Wrong Answer

Tuesday Tidings #28

The other day, I was sitting in my sunroom with some besties. They were on a roadtrip, traveling from one place to another and made it a point to make a stop at my house for the night.

With the two of them comfy in the white boucle chairs that serve as the viewing posts for the wildlife and wildflowers just outside the window and the seats where, when I record locally, my guest and I settle in for a conversation, I made myself at home in the bean bag across from both of them. My view was of them, not the happenings outside. And just behind, on top of the counter between the kitchen and the sunroom, I caught a glimpse of the bouquet of flowers they brought me. The one that, to everyone’s surprise and delight, had a butterfly inside of it.

The day before, a different bestie brought me a single stem clipped from a peony bush, along with some self-care goodies. In combination, it was a not-so-subtle reminder to me that the people in my life think of me. And care for me. Really, they care about me.

Apparently, I needed to be reminded. Not because I don’t already know that. Or believe that to be true. No, I needed to be reminded because I am yet again in a moment of transition. And it feels a lot like a moment almost exactly two years ago.

In that moment, with my hoodie pulled up over my head, I laid down on the mats in my workout spot and logged into my session with my somatic practitioner. The minute she saw me, she knew the very thing I knew but did not want to know.

“You’re in a surrender,” she said. To which I responded, “No.” I don’t want to be.

It was the “wrong” answer. Not because I was wrong. I was right. I did not want to be in a surrender, and to make sure of that, I would fight tooth and nail against being in one.

It was the wrong answer, because whether I wanted to be or not, whether I liked it or not, I was in a surrender. I knew that my time doing what I was doing (my job and how I was doing it) was coming to an end. Not that anyone had said anything to me. Or that I had any plans to leave. It was happening nonetheless and I was resisting it. My fear about what I would do (or not do) next stood in my way and blocked my freedom (within myself).

But as I lay there, on my right side, about to curl up into the fetal position as a way to hide (from myself as much as from her), I caught myself. Still on the floor, I unfurled, stretched my legs long and reached my arms above my head, and breathed deep into my belly.

In that moment, I surrendered to the surrender. Really, I surrendered to being seen in the surrender.

So, as my besties and I sat across from each other in the sunroom and chatted away, I remembered an epiphany I had about something (apparently the details don’t matter because I cannot remember the exact context or topic): I need to ask for help. Not just from my Higher Power, but from the people in my life.

It is not a new epiphany. It has been bumping around my head for a while. And once again, I had been resisting what I knew to be true in an effort to hide the truth about where I am.

Two years after that big moment of surrender, the subsequent end of my job, and the start of my journey to build the life I want, so many things have fallen into place and so many other things remain unknown, frightening, and, at times, overwhelming. I am at yet another turning point.

And that means, once again, I am at a moment of a surrender.

This time is a little different, even if similar. To surrender to what is now, the price is my pride and admit, first to myself and then to somebody else, that I need help to do what I want to do next. But in asking for it, the risk is to be seen as helpless, lazy or, worst of all, incompetent. And even though I have been through a version of this many times over, and have practiced asking for help a trillion, bajillion times, a part of me is still afraid that the other person will say (or more likely, think), “you should be able to do it yourself, and if you can’t, then clearly you are a loser.”

Not that anyone has ever actually said that to me any of the other times I have asked for help. I also doubt the people in my life think of me as a loser. And sure, maybe not every request I make will be met with a “yes.” Sometimes, the right answer for them as much as for me, is “no.” It is an other part of the surrender—to take the action and not only let go of the result, but also my judgment of the result.

Because my ideas, conclusions, and beliefs, more often than not, are created. They are fungible, not required. But my fear and my pride will tell me they are fixed and necessary (to stay safe). Which is why, even though I know that the next right thing is to ask for help, even though I believe that there is no shame in needing support (of various kinds), and even though I trust in the people around me to love me no matter what, the fear and pride will kick in and override what is best for me.

Which is why, when I heard the Still Small Voice clearly say, “Ask for help,” what I have said, quietly and out loud, is, “No, wrong answer.”

From Room of Doom to Den of Zen, thanks to a little help from my bestie

But then my besties came into town. They brought me the bouquet with the butterfly in it, took me out to lunch, and sat with me in the sunroom. We shared with each other, exchanged ideas and laughed—a lot.

Just before we ordered in dinner, my bestie looked at me and said, “So, how about we go upstairs and turn your bedroom into the Den of Zen?” Immediately, my shoulders dropped with a sigh of relief. “Yes, let’s do it.”

A few days earlier, I had asked her if she would help me clean up my bedroom. Covered in an array of piles of clothes and unpacked bags (for almost a week), I called it the “Room of Doom.” But by the time we were hanging out, and having such a good time, I did not want to spoil the fun, head upstairs, and come face-to-face with both my unmanageability and my shame around needing any kind of help with something this basic.

That’s the beauty of people in your life who both know and love you…and recognize parts of themselves in you. They are willing to lovingly nudge you in the direction you want to go in.

We went upstairs to my bedroom. As soon as we got there, she grabbed my hands and we said the Serenity Prayer (God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference). Then she set a timer for 30 minutes, and suggested an approach to keep things simple. We unpacked, folded, and put away every item of clothing while we chatted and laughed even more. And with 1 min and 4 seconds left to go before the timer went off, we were done. The thing that had felt so overwhelming to me that I could not begin to tackle it on my own and around which I felt such shame because of all the things I need to do, it is easiest item on my list, was complete. It was off my plate and now there was (literally) more open space for me to rest.

I won’t say whether or not asking for help is the right or wrong answer. However, I can confirm that it is the way-more-fun-than-going-it-all-alone answer. With that in mind, and, more importantly, in my heart, I will continue to surrender and ask for more help with more things.

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Meals Out: Well, since I am in Virginia, I have been hitting up all the faves, and that means Water Street Kitchen. In fact, I went there twice and had Steve’s Breakfast both times.

Listening (voice): Listened to several episodes of Pod Save America, The Daily and Channels. There was not one episode in particular that stood out.

Listening (song most likely on repeat): Now that it’s warmer out, the first round of wildflowers are popping out ahead of the next one, I have been jamming to Following the Sun by Super-Hi/Neeka (link to Apple Music). Such a feel good song that despite being tired, brings an extra pep into my step.

Watching: When I got home last week and took some time to recover from a very busy sprint towards a speaking engagement and a final exam, I discovered a new series: Taste of Murder (Amazon with BritBox subscription). Set on the island of Capri (which I know very, very well) off the Amalfi Coast and a 45-minute ferry ride to Naples, it is visually stunning (never mind that many of the filming locations were not actually on the island but in Naples, along the coast and even in Croatia). The plot, subplots and mysteries are also pretty good (and involve lots of cooking and food as a way in to have difficult conversations), even if at times a little heavy-handed or incomplete…and who cares, because the scenery is gorgeous, the food/cooking scenes are delicious, and all combined, it makes for an easy breezy watch (even if some of the background/subplot for the main characters involves grief which brings some heaviness into it). With only six episodes, it’s a quick binge watch if that’s what you’re looking for.

Most Hours Logged Doing: Spent not only most of the weekend but most of last week just resting and slowing down, which included an unofficial semi-hiatus from social media (or maybe a reset? tbd), a final exam (to end year 2 of my somatic practitioner training), and a visit from and with several besties (including my usual walk-and-talk around downtown with one of them).

Tuesday Morning Meditation: 5.19.25

The old ideas of how I should be and what I should do are a creation, not a fact. The choices I make today dismantle them and replace them with something new—the truth of who I am.

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