Helping Hand

Image: Prateek Gupta

Why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up. – Thomas Wayne (Batman Begins)

Just to be safe, let’s practice yelling as loudly as possible for a rope-ladder.

I love rising out of ashes stories. That journey of climbing out of the pit, brushing down the muck and moving on with life’s lemons? Oh yes.. count me in as I add some tequila into the mix. Funnily enough, I commit the heinous crime of overlooking the lifelines and cooling stations in my own story, not that there were any significant ashes.

Like a bitter pill, I spit out my pride and zip up my mouth. A stubborn misconception plagues me that requesting help makes you weak! It keeps me from taking the first step and admit that maybe, I cannot do this alone. Obviously, it comes with a cost of bewildered family and friends that justifiably feel hurt. Even if they cannot give a hand they can always lend an ear, right?

I am also a hypocrite as when someone else does the exact same thing – I am sense & sensibility personified. Turn the tables and there will be a me-shaped hole in the door… Classy, I know!

I am serving a life sentence for this. At least the prison isn’t empty – in fact, it is probably a fire hazard at this point. 

I took my sweet time getting used to counting on someone. Getting married helped. Funny how long it took me to realize that asking for help is the first step in becoming a bigger person. Funny how late I realized the amazing liberty of pestering someone and they will unconditionally be there to carry you through. Did you know they even get you ice-cream? If you did, why didn’t any one tell me sooner? I was missing out.

Oh to have the compassion of the helper and the strength of the … helpee? I am struggling with the maths here. 

Check out Erika’s infinitely brilliant take on this

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Move

I moved.

I still can’t get my head around it. It has not yet sunk in since I am at my parents’ at the moment and will be around for some time. But I know when it is time to move out of this oyster, I will have to accept and embrace the fact that the place I have learnt to think of as “home” is now…. not.

I had ample time to prepare for it. I took my time with the packing and boxing – savoring each moment and the memory it brought back. But still, I could not stop the torrent of lasts that went through my head. The waterworks came without warning and the entire calming process would come to a grinding halt.

I am stubbornly avoiding thinking off what is coming. I already feel tired at the thought of making yet another place my “home”. Warming up to its corners and quirks and making them my own. I almost feel scared of it. Because I know even that is going to be temporary; just as I get comfortable I will have to uproot and replant myself all over again.

I have always thought of it as a “gardening” process. When you leave a place, you cut off a stem. It hurts and it bleeds – it is sore for a few days. Then slowly it starts filling out and grows into a new one… That is how growth happens. But nobody talks about the time lapse between the cut and the growth. It is sensitive and more susceptible to harm during those times; if you don’t  look after it there is a chance it can just wither away. That’s a part of you that has died.

My head and heart are in that space right now. The healing process has just begun but I am scared this time. And I just hope, the stem doesn’t wither away before it has had a chance to bloom.

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I hope this also explains my absence. How are you doing? 🙂