Sometimes just feeling welcome is huge
Your body isn’t too much. You’re not a burden. You’re not high maintenance. You’re human, and you have needs that are unique to your human body, and that is 100% valid.
I called my friend, Alia, last night to talk to her about coming to visit. It’s graduation season, and her first born is leaving the nest. Apparently these are the things we show up for now in our 40’s — graduation parties for our friends’ children. Wild.
But I’m here for it, and so I called her to see if she had space to host me in her cozy historic home in Duluth, Minnesota. I figured she would have a full house on such a big occasion, but she was eager to host me. I don’t know why I was surprised, always a gracious host, that one.
But, the truth was, I was asking for more than just that.
A night away usually means that I have a caregiver in tow — someone to help me bookend my day with the care I need to be a functioning and independent human.
They help me get out of bed in the morning, and get into bed at night. Plus the whole getting dressed, bathing, making food…ya know, the basics of survival, NBD.
While I’m continually working on my independence, caregivers are essential to my well-being. They are more valuable to me than gold. These are the people who help me live and thrive. They can set the tone for my day’s energy, and my night’s rest.
I usually don’t like asking my friends to help me with my care, I much prefer them to just be my friends, without having to do all the other stuff. But I’ve also learned that sometimes being my friend, means doing all the other “stuff” — i.e. caring for me.
That’s just part of friendship, caring for each other, and sometimes, it’s complicated and messy, and includes all the other “stuff.”
I’ve learned that good friends will step up when they’re needed, and do just that, care for each other, when they can. It’s my job to make sure that I leave space for them to be open and honest about if they have the space, time and energy for the bigger things, like my personal care needs.
One of the biggest reasons I don’t like asking my friends to help with my care, is because my caregivers and I have a relationship that is based on care. For that reason, we have boundaries and intention that create a sense of routine, ease, trust and focus. I know that they’re here to help me, they know what I need, and they prioritize my needs.
Plus, my attention and energy doesn’t feel like it’s being pulled anywhere else in the middle of prioritizing my needs for the rest of the day. So the energy exchange feels like it’s held in a supportive container for efficiency, clarity, and healthy dynamics.
There are a lot of nuances here, and I’m all about care relationships being blended with personal relationships — it is personal, and we do that all the time in our lives. We care for each other while in relationships, shifting focus to go with the flow, maintaining and establishing healthy boundaries, prioritizing communication and leaning into vulnerability.
There are a lot of other deep and meaningful conversations that could be had here, on nuanced topics within the subject of care and care work, but to stay on topic here, let’s carry on…
It’s amazing what I have learned from being cared for by someone else. I have experienced vulnerability and humility like I never had before, and like I may never had, had it not been for my disability.
Allowing others to care for me has taught me so much about building healthy relationships and setting boundaries. It’s one of the most intimate relationships a person can build, and it has given me the skills to mindfully and healthily manage a relationship with someone else.
Care work also elicits some of the most memorable moments and best stories.
As far as caring for other goes, Alia is exceptional. By nature, she’s a very thoughtful, giving, and caring person. She’s also a mother, so there’s that. Mom’s are natural caregivers, they just get it. Oh, and she’s a nurse, so she gets it on another level. She’s literally dedicated her life to caring for other people.
She’s also been my friend for 15 years, so she’s witnessed me go through the biggest change of my life, becoming disabled, and she’s changed with me.
She has done all of the things. She doesn’t shy away from new or challenging things. I’ve learned that disability is not for the weak of heart, and she is definitely not that.
All this being said, I felt safer asking Alia if she would be OK with me coming alone and helping me with my care.
But it’s never an easy ask, there is always that pin prick of fear and discomfort, the plaguing question: ‘am I asking too much?’
I ask for help everyday, and I’ve gotten better at it, but it’s still hard.
However, her response was better than I could’ve asked for:
She very casually said, “well that’s not a big deal. We’ve done all that before. I’d rather have you here than not have you here, we can figure out the rest.”
It didn’t even phase her to help me. In a matter of five seconds, she made me feel like it was more important to her that I was there than anything else. Everything else we could handle.
In that moment, I felt my body decompress and my heart warm. Relief. Sweet relief and savory acceptance washed over me, knowing that my body and my needs are OK with someone else.
I wasn’t an inconvenience. I wasn’t a burden. I wasn’t too much. She wanted me there, and the rest was just me.
What a gift to be loved in this way. What a wonderful way to be seen and embraced. If only more of us approached loving and caring for another in such a simple and human way, no matter what our version of human is.
More Food for thought:
There are so many ways we can show up for each other’s needs and identities. One of the biggest things is trying to understand someone else’s experience, so that we know how we can show up.
For me, it’s when a loved one has a ramp so I can get into their house. It’s one less obstacle and one more way to say you were thought of, we got you.
Or it’s something as simple as someone just casually sliding my plate over to cut my food without batting an eyelash — like we’re just in the flow of collective care, that makes my heart throb with joy.
Or maybe it’s using they/them pronouns to support a friend.
Or maybe it’s prioritizing the voices less heard than our own.
There are many layers and nuances to “showing up.”
Other times, we don’t feel seen, and it hurts.
Like when I see a step in front of a store that I was hoping to get into, and I have to wait outside or carry on.
Or when I don’t get asked to come on the boat ride or the ski trip, based or assumptions, or simply laziness, or presumed inconvenience, it’s a painful pill to swallow.
There is a little tinge of pain in one’s heart when we’re blatantly disregarded, or an afterthought at best. And the truth is that all these little things pile up. All of these micro aggressions tell us that we weren’t considered, we’re not enough, we’re too much, or we’re not “normal.” And they’re like micro heartbreaks.
When someone takes the time and mindfulness to think about how they can include you, to be a part of the conversation, it means everything.
When we make the simple effort to ask the questions, or take initiative to make something accessible, it’s a message of love and acceptance.
Accessibility is love. Inclusion is love.
And sometimes here’s all it takes:
A little brainstorming
Some creativity
Some challenging of the status quo
A conversation
A question
And a little courage
Accessibility says “you matter.” Inclusion says “you matter.” These intentions covey the important truth that we’re all in this together, and that we deserve equal access and opportunity.
Accessibility and inclusion are concepts, ways of living and loving that open our minds, our hearts, our homes, and our culture to how we can more accurately see people, and love people — the way that we all deserve to be seen and loved.
Try stepping outside the box a little this month to show up for someone else. See what happens…
Big love,
KP
You are my sunshine💛