Amazon Women Don’t Need Help, Right?

Strength.

I admire the juniper tree. Each tree is uniquely statuesque, growing at eccentric angles while clinging tenaciously to the smallest crack in a rock, the most minuscule patch of dirt. They can be found throughout the northern hemisphere – from the Artic to Africa to the mountains of Central America. They make the most of their situation and, unnerved by buffeting winds, freezing rain, scorching sun, or heavy snow, grow ever stronger. The berries contain healing properties and the cones and needles provide food for a variety of creatures. Perhaps I also feel a certain kinship because both the ancient Asians and the Native Americans view the Juniper as female, representing female strength, athleticism, longevity, and fertility.

I’ve always been strong. Both in mind and body, my inherited strength caused me to grow up much taller than average, opinionated, with straight A’s, and a body built like a female linebacker. As a fourth-grader, I failed to listen to the advice of my father (don’t pin your strength against the boys!) and arm-wrestled a group of 7th and 8th grade boys. I won. Every time. It went over so well that it was the one and only time I ever arm-wrestled a member of the opposite sex. The nickname “Amazon Woman” has stuck with me ever since.

My strength has both rescued me and gotten me into more trouble. Load a tractor-trailer bed with 12 tons of 90 lb bales of alfalfa by myself? Sure. I’m 14 and I think I’m invincible. Little brother (who isn’t so little) over the side of the raft in big rapids and stuck under the boat? No problem. Grab him by the collar and haul him back in. Soldier through multiple injuries and one dramatic 3-month bout with a tough strain of strep that nearly cost me my junior year of high school? I’ve got it. There may have been a few B’s that semester but I made it – prayers from my family and good attitude in place. A dislocated shoulder during a basketball tournament? Pop it back in myself and keep playing because the game is at risk. Consequences: agony and physical therapy. But we won. No problem.

Get stuck in a situation where I need help and ask for it? Yea, problem.

My mother, bless her, has occasionally accused me of being a feminist. I’m not. If you are, that’s just fine. It’s just not who I am. I believe that I am a strong person who happens to be female and who God chose to bless with certain talents and abilities. That means I will do whatever it takes to reach my goals, learn new things, or share my talents whether or not society considers my actions more appropriately male or female. That may be a little ambivalent so allow me to explain a little more.

I crochet. I sew. I even know how to cross-stitch. My mother taught me to cook and bake from a young age, just like she taught my little brother. I like to decorate my home and throw parties and arrange flowers. A little girly, no? I also own and regularly operate several saws, a wood lathe, a drill, a complete set of tools, and a set of ramps so I can change the oil in my car. I’ve ridden dirtbikes since sometime around  the 3rd grade and I help my dad with the repairs. I’ve spent a Sunday afternoon taking apart a carburetor, cleaning it, and putting it back together. Yes, it worked. I spent the summers of my youth working on various farms and learned to drive a stick on a tractor long before I was old enough to have a drivers license. I threw bales, swathed alfalfa, and learned to weld.

I am a firm believer that anyone can do anything they want with the right work ethic and attitude. Society’s gender roles have nothing to do with your abilities as an individual. So I’m not a feminist, Mom. (wink)

However, it has always strained my somewhat limited stores of patience to see a female take advantage of gender roles and male chivalry (or stupidity, or libido) to manipulate her desires, often out of a sense of entitlement, or sheer laziness. I’m not sure why but there seemed to me an overabundance of this type of female when I was a teenager and I decided early on to never be like that.

Really, life should come with warning label: never say never, and never strive for superiority based on someone else’s perceived shortcomings.

Now here I am, 30 years old, and still learning how to ask for help. I CAN do it myself. God knows, I’m not a wimpy girl striving for male attention. I’m capable, damn it. Sometimes too much so.

I’m thinking this is going to be a lifetime journey, kind of issue. So just in case you have a hard time asking for help too, let me share what I’ve learned.

First of all, accepting help does not reflect poorly on your own abilities. In fact, it may reflect more positively than you realize because it suggests that you are comfortable with yourself and your abilities; you have nothing to prove. Letting a guy open a door for me does not mean I am not capable of doing it myself. It means that he would like to do something for me to show he’s looking out for my best interest. If he knows me at all, he no doubt knows what I’m capable of. But even if he doesn’t, I do. And I don’t need to prove my capability at the expense of his generosity.

I still remember the day I had that epiphany. I was always taught to be polite and respectful. As an independent and opinionated teenager, it cost me a lot sometimes (too much!) to accept help. I could do it myself. Sounds more like a 2 year old, doesn’t it? I thought if someone was lending a hand it was because they thought I couldn’t do it myself. My dear forebearing father had been trying to tell me otherwise. But it wasn’t until a guy friend, a peer, offered to help me with a chore that I finally caught on. Of course, my response was a polite no thanks, I can do it. However he responded with “I never doubted that”; his tone of voice and the look on his face suggesting his confusion – what did one thing have to do with the other? Perhaps I was just finally willing to hear but it all clicked into place for me in that instant. I started laughing, to his further confusion, and graciously accepted his help.

Yea, I still forget sometimes. The boss says “let me help with that” and my first thought is “oh no, she thinks I can’t do it!” But I’ve also learned: when in doubt, ask. Don’t assume you know what motivates another’s actions.

Okay, so accepting help is a skill I’m definitely learning.

Asking for help – that’s an entirely different ballgame, my friend. And I haven’t figured out all the rules as yet.

After the many, many times both friends and coworkers have been on my case for not asking for help, I’m assuming at this point that there is a flaw somewhere in my thought processes. For quite awhile, I may have arrogantly assumed that they simply didn’t understand my capabilities or my character especially when one friend told me I had a hero-complex. haha! But I’ve since come to my senses.

The hardest part of asking for help, for me, is the knowledge that my needs very likely will cause the other person inconveniences. I absolutely HATE that. God saw fit to create me as a particularly capable person. I’m supposed to be the one helping other people. I love to help others. Have you heard of the 5 love languages? Often times, an individual will communicate in several love languages such as words of affirmation, time spent, and physical touch. I have one love language (in how I SHOW love vs receive it) and it’s particularly well-developed, to the point that my family likes to tease me about it.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I’m super woman. I cannot possibly do everything myself. However, in most situations where it’s obvious that there is too much for one person to do then a solution is naturally born due to the work environment, etc. In those situations it is not necessary for me to ask for help and the situation is often viewed as team effort anyway. The real problem occurs when it’s not so immediately obvious that I need help and is therefore necessary for me to ask for it.

As I see it, every time I ask for help, I run the risk of inconveniencing that person. I understand that there is a bit of a double-standard here because I wouldn’t want anyone asking me for help to worry about my inconvenience. But there it is. Perhaps there is still a bit of arrogance in me over my strength and capabilities. Or sometimes I just don’t think about it. I am capable of doing it, everyone else is busy too, so I’ll do it myself if it takes hours of overtime. In my thinking, that’s not being a hero, it’s just getting the job done.

I forget to ask God for help too. Now I know inconvenience is not an issue with Him. To state the obvious, He’s God. In Matthew 11:28, He says it pretty clearly: “come to me… and I will give you rest.” And that’s just one of many invitations to come to Him for help. Asking for help just doesn’t come naturally. Noticing a beautiful sunset and praising His artistry, that comes naturally.

The last 6 months or so have been particularly grilling. I’m exhausted. Overwhelmed. In need of help. I don’t know why it’s been that way. But I’m fairly certain God has been using the circumstances to show me that I need to ask for help more often. I’m getting better at it. Slowly. God and I have had long conversations about exactly how much help I need (no comments from the peanut gallery, please). And I’m learning to ask my peers for help too. Man, just the other day I called a good friend and asked her to get me some medication because I was home with the flu. Go me! Of course, she was happy to do it. And, of course, I worried the whole time that I was inconveniencing her. But she says she was glad to help and I have to trust her.

It would be nice if I had some epiphany like that day with my friend in high school. It’d be nice if I could ask for help as easily as I accept it. But perhaps it doesn’t come easy so I can better empathize with those who ask for my help. Who knows what is up God’s sleeve but I’m sure it’s going to be a great lesson learned. Someday. For now, be rest-assured that I’m working on it.

Now, I need to build this fence in my backyard and I was wondering…

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