism. I praised it in my opening chapters, yet I am considering revising about how I feel by the end.
My realization this morning was that I never learned how to ask for help. Indeed, I came to feel that a question, any question, was a sign of weakness. Perhaps that’s why I was a very quiet child and young adult. This is not to say I never received help. I was the beneficiary of so much by people who came and asked me if I wanted some.
Certainly, there were times when it got to a point where it became evident to all that I was in dire need. People could see I was struggling and took the time, had the patience and generosity to offer assistance. There was not always a gracious response. Other times I was openly grateful and I mention many names of those people in my memoir. Yet the point of crisis is long past the time when I should have sought out assistance for myself.
Needless to say, this reticence to express my mental, physical, or spiritual distress had a tremendous detrimental effect on my development. Slowly I have been able to see how asking for and receiving aid is not a fault. It takes more strength to admit defeat and deficiency than it does to follow the age old fallacy of suffering in silence. I watched that suffering consume my father.
This may be a verbose letter of gratitude to all who check in regularly on me whether by text, phone, or a visit to this blog. Yet I will no longer wait to say “Thank you” all for being there.
Have blessed and safe holidays. Raise a glass to a better, brighter 2021!
