When I was little, my mum told me that my phrase of choice was one of defiance, usually said behind my pigtails with my arms crossed.
“I can do it myself!”
As soon as I figured out how to French braid, I was always fighting for my independence. I could pick out my own outfits, tie my own shoes,and braid my own hair, even though I had to take breaks and let my arms rest. Before Beyonce was even wearing training bras, I already had the anthem for independent women down pact.
Fast forward 20-ish years, and I am writing this blog post four weeks into a dislocated kneecap injury, barely able to do stairs, sit properly, or even use the washroom without it being a full event, exhausting and overly dramatic. Since I injured myself a month ago, I have been stuck, trapped by my own injury. I've been stuck at home, needed help in and out of bed, been fed, taken care of, and been treated with kid gloves.
Now being the independent fool that I am, although I was grateful for all the help, I tried to do things myself. I got dressed, figured out how to bathe, and I even ventured out a few times. Of course this is when the Beyoncé in me gets kicked in the teeth. I ended up falling down some stairs and hurting my ankle, as well as hurting my knee again (I fell so hard I bent my brace) and putting a really nice dent in my pride.
After that nightmare, I was quickly swept up by my awesome parents, and taken back to my hometown where I hid away for a few weeks, being fed home cooked meals, watching Disney movies with my nieces, and consistently and comfortably medicated as needed. Although this sounds awesome to most, I have to admit, this was probably one of the lowest points I have ever hit in my 20-something years on this rock. I was officially helpless, unable to support myself, take care of myself. I had officially become more dependant on others than my 18-month old niece, and it sucked.
I had gone from paying my own bills, creating art and helping out my friends and peers, to being spun on my head and having others help me. I didn't like it. In fact, I still don't like it. I learned very early, from school, from people I have encountered, and from jobs that I have glad, that if you don't take care of yourself, no one else will. I am fully aware, especially with the amount of help I have had since I have hurt myself, that this is a load of crap, but it is programmed into my brain. Along with this, that brief stint in Catholicism in my youth has programmed me to help those around me and to lift them up if they are are down, or need help, in many way possible, because that is the good thing to do. Basically, I'm a dummy who doesn't know the concept of give and take.
So, once I got myself into this mess, I didn't really know how to process people offering their help. My logic was, if you wanted to help me out, my brain immediately believed that I was putting you out of your life and I was now a burden. AND GOD FORBID I WAS BEING HELPED BY SOMEONE ELSE. My brain couldn't handle it. Of course, any offer I received, I responded with the cordial "thank you for the lovely offer" or "you're too kind, but I should be fine", ignoring the fact that walking further than my couch to the toilet was exhausting and painful. It wasn't until I was blacking out and vomiting from the pain did I finally concede and allow someone to take care of me. In the end, it took a very painful stumble down some very painful stairs to knock some sense into me.
I have now been back in my own apartment for a full week, dropped off with clean laundry, a full fridge, and parents comfortable enough to trust that I won't fall down a flight of stairs again. I have only gone out a few times, and I have been cautious of time, weather, and finances, since all are now huge factors in my life. Since I've been back, I'm still struggling with the whole 'let people help you' thing. It's still an incredibly foreign concept to me. The fact that people are not only being nice to me, but offering their help, friends and strangers alike, is absolutely alien to me. I have started to accept it slowly, but having someone I have never met before offer their seat on the bus, or let me go ahead of them even though I am obviously slower than them, or offering their help is like watching a baby talk or a hamster strut in a tuxedo (that commercial weirdos me out).
I am still a ways away from being back to my normal self. I still have physio to start, as well as results to await, finding out if I screwed myself up worse than I thought, and need a scope, or, (bite my tongue) surgery. Until then, I will take things slowly, and I will learn to accept a hand and say thank you. I will learn to be weak and let someone else be strong for me. I will learn that I can't always do it myself, and letting someone help you is not only normal, but what people do. We help each other, we let ourselves be helped, and we accept defeat, no matter how proud we may be.
So this is where I say it, and I am incredibly grateful to be able to say it.
Thank you. Thank you to everyone that has helped me, thank you everyone that has offered help, even if I politely refused, thank you everyone that, wished me well, wished me luck, or even said hi and reconnected with me after all this happened. To be honest, being as isolated as I have been these 4 weeks, gestures as small as a Facebook post or a simple Instagram like on my silly Simpson day-to-day updates have meant more than you will ever know. I am getting better slowly. I am becoming my normal self slowly. And knowing that I have that support with every update, photo, and occasionally bummed out post means that I'm being supported the to the end, even if I'm not always ready to accept it.
I couldn't do this by myself if I tried, and I'm thankful for everyone who ignored me when I said I could.
-janeovison
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