Help That Feels Good, Abby Wambach Style
Do you know what Abby Wambach wants when she’s having a hard time?
Someone who can help her relax. A wise, grandmotherly figure (of any age or gender…we’re talking about the feel here) who says, “Honey. Those worries that are weighing you down? Let’s make them smaller. Let’s be here together, in a relaxed space–Do you want some tea? A blanket? Would you prefer if we go for a walk while we talk?--and do some reframing. Let’s look at these worries and see if maybe they’re not quite so big as you think. Let’s work together, hand in hand, to find that pocket of peace that I know is inside you.”
At least that’s the story I’m telling myself based on one line in the “We Can Do Hard Things” podcast. In the “How to Ask for the Help You Need” episode, Abby says, “Real help to me is somebody who can take all of whatever worries I have and make them not so big.”
Real help to Abby Wambach is someone who can help her navigate back to a place of ease.
Not somebody who makes her a casserole, though I’m sure that sometimes helps.
Not somebody who gives her a ten-step action plan, though surely that also helps sometimes.
But someone who helps her find a place of inner peace. Who helps her remember that her worries really aren’t so big.
I’m writing about it today because I’m feeling a bit bogged down. I’m not worried so much as I’m feeling melancholic. Gloomy. A bit fragile, unsettled and perturbed (I’m literally pulling these from a feelings list, BTW. It’s the best feelings list I’ve ever seen and it’s available here).
I have been feeling this way for the last few days.
I know why. I can give five to ten reasons why I’m feeling this way and anyone who read them would shake their head knowingly. “Yep, that’s an appropriate response,” you would say if we got into the details.
But we’re not going to because the details are just that—details. What actually matters (to me) is checking this: is my reaction in proportion to the situation? Is the gloom I’m feeling a proportional response to my current circumstances? If the answer is yes (and it currently is) then I accept that I’m in the midst of a human experience. I don’t start worrying that I’m depressed or anxious or any other label-y thing. Human beings who haven’t trained their minds to reside in a near-perpetual state of peace (like the Dalai Lama) experience low moods when their human needs aren’t being met. (And, another BTW, I believe those humans who have trained their minds to reside in a near-perpetual state of peace also live in a near-perpetual state of having their human needs met. I’ve yet to meet a wise person who hasn’t learned to tend to their human needs. We’re not machines, folks. Our needs must be met if we’re to feel good.)
At this particular moment, I have human needs that aren’t being met, so I feel off.
Simple cause and effect.
And do you know what I want? It’s not for anyone else to ride in on a white horse and do anything. I’m not in a situation where I need anyone else to save me.
What I want is what Abby wants: for someone to help me remember that these heavy feelings aren’t a particularly big deal.
Please know that there are specific ways I want this done. Every single person reading this has likely had a jolting, jarring, unpleasant experience of someone else invalidating their feelings. “You’re worried about WHAT?!!? That’s stupid. Stop worrying about that.”
Ain’t nobody wants that.
What I want is that grandmotherly figure (or the Dalai Lama-y figure) to stroke my hair, hand me a cup of tea and a blanket, then say, “Honey, you know that this will pass. You know why you feel this way and you know exactly what needs to change to stop feeling this way. Don’t poke and prod. Don’t make this any bigger than it is. Tend to your needs and you’ll feel better in a few days. Maybe even a few hours.”
Unfortunately, I’m alone in a foreign country, without physical access to any of the grandmotherly or Dalai-Lama-y figures who could do that.
So I’m doing it for myself on the blank page, supplemented by calls with Sam. Not because I want to do it that way, but because that’s the option available to me at the moment. This is what happens when silly ol’ me decides to take an ill-timed solo trip.
I feel very strongly about the importance of human connection and want to make it clear that I’m doing it for myself as an INFERIOR choice to having the physical presence of a loved one who can do it. We live in a frighteningly self-reliant culture and I don’t believe humans are meant to live that way. I’m happy that I can self-soothe, but I never want to be a voice chiding people toward more rugged individualism and compulsive self-reliance (yuck). I want to be a voice urging toward connection. Authentic connection, specifically.
Once I’m back to a state of Keely-ness (thanks Earl), I’ll look at ways to prevent this in the future. For a lot of chapters of my life, I’ve loved solo travel. Right now, however, I’m not feeling it. I want to have roots for a bit. To be around my people. To be able to stroke their hair and offer them a cup of tea when they need it, to have them be able to do the same for me when I need it.
Except for Thor. He would bite me if I ever tried to stroke his hair and offer him a cup of tea. And that kid’s got horse teeth. I don’t have time to relearn how to type one-handed, so he’s on his own. But the rest of you? I’ve got tea. I’ve got blankets. And boy, oh boy do I love sitting together and remembering that this human-ing thing really doesn’t have to be heavy.
