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Why am I thinking about this right now, why is this long-forgotten episode suddenly coming back to me? Maybe because I am now in Switzerland, where my memories are kept. Or maybe because we were once again discussing this eternal topic among friends: asking for help, being able to accept help and why it is so difficult.
And then I saw in front of me a handwritten letter that I received probably about 28 or 29 years ago. At that time my address was still in the phone book, as was my number. I often received handwritten letters, and one day a woman called who claimed to have worked as a cleaner at the Prince’s Palace in Monaco. But that’s another story.
Now I think about the very kind letter from a reader who liked my books. So much so that she was worried if I would even be able to write. She found out I had a second child and wondered how I would cope with it all. However, I also asked myself this question. Or rather, I cried regularly, depressed and guilt-ridden.
The author of the letter appeared at that moment, like an angel sent to me by fate. She said she has three children of her own and enjoys the privilege of not having to work outside the home. She offered to watch my son at her home in the afternoon. “I’m good at this,” she wrote. “And you can write well. Let me help you.”
I still remember how everything inside me softened when I read her letter. How I wish I could say yes. But then the old inner teacher intervened, that annoying voice that so often complicated my life. “You really wanted a second child,” she said. “How to make the bed and so on!”
This voice has accompanied me for half my life. She never helped me, even at that moment. I sighed, pulled myself together, thanked him for the generous offer – and rejected it. What a complete idiot I was back then. I acted like I had everything under control. It was the other way around.
I should have saved the letter and come back to it: “Is your offer still valid? It turns out I really need help!”
But no. I erased this sentence from my memory as if it had never happened. Because this is also typical for us who do not know how to accept help: we have a blind spot where it is offered to us. We do not see the hand extended in front of the nose. We feel alone and hopeless when we ignore or reject such wonderful offers. Seeing and grasping an outstretched hand requires a level of trust that we clearly don’t have. In any case, I definitely didn’t have one.
But now? Am I not more confident and optimistic today than I was then? Or is this inability the expression of a special form of arrogance? Some kind of goddess complex?
It reminds me of Jane Fonda and her concept of the third act, which begins with the sixtieth birthday. “What haven’t you lived yet, what haven’t you been able to do yet?” she asks. Yes, Miss Fonda, I still have a lot to learn…
Source: Blick
I am David Miller, a highly experienced news reporter and author for 24 Instant News. I specialize in opinion pieces and have written extensively on current events, politics, social issues, and more. My writing has been featured in major publications such as The New York Times, The Guardian, and BBC News. I strive to be fair-minded while also producing thought-provoking content that encourages readers to engage with the topics I discuss.
