The Joy of Receiving
Welcome to Day 4 of Self Loyalty in Spiral 2.
Flipping through the list of resort activities, my husband said, "Let's take a yoga class together." We were on vacation with my parents, one of the last we would take with my Dad his Parkinson's with Dementia was progressing, and he needed a lot of care.
"Sure," I said hesitantly. Classes aren't really my thing but doing something with my husband sounded fun, and I knew I needed to relax.
The only glitch was that my Mom had scheduled massage appointments for her and my Dad simultaneously. Mom's massage started a little before Dad's and went a little longer. So we planned that my husband would help my Dad prepare for his massage before our yoga session. When my Dad finished, the therapist would come to get us in the yoga room, and we would get him settled in the waiting area until we finished the last few minutes of our yoga session. It was a great plan on paper. But as they say, 'the best-laid plans...'
The good news was that my husband and I were the only two people in the class. We settled in and started our practice getting individualized help from the instructor. It felt so good to stretch and move my body; I loved it. But it turned out the timing wasn't as fabulous as we thought. Mid-downward-dog, the massage therapist popped into the room way earlier than we thought to tell us Dad's massage was over, and she didn't know where he should go. My husband ducked out of the room to help my Dad.
I continued the yoga class solo, embracing the gift of time and peace that my husband was giving me. Soon my Dad and my husband joined us in the yoga room. My husband whispered, "He wouldn't settle in the waiting room, so I brought him here to hang. I hope that is ok?" "Sure," I said as my husband jumped back in and tried to catch up to our yoga practice.
We quickly realized that this plan wasn't going to work. Dad couldn't understand that he needed to be quiet and just watch us. He interrupted, asked questions, and kept moving around. It was a comedy of errors. My husband tried to run interference, and finally, he said, "Enjoy yourself, I got this," as he ushered Dad out of the room.
As I lay there in child's pose, I struggled with the time my husband had given me. "He is YOUR dad, YOUR responsibility; you shouldn't be enjoying yourself while your husband shoulders the burden," My Monger sneered, and I could feel my anxiety rise. But then, I heard the yoga instructor say, "OkOk, reach up to the sky as high as you can stretch," and as I stretched up to the sky, my Biggest Fan stepped in and said, "Sweet pea, he is giving you this time. Take it." So I did. I stretched and breathed and gathered insights from the yoga instructor. I trusted that my husband was taking care of my Dad and that he was ok with everything. I had a fantastic time.
As my husband and I walked back to our room, I thanked him for that time. And he gave me a big smile and said, "Thank you for taking it. I wanted you to enjoy the class, and I am glad you did."
I will never forget his expression and the joy he felt for being able to help me. He was happy to give me that gift and was grateful that I was willing to receive it.
Self Loyalty is also about letting people do for you, letting people give to you. And when we have been adultified as children, as I talked about yesterday—this idea is exceptionally foreign.
The nature of HFA is we feel we have to do everything alone. Often when I catch myself pushing down my anxiety, soldiering on, and repeating "I got this" to myself, I remind myself that pushing down my anxiety makes me and those around me miserable.
I challenge myself to be more intentional about asking for help. I don't always succeed, but having the intention there helps me remember I don't have to do it alone. It helps when I remember this story and how shocked I was at my husband's joy from giving. People in our lives want to help, and it is an act of self-loyalty to let them.