Asking for Help

I need help... Those three little words can be so difficult to say.  Almost as hard as saying I'm sorry. (that's for another time)  I said those words to my oldest daughter this past weekend.  I was stuck and needed help.

Over the last month or so, I had let my office area become virtually unusable.  There were many reasons: the holidays with all its busyness, my 'I'll get to that tomorrow' attitude, the fact that five kids' worth of paper multiplies during the night.....But the real reason was that I had not really made the space my own. 

My husband and I share a very manly office space at home.  It has dark panelled walls with dark wood floors and dark granite for a work top.  The previous owner designed it as his man cave disguised as an office.  As a result, it has not felt like a warm and inviting space for me to be, so it became a dumping ground for every ones' stuff.  The space was becoming a problem, though, because that's where I write and research.  So after taking time off from writing during the holidays, I was having a hard time getting going again because I didn't want to be in the office.  I was stuck.  I needed help.  Honestly, though, I didn't really want to ask for help.  I knew what needed to be done- cleaning, organizing, a little decorating- and I knew those were things that I could do myself.  I'd done them before and even helped a couple of friends before with similar tasks.  Yet, I was having a hard time doing them now.  I was getting more and more frustrated.  That's when I decided to do it....I asked for help.

My oldest daughter is a natural organizer.  She loves doing it for herself and for others and she's very good, so I asked her.  To be honest, I felt a twinge of shame.  I'm the mom; I'm the one who's supposed to be the helper, not the helped.  I also knew that by asking, she was going to see all my stuff.  Would she cringe?  Would she judge?  Would she be disappointed that I had let it get to this point?  I wasn't sure, but I knew without her help, I would remain stuck and that was unacceptable.  So I asked.  She was thrilled!   When we got to the office, I was overwhelmed at the sight.  Not her.  She dove right in and got me sorting my stuff.  She helped me evaluate things when I was unsure whether to toss or keep them.  She helped me let go of things that I didn't really need.  She reminded me of our goal, to make the space usable and inspiring.  As I sorted, she organized, labeled, and decorated.  The end result is a clean, usable, and inspiring place for me to come and do my thing.

Now when I walk into the office, I feel energized and excited to work.  I am so grateful that I took the risk and asked for help.  Too often in the past, I wouldn't have asked.  I would have let shame, fear, or even martyrdom stop me.  But I'm coming to understand the importance of getting help in various aspects of my life.   It seems risky. Others may get a glimpse of my mess.  Some may judge.  Some may misunderstand.  That's okay.  I'm asking anyway...