Too Tough to Ask for Help: Confessions of a Strong and Invincible Person

Forgive me for a second and unusual post this week, but what I want to express is too important and couldn’t wait. Shortly after my most recent post about daily yoga practices that could help ‘navigate the uncertainties of life,’ life, yet again, reminded me of how uncertain and devastating it can really get. As I learned about the shocking passing of a friend, I suddenly felt stupid and ashamed for suggesting that we could fend against uncertainties with yoga, meditation and poetry. I’m afraid that none of these ‘secret hacks’ will help you in a moment like this.

I don’t want to make this post about my friend out of respect to her family’s privacy, but I do want to speak honestly about all that her loss has brought up for me. Namely, what lies beneath the tough shell of an ‘invincible person’ who is ‘radiating with life,’ which is how my friend was described, and which is, incidentally, how I am often described as well.

When you make your life mission about helping others, whether it is by being a doula or teaching yoga and you seem so passionate about your calling, it may appear that you have everything figured out. Plus, with all that spiritual wisdom, supportive community and that infectious laughter, ‘happiness’ is practically oozing from your every pore. What could possibly go wrong? You are an immigrant and yet you run your own thriving business, in your third language. You are motivated, you laugh, you dance, you have a loving husband and two beautiful children. What could bring you to the brink of such despair from which you cannot find your way back ‘home’?

All of us who knew my friend are asking ourselves these questions right now, and will have to live with our regret that perhaps there was something that we could have done to save her, if only we had been more vigilant. If only we had reached out more often, and more persuasively. If only we had said the right things.

Sadly, it is too late for my friend, but my hope is that what I write here might encourage another ‘invincible’ person to ask for help, and for you, friends of such an invincible person, to have a better understanding of the fragility that such a tough shell might conceal.

A confession: I am tough, I am strong and I am capable.

I am tough, because I had no choice but to become tough. I am of a generation and culture that was told not to cry, because crying was a sign that those who had hurt us had won. I was told, repeatedly, that no matter what, I was going to be okay because I was strong, smart and capable. While this was meant to encourage me, and it did, what this also indirectly communicated to me was that I had to become strong and capable even when I didn’t feel so strong and capable, because the only help I could hope for had to come from within me, and my strong will to live. My parents were busy people with their own adult problems that didn’t leave much room to my childish problems. At twelve, I was sent to live in a kibbutz, and at eighteen when I was handed an M-16 and was ordered to defend my country, I was expected to act like an adult. As soon as I left Israel, I was on my own. I had no education fund to my name and I worked hard to pay for my own education, in London.

I am not sharing this with you here so that you would feel sorry for me (please don’t!), but to explain how my tough shell was formed. These experiences did teach me some very useful skills that I’m grateful for and did make me resilient. And, to my immense luck, I had met some of the most incredible role models (teachers, friends, families) who modelled a softer way of being. It is thanks to their openness, love and trust that I have developed a kind of resilience that is also very honest about the struggles. I cry shamelessly and often. So much so that Cry and carry on could be my motto.

But what my circumstances have also taught me is how to become a highly efficient one-woman-show, who can count on herself, and herself only. Although I am generally good about listening to my body, I sleep well, I exercise, I meditate and eat healthy food, I will still get up from my sick bed to make my daughters’ matcha, coffee and lunches and market my yoga workshop (on resilience!) with a head full of mucus. When my friends offer to bring me soup, I imagine the inconvenience this would cause them, so I tell them that I have everything I need. I’ll cook my own miso soup and go to the pharmacy to buy my medication. I take pride in my work (even if it is painting walls, or cleaning) and will likely to work seven days of the week. I am fast and efficient and get my work done in less time than it would take me to explain it to someone else. I do practice those ‘secret hacks’ I listed in my previous post and I genuinely believe that they have protected me from a full-blown burn-out, but the one thing I almost never do is ask for help.

A confession: I am tired. And presently still sick, and cook my own miso soup.

And still, I write this post with a head full of mucus. Why? Because my friend’s death shook me to my core and I’m impelled to tell you, for the first time, of all the well-meant, but worst ever ‘advice’ I’ve been given when I was down.

WHAT NOT TO SAY:

1.     “Be Positive”. As someone who has trained herself to look on the positive side of things as a matter of survival, the last thing I want to hear when I finally let my guard down is that I need to look for more positivity. In those less heroic moments when my vulnerability makes itself shown, please don’t negate it by telling me that I am lucky to be living in Canada and not in Gaza right now. While it’s certainly true (and I’m not indifferent to the ongoing horrors in Gaza), these ‘perspective reminders’ have never made anyone miraculously snap out of their despair. Another version of ‘be positive’ is ‘look on the bright side of things,’ or, ‘stop complaining.’ When I came back from sunny Rome last week, before I could say anything about my trip, a ‘joke’ was made in the car: “Now let’s see how long it will take you to start complaining.” This immediately shut down any honest conversation about my difficulty adjusting back to ‘Montreality’ after an emotional trip back home, which included clearing my grandmother’s apartment. And why? Because it made my Canadian family uncomfortable. Understandably. They rather see me as a perfectly adjusted Canadian who loves six months of grey winter, has no roots in another country and no ailing family members she is concerned about. As psychologist Susan David explains, “when we tell someone to be positive, what we actually say is that my comfort is more important than your reality.”

2.     “Be strong,” or, “you can do this.” You are merely repeating the same mantra that has been playing incessantly in this ‘strong’ person’s head. When they are struggling, they are feeling like they have failed. Your encouraging words are more likely to have the opposite effect: remind them of their failure to be as strong as they wish they could be.

WHAT TO DO

One of the simplest things you could do as a friend is to hold space with a person who struggles, and listen. Allow your invincible friend to cry, and speak. When they attempt to apologize for their tears, remind them that they too are allowed their moments of ‘weakness,’ which is not weakness at all, but the courage to be real. It is said that 8 minutes of holding space for a friend in need is enough for them to feel better. 8 minutes of listening. Think about it the next time you are tempted to give helpful advice, a perspective reminder, or attempt to cheer them up with a joke. By simply sitting with your friend – and the discomfort this might trigger in you – you might be doing the most helpful service of all. You might even save their lives.

Strong and invincible people are experts at picking themselves up. What they are not so good at is show how they hurt. And before we can heal, we need to get real and honest about what it is that hurts.

A confession: it’s not always easy.

Just because I am strong, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love a break, a helping hand, or soup. I really do love a good soup. So, this is a note to myself and a note to all those strong and invincible people out there to be a little less ‘strong.’ Being strong all the time is exhausting. Go ahead and admit it. It’s okay. You are not alone. And please seek help. Professionally, if needed.

And this is a plea to all of us strong/thriving/struggling/surviving people to be more aware and vigilant. Reach out to your friends and let them know that you are never too far away. Bring them soup, give them a hug, and simply say “I hear you” when they tell you that they miss home.

Take it from a yoga teacher: the single, most powerful ‘hack’ to help you cope with the challenges of life is not yoga, meditation, ‘sacred coffee’ and poetry. These can help. But what might save you is to be listened to. And to know that you are not alone.

P.s. This is a post that feels too vulnerable to share on other social media (outside of Substack, which I trust), but please feel free to share it with a friend who might benefit from it. This is the spirit in which it was written.

Not the best miso soup in the world