I Can Do It Myself – With Help

My ten-week old puppy got stuck on the stairs one short hop from “success.” She stopped while stretched up,  looked up and waited for rescue.

What a loser.Epic fail.

I don’t really believe that. She’s just a puppy! But that’s exactly the type of thing I say to myself when I’m stuck or need help.

Not Ella.  When she couldn’t put her hind legs down or front paws up she gave me her brown and graceful eyes.

And waited.

She is all fresh and new to the world and let my daughter lift all fourteen furry pounds.

We didn’t think her dumb, clumsy or a quitter.

We know she will climb those stairs easily and soon enough. We also know that Ella doesn’t have her “feet” yet or her confidence. 

She’s getting used to her growing body and the world itself.

Plus, those stairs can be dangerous. She’s fallen off them twice in her short life and though she was fine who isn’t scared by falling and finding the bottom hard and disorienting?

It’s o.k. to be afraid and tentative.

I am learning from Ella who reminds me of my daughter when she was a toddler.

“I can do it myself – with help” was practically Kai’s mantra. She would proclaim it when climbing a structure too big, new or different as her arms were outstretched for me.

It made me smile every time. She saw ZERO contradiction in her prideful independence and need for my assistance. She’d need me to spot or assist her but it was she who “stuck the landing” herself.

She didn’t feel less or sorry because I supported her.

Isn’t that what I want?

So why do I feel vulnerable when I need help? Why do I think if I can’t figure everything out myself I should have the dignity to go without?

I’m still learning.

Last week, my techie boyfriend came over to help me sync my Microsoft phone to a Surface Pro.

It was my idea.

“What’s your Microsoft password?” he asked.

Did I have one? If so, where was it?  Was I supposed to know?

I had no idea.

My boyfriend couldn’t connect me without the crucial account or password.

I wanted to disconnect from him. He wasn’t mad or jerky but I almost cried and asked him to leave.

This is why I do things alone, I kept thinking, uncomfortable having a witness to my middle-age idiocy.

Could I have said I’m stuck between two stairs and have met his gaze? Why did it feel easier to tumble all the way down to the hard bottom rather than be needy?

Because it was so embarrassing, hard and awkward. And by it I mean me.

“Just so you know,” I said, “I do things like this all the time. If it’s going to be a problem, I want you to be warned, I’m stupid.”

“Stop it” he said when I called myself stupid as though growling out confessions of my worthlessness would help.

It wasn’t graceful. It was fearful.

Sometimes I suck at being human.

But I wouldn’t expect Ella to apologize for being a puppy.

I want to stop apologizing for being myself.

I love Ella even when she poops in the house, wakes me at 2 am on a below freezing night and chews my boots. It’s not only musky puppy breath, soft velvet ears and a soft wagging tug which make her lovable.

It’s her Ella-ness, her puppy-ness and NOTHING is excluded from that. Nothing.

Just as my daughter exquisite Kai-ness even when and exactly as and because she’s sometimes a snarky tween.

Nothing is excluded.

When Ella was outmatched by the stairs, Kai and I looked down at her but not down on her. We didn’t laugh, judge or make her struggle. Kai got behind Ella and lifted her hind legs so she could take the top step. Their bond deepened. Ella was more about licking faces than taking notes.

I couldn’t have loved either of them more.

Is this how unconditional love works?

Can I give it and accept it, assume it and expect it?

The newness never ends. There are always stuck points.

If I allow myself to be lifted I can reach new heights.

May I be as graceful

as Kai and Ella are 

“doing it msyelf –

with help?”