Don't Pity Me, Please

I do a lot of whining on this blog, so its kind of ironic that I'm asking you to not pity me. Most of my whining, though, is about petty stuff that you wouldn't pity me for even if I wanted you to like my son not wearing shoes (which he SUCCESSFULLY wore the entire drive to goddard today!!!) or not owning an iPad or other ridiculous things like that. So when I ask you not to pity me, its about the bigger stuff.

Remember when I wrote that I don't know why its so difficult for me to allow people to help? Remember how I said its not because I'm too proud, but because William is MY child and I don't WANT to give that part up? Well, I may not have been entirely right on why exactly it bothered me. I figured it out yesterday in a conversation I had with a coworker about how hard this separation has been on Austin.

Austin and I were married by Father Tom Day who has been a huge part of my family since I was born. Before he went to seminary his family attended the same church that we did, and his wife and my mom became instant friends when they realized they both had 2 toddler sons less than 18 months apart tugging on their legs. When Tom answered the calling to serve Christ as a priest they moved to Tennessee and then back to Texas where Tom is now a priest about 2 hours from Houston. The point here being that Father Tom knows me as well as almost anyone, and knows my life more than most. He and my dad were good friends and he was the priest at my dad's memorial. So having him marry Austin and myself was important to me, and he did not disappoint. He was able to dig pretty deep during our premarital counselling sessions because he knew far more than a run of the mill minister might. He knew my life; my history. One of the most profound things he told Austin was that regardless of what we face in our marriage and our life together, it will all somehow connect to and be affected by the death of my dad. He could not have been more on point.

So I realized last week why it is that I don't want people to help me with my heavy load while Austin is gone. It isn't pride. It isn't stubbornness. It's pity, and it has to do with Father Tom's point. It's the look on their faces when I tell people Austin is leaving. It's the sound in their voices when I tell them how long he'll be gone. It's the touch of their hands when I express all that I am now responsible for on my own. You can call it what you want, but I call it pity.

When my dad was sick I HATED the way people looked at me. I felt like I was a charity case. We were so very blessed in the church family that we were a part of, and I know that we wouldn't have been able to manage everything without their help and support. I know that. I remember the endless donations we received in our church mailbox from other members of our church. I remember all the nights that my brothers and I spent at home eating food that was cooked and delivered by other church members. I remember all the people who so willingly drove me to orthodontist appointments, drove my dad to doctor's appointments if my mom had class she couldn't get out of, people who went to my house and picked up textbooks I'd forgotten then dropped them off at my school. I remember all the ways in which people shared the love of Christ through their actions and I am very, very humbled and thankful for it.

But that look. The look people gave me when I told them my dad had cancer. The look people gave me when I told them I hadn't hugged my dad in 5 weeks. The look people gave me when I told them on Feb 2 that I just knew he was going to die that day. It's an unmistakable look that just makes my stomach turn.

It's the same look I get anytime I tell people I need help because I have too much on my plate. It's the same look I get when I tell people I miss Austin or that Austin misses William or that I need a new job because I can't work these hours as a single parent for the next 9 months. It's the look I feel like I'm getting about 90% of the time these days and I hate it.

This is why its hard for me to ask people for help. This is why its hard for me to openly tell people when things are hard or when I am at my wits end. Because I don't want that look. I don't want to be pitied. I don't want people to feel bad for me or feel sorry for me or any of that. I don't want to be a charity case. I'm tired of it. I spent 4 years having people feel sorry for me and serve me and lend me a helping hand. How can I pay it forward if I am asking for it again?

I know that I should regear my brain to look at it as compassion rather than pity. I should remind myself that when I see other people in similar situations I do not pity them, but I do feel for them and I do want badly to ease their burden. I try and remind myself of these things, I'm just sick of being the one who has the burden. I want to be the one who's life is so put together that I lend my hand to others. At this point I can't even lend my hand to myself. When is it my turn to be charitable to other's?

So please don't pity me. Please don't look at me like your heart is broken on my behalf. Please don't reach out your arms to hug me because you think my life may fall apart. It may; you're right. But please don't show it on your face. That's how you can help me.