I have never been good at identifying my needs. Yesterday, I realized quite suddenly that I’ve been in need of asking for help for awhile. In truth, I am already asking for help, with everything but my voice.
My body asks for help every day, when my back aches from carrying Nora. When my shoulders sag in exhaustion. When I’m hungry for real food, but only eat junk. When my alarm goes off and I immediately crave more sleep.
My mind asks for help when I ponder the stretch from post-dinner to bedtime routine and it seems insurmountably long. It’s only an hour. My mind asks for help when I hear Nora wake too early and I think, “No, baby, just fifteen minutes more.” When I bury myself in work, instead of choosing to stop.
My heart asks for help, when I ache from wanting to do too much. When I feel too full and too empty at the same time. When I want more than anything to touch Aaron’s hand, but both our hands are full. My heart asks for help when I crave closeness, tenderness, gentleness, but I’m too distant, too armored to receive it.
My spirit asks for help when I try so hard to be everything to everyone, but nothing to myself. When I think of things to write and I forget to write them down. When ten minutes of silence feels like an impossible paradise. My spirit asks for help when I lift myself out of bed to sacrifice sleep for time on my own.
If I was really listening, I would know. I have been screaming help, help, help for days, with everything I am. Now I have to answer, with gentle urgency, just as I would answer any one else in need.