I recently spilled the last few drops of a Red Bull on the keyboard of my computer. As someone who has previously spilled both water and acetone on my keyboard, I admit, I have not learned my lesson.
Instead of seeking out one of my many tech savvy friends or my roommate’s advice, I chose to “fix it” myself. This resulted in my broken key shifting from slightly sticky and annoying to effectively broken.
I’ve now had two appointments with Apple, which is a humiliating explanation itself, and still have yet to find a solution. Why couldn’t I have swallowed my pride and asked for assistance before I ripped the return key off myself?
I tend to interpret the offer of assistance as a personal offense and an attack on my own capabilities. When someone offers their aid out of pure care, I can’t help but feel it reflects a sinister revelation of their internal assessments of me or a concession that communicates, “I don’t think you can do this alone.”
This past summer, I refinished a dresser. I made trips to Home Depot, laid down all the tarps and hand-sanded every inch of the wood in my intensely hot garage. One of my friends came to spend time with me throughout this process, and I was insulted when he offered his help.
I was so angry that he — in my mind — had reduced me to someone incapable of managing a physically strenuous task on my own. It felt like a betrayal, as if someone who knew me well had turned on me.
There is something so repressive about accepting — or worse — asking for help. It is the antithesis of the sentiment that has so often come to my head: “I don’t need anyone, and I can handle myself alone.”
It is the consolation I told my parents when they expressed their worry about me going to college far away from them. It is what I tell my friends when they express their concerns about me taking on too much — and it is what I am always repeating to myself.
Do my displays of faux ease from strenuous labor make me more of a person? Does it make me more worthy of independence or respect? Logically, I can say, no. However, why does it feel that way? It’s an internalized fallacy: if I ask for help here, my request for independence won’t be respected there.
The question disrupted a scene in my kitchen the other day. There was an empty pitcher that needed to be filled, and my friend who offered to fill it with me. Obviously, I responded no — although it would have been much easier for him to fill and carry. I am not entirely sure where the desire to prove myself constantly comes from, but I was compelled to fill it and demonstrate my ability in front of him. He hadn’t meant his offering as an offense. He truly just wanted to help.
It made me sick to see the manifestation of a difference between us as two people who take the same classes. We have the same major, career goals and overall aspirations. In an academic setting, we are equals, but here — with the physical manifestation of our inherent differences staring back at me — it was obvious we were on different levels.
He would not have thought less of me had I accepted, and to be quite frank, his offer wholly had to do with his kindness and consideration more than anything else. He definitely would not have seen the through line that I created myself, but the act would have hung over me.
I think it’s here where the ideas of womanhood and femininity that I once rejected vehemently come back to haunt me. When I accept help, I somehow also accept the shameful and untrue correlation between femininity and inability. There were no mental faculties being assessed, nor a game of chicken being played when my friend offered to help me. It was a simple offer of support, and I rejected it.
Where is the line between self-reliance and stubbornness? It is not an all-or-nothing sentiment: you can be independent and still accept help from others.
I have a reductionist point of view — one that misinterprets a simple request for help for an admission of helplessness. There is neither a threshold nor a spontaneous transformation before and after accepting help. I know there is no spiritual shift by asking for assistance in carrying a heavy grocery bag, but rather, there’s a mental barrier to overcome.
It is easy to sacrifice community at the altar of independence, but it is much harder to remain confident in your ability when help is constantly accepted and when you acknowledge that nobody is capable of everything all the time.
So the next time I go grocery shopping, maybe I’ll ask someone to help me carry everything home.
