ASKING FOR OR OFFERING HELP - WHY IS IT SO SO HARD?!

Recently, a friend and I railed at how homeless people on the street are ignored.  "What kind of a society do we live in where we step over another human being lying on the sidewalk?" she demanded.   I visualised myself on the street, seeing a human shape huddled under a blanket in a doorway.  Then, I see myself turning away and hurrying by, afraid to speak.

"What stops me from making eye contact or from speaking to a homeless person?" I wondered as I shifted in my chair.  "Alright", I thought, "If I did stop and say hello, what exactly would I say?  Excuse me, Sir... or.... May I help you? (do they look as if they need 'help'?) or.... Would you like something to eat?  (I don't want to accompany this person to a restaurant, I'm on my way to an appointment!) Oh, forget it.  I don't know what to say."  So, in my mind, I keep walking.

I've been thinking a lot about the language of giving and receiving care.  It's so difficult - maybe we've forgotten it?  Did we ever have it, or do we need to invent a new language of expressing need and gratitude? 

I've begun to think about the purpose of our language in caregiving.  I think it's dignity that must drive our search for the language of care and most often, dignity can be equated to contribution.  Everyone wants to feel useful and to have the opportunity for being empowered to act, even if their physical or mental capacities are very diminished.  So perhaps, it's 'enabled independence' that we strive for in our caring relationships.  

If we want to help someone be independent (even if they need assistance to get through much of the day), what are some ways of offering help?  Perhaps the first way is to be silent and observe closely.  Is your loved one struggling to do something?  Is that the moment to ask, "Want some help with that?"  Next time that task comes up, does it seem appropriate to mention, "I saw in a magazine recently these really nice sweaters with zippers instead of buttons.  I'll pick one up for you to try, but in the meantime, I could help with these buttons - they are so annoyingly tiny!"

Facilitating people to be independent with dignity is time consuming work of the human heart.  Caregivers know perfectly well that it's much quicker and easier to just do the task for the person while prattling on about a different topic in order to distract 'the patient'.  And there may be times when that is necessary, but can't we be honest about it?  Our loved ones deserve the dignity of an honest exchange during their care activities.

Offering assistance when it's unwelcome can be tricky.  Sometimes, "I'm here if you'd like a hand with that" can result in watching in painful silence while a loved one tries and fails to manage eating a bowl of soup from a spoon held in a trembling hand.  If inserting dignity into the situation, rather than dealing with the mess (or eating the soup) is the objective, perhaps it's not so hard.  Make the soup texture the common enemy - "look at how they make the soup so runny these days!  It's probably a cost cutting measure.  Let's see what's in the fridge - maybe we can use that soup as a base for stew.  Mashed potatoes here we come!"  Because dignity is the objective and enabled autonomy is the means to the end, the words come out in ways that are conspiratorial, empathetic, light-hearted and conversational.

But, what about asking for help for ourselves?  The blog post on this site with greatest number of views (almost 16,000) is 'Saying I'm Fine When I'm Not'. We all have lots of good reasons for not wanting to answer anything but "I'm fine" when someone asks how we are doing. We may believe (correctly) that someone else would never understand the nature of our care challenges. We might believe that by saying "I'm not fine, we need help at home" seems like a betrayal of your loved one or simply a declaration of personal failure. But, what if we thought of this moment as an invitation for another person to contribute - in a way that will make them feel good while it helps you? When conversation begins to flow naturally, and we find the words to be honest and the patience to listen, we experience the relief that a truthful conversation can bring. In this space, offers can be made, opportunities for giving and taking can be accepted - or not. The thought "You would never understand" morphs into the spoken words "we would really appreciate a meal one night next week - whatever night works for you, just let me know."

I still don't know how to begin a conversation with a homeless person I've never met.  I don't know how I would end that conversation, if I ever did manage to begin.  The language of care is very tricky and fraught with emotion.  But one thing that my gut tells is right: we must begin with love and dignity.  Perhaps the words will follow.

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Tongue-Tied in Caregiving: Why is Asking and Offering So Hard?

Most days I drive across a bridge linking my neighborhood with our son Nick's suburb. Homeless folks hang out at the stop lights either side of the bridge. They bob between the cars, hat in hand, trying to make eye contact. They smile, with or without teeth. Depending on my mood, I smile and shrug, or I hurry to find some coins. Some days I stare straight ahead. Yesterday I found myself wondering what would happen if I began a conversation with one of these panhandlers. Would I be tempted to offer a place at my table or a room in my home if I knew their sad story?

"What stops me from making eye contact or from speaking to a homeless person?" I wondered as the light turned and I drove away. I thought, "If I did stop and say hello, what exactly would I say?  Excuse me, Sir... or.... May I help you? (do they look as if they need 'help'?) or.... Would you like something to eat?  (I don't want to accompany this person to a restaurant, I'm on my way to an appointment!) Oh, forget it.  I don't know what to say."  So, in my mind, I keep walking.

It's so difficult, negotiating the giving and receiving of care. Have we forgotten how to do it?  Did we ever know how? Or, do we need to invent a new language of expressing need and gratitude?

I've begun to think about the purpose of our language in caregiving.  So much talk is given to helping our loved ones be more 'independent'.  But is that what they (or we) really want?  One thing I know is that independence is not what it's cracked up to be.  Independence is a cruel fiction for many of our loved ones and even for those who are more able, it's just an idea that equates to loneliness.  'Interdependence' is a much better guide post for our actions and policies to support both caregivers and their charges, but that word hasn't caught on as many of us had hoped.

I think it's dignity that must drive our search for the language of care and most often, dignity can be equated to contribution.  Everyone wants to feel useful and to have the opportunity for being empowered to act, even if their physical or mental capacities are very diminished.  So perhaps, it's 'enabled autonomy' that we strive for in our caring relationships.  Let it be so for the purpose of this line of thinking.

If we want to help someone be autonomous (even if they need assistance to get through much of the day), what are some ways of offering help?  Perhaps the first way is to be silent and observe closely.  Is your loved one struggling to do something?  Is that the moment to ask, "Want some help with that?"  Next time that task comes up, does it seem appropriate to mention, "I saw in a magazine recently these really nice sweaters with zippers instead of buttons.  I'll pick one up for you to try, but in the meantime, I could help with these buttons - they are so annoyingly tiny!"

Facilitating people to be autonomous with dignity is time consuming work of the human heart.  Caregivers know perfectly well that it's much quicker and easier to just do the task for the person while prattling on about a different topic in order to distract 'the patient'.  And there may be times when that is necessary, but can't we be honest about it?  Our loved ones deserve the dignity of an honest exchange during their care activities.

Offering assistance when it's unwelcome can be tricky.  Sometimes, "I'm here if you'd like a hand with that" can result in watching in painful silence while a loved one tries and fails to manage eating a bowl of soup from a spoon held in a trembling hand.  If inserting dignity into the situation, rather than dealing with the mess (or eating the soup) is the objective, perhaps it's not so hard.  Make the soup texture the common enemy - "look at how they make the soup so runny these days!  It's probably a cost cutting measure.  Let's see what's in the fridge - maybe we can use that soup as a base for stew.  Mashed potatoes here we come!"  Because dignity is the objective and enabled autonomy is the means to the end, the words come out in ways that are conspiratorial, empathetic, light-hearted and conversational.

But, what of asking for help?  Should we expect our charge to be aware of preserving dignity in herself as well as her caregiver?  I believe we should.  Take the case of our son.  He has very severe cerebral palsy, but that hasn't stopped him exercising terrible manners over the years.  A disability is no excuse for rude or self-centred behavior in our house.  So, when I walk into his room in the morning and it's Mother's Day, for example, I might hear a demand to change the channel on television.  I want to correct, but not demean, so Nick will laugh as he tells people that my response will be "Nick, I'm going to walk out of your room and walk in again.  We're going to say good morning properly next time so repeat after me, 'Good morning, Mom! You look especially fantastic today!' (I jazz up the compliments so we can both laugh, but he gets the point of the exercise.)  And for those who aren't aware, Nicholas is non-speaking.  But his language comprehension is near-perfect and if he manages to blow me a kiss the second time around entering his room, I take that as a respectful morning greeting.

I still don't know how to begin a conversation with a homeless person I've never met.  I don't know how I would end that conversation, if I ever did manage to begin.  The language of care is very tricky and fraught with emotion.  But one thing that my gut tells is right: we must begin with love and dignity in our hearts.  Perhaps the words will follow.

WHY WON'T ANYONE HELP?!

Yesterday, I read an excellent blog post titled "Asking for Help" on the Caregiver Space.  The article is chock full of good ideas and practical advice.  It was the comments that got me thinking, though.  Many sounded like this:

What if no one asks if they can help? That’s my problem….. I’m here 24/7, if someone would ask if they could come stay here for a little while for me to get out, I might take them up on it, but nobody offers that….. It’s hard…..it’s been 3 years….. A lot of people say….call me if you need anything….. But that’s not the same as a real offer….

Others on the Facebook posting of the blog said they did ask for help, but the response from siblings was 'I think I'm busy'.  

So, what's going on with caregivers who aren't getting the help they need from family and friends? 

FEAR OF ASKING FOR HELP

There's a cop in the head of many caregivers and that cop repeats things like, 'you should be able to do this alone. What's the big deal with doing laundry or shopping or banking for Mom?'  Many caregivers believe that they are shirking their obligations and actually betraying the love they feel for a dependent loved one if they ask for help.  It feels like an admission of failure in the most important job of your life.  

Caregiving websites are littered with blog posts, resources and inspirational sayings about self-care.  We've all heard that we must care for ourselves in order to care effectively for our loved ones.  So, why is it so hard to ask for help?  And why do people say no when finally the request is made?  

One answer could be that by the time a request is made, the caregiver is so exhausted and angry that the request sounds angry.  And a caregiver who is overwhelmed is not going to be asking for something small, the request is likely to be for someone to come and 'take over' for a few days.  That's not unreasonable when one sibling (or parent) is doing the lion's share of care.  But there may be a good reason that even someone who wants to help will say no in this situation.

FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN

Caregivers who aren't used to asking for help often don't share the details of their caring lives with family and friends.  Not sharing stories and information is part of the 'Oh, I can do it myself, it's all fine" modus operandi of the caregiver who is locked in the time bomb of 'look after your own' mentality.  Family and friends who are asked to help someone in an emergency whose needs they know nothing about will be afraid to help, especially if the request sounds angry or desperate.  

HOW TO GET THE HELP YOU NEED

Change the words of the cop in the head - say instead, "I need my family and friends to be on my team.  I need to help train them. And that training will take time and encouragement."

Begin training on a good day, when everything feels under control.  Think of what members of your family naturally like to do or talents they might have.  The agenda is to familiarise your future team members on the needs of your loved one.  Remember, every caring task by itself is perfectly doable.  But taken together and over time, caregivers become overwhelmed trying to do everything alone.  Pick one task you think a friend or relative might be able to do.  Ask that person to do that task once a week for a month with a promise to re-evaluate on both sides after the trial period.  Some caregivers might not have the words to make that first request.  Try saying, "I know you love cooking and we always love all the treats you prepare.  I don't have time to cook a healthy meal every night, so I wondered if you would like to make us a meal once a week for a trial period of month or so?  You could pick a day of the week that works for you and we can check in after a month to see if that day works for us all.  What do you think?"

THE REALITY

The reality is that most people want to help, but they don't know how.  And they see the danger of becoming overwhelmed.  That's why it's important to choose small tasks that people can absorb into their lives and feel good about helping in a way that exploits their talents without feeling out of control.  Once family and friends have some experience in helping that feels good, they will be much more likely to help out in an emergency.  They'll be your teammates in caregiving.

Sayings Caregivers Hate, Such As "Let me Know If There's Anything I Can Do"

If you want something you have never had, you must be willing to do something you have never done

Fact: Caregivers need help.

Fact: Many caregivers have trouble asking for help.

Fact:  When friends and family say, "Let me know if there's anything I can do", caregivers stifle the urge to scream.

There are so many things wrong with this 'offer of help'.  First, it's a lazy response to a real need - it's an easy 'out'.  A person who truly wants to be helpful should try to imagine your situation and offer some possible actions that will lighten your load; actions that a friend will actually carry out within days.  Secondly this 'offer of help' puts the onus of asking on the caregiver which feels like a veiled way of discouraging a caregiver from actually putting in a request.

As a caregiver community, we need to have a ready response to this ubiquitous saying.

An Experiment: Think of three things that someone could do that would be really helpful.  These might include walking the dog, delivering a prepared meal or staying with your loved one for a couple of hours once a week.

The next time anyone says, "Let me know if there's anything I can do", have your answer ready.  Say, "thank you for asking, yes!  Would you....?" and just pick one task from your list of three.  At first, tasks should be one-time, simple jobs that are easy to complete.  Once people get in the habit of helping and they know your daily reality a little better, they might expand the range of their helpful actions.  Remember to put a time frame on your request - pin down a commitment.  Offering heartfelt gratitude when someone does follow through is a good way to keep them coming back.  Everyone likes to know that their helpful act has made a positive difference.

Try this and let me know how it goes!

Why Some People Won't Help and What You Should Do About It

Yesterday, I read an excellent blog post titled "Asking for Help" on the Caregiver Space.  The article is chock full of good ideas and practical advice.  It was the comments that got me thinking, though.  Many sounded like this:

What if no one asks if they can help? That’s my problem….. I’m here 24/7, if someone would ask if they could come stay here for a little while for me to get out, I might take them up on it, but nobody offers that….. It’s hard…..it’s been 3 years….. A lot of people say….call me if you need anything….. But that’s not the same as a real offer….

Others on the Facebook posting of the blog said they did ask for help, but the response from siblings was 'I think I'm busy'.  

So, what's going on with caregivers who aren't getting the help they need from family and friends? 

FEAR OF ASKING FOR HELP

There's a cop in the head of many caregivers and that cop repeats things like, 'you should be able to do this alone. What's the big deal with doing laundry or shopping or banking for Mom?'  Many caregivers believe that they are shirking their obligations and actually betraying the love they feel for a dependent loved one if they ask for help.  It feels like an admission of failure in the most important job of your life.  

Caregiving websites are littered with blog posts, resources and inspirational sayings about self-care.  We've all heard that we must care for ourselves in order to care effectively for our loved ones.  So, why is it so hard to ask for help?  And why do people say no when finally the request is made?  

One answer could be that by the time a request is made, the caregiver is so exhausted and angry that the request sounds angry.  And a caregiver who is overwhelmed is not going to be asking for something small, the request is likely to be for someone to come and 'take over' for a few days.  That's not unreasonable when one sibling (or parent) is doing the lion's share of care.  But there may be a good reason that even someone who wants to help will say no in this situation.

FEAR OF THE UNKNOWN

Caregivers who aren't used to asking for help often don't share the details of their caring lives with family and friends.  Not sharing stories and information is part of the 'Oh, I can do it myself, it's all fine" modus operandi of the caregiver who is locked in the time bomb of 'look after your own' mentality.  Family and friends who are asked to help someone in an emergency whose needs they know nothing about will be afraid to help, especially if the request sounds angry or desperate.  

HOW TO GET THE HELP YOU NEED

Change the words of the cop in the head - say instead, "I need my family and friends to be on my team.  I need to help train them. And that training will take time and encouragement."

Begin training on a good day, when everything feels under control.  Think of what members of your family naturally like to do or talents they might have.  The agenda is to familiarise your future team members on the needs of your loved one.  Remember, every caring task by itself is perfectly doable.  But taken together and over time, caregivers become overwhelmed trying to do everything alone.  Pick one task you think a friend or relative might be able to do.  Ask that person to do that task once a week for a month with a promise to re-evaluate on both sides after the trial period.  Some caregivers might not have the words to make that first request.  Try saying, "I know you love cooking and we always love all the treats you prepare.  I don't have time to cook a healthy meal every night, so I wondered if you would like to make us a meal once a week for a trial period of month or so?  You could pick a day of the week that works for you and we can check in after a month to see if that day works for us all.  What do you think?"

THE REALITY

The reality is that most people want to help, but they don't know how.  And they see the danger of becoming overwhelmed.  That's why it's important to choose small tasks that people can absorb into their lives and feel good about helping in a way that exploits their talents without feeling out of control.  Once family and friends have some experience in helping that feels good, they will be much more likely to help out in an emergency.  They'll be your teammates in caregiving.

My book, The Four Walls of My Freedom: Lessons I've Learned From a Life of Caregiving  (House of Anansi Press, 2014) is available from all major booksellers in the USA and Canada. 

The Language of Care - Have We Lost It?

Recently, a friend and colleague railed at our collective lack of empathy for homeless people living on the street.  "What kind of a society do we live in where we step over another human being lying on the sidewalk?" she demanded.   I visualised myself on the street, seeing a human shape huddled under a blanket in a doorway.  Then, I see myself turning away and hurrying by, afraid to speak.

"What stops me from making eye contact or from speaking to a homeless person?" I wondered as I shifted in my chair.  "Alright", I thought, "If I did stop and say hello, what exactly would I say?  Excuse me, Sir... or.... May I help you? (do they look as if they need 'help'?) or.... Would you like something to eat?  (I don't want to accompany this person to a restaurant, I'm on my way to an appointment!) Oh, forget it.  I don't know what to say."  So, in my mind, I keep walking.

I've been thinking a lot about the language of giving and receiving care.  It's so difficult - have we forgotten it?  Did we ever have it, or do we need to invent a new language of expressing need and gratitude?

I've begun to think about the purpose of our language in caregiving.  So much talk is given to helping our loved ones be more 'independent'.  But is that what they (or we) really want?  One thing I know is that independence is not what it's cracked up to be.  Independence is a cruel fiction for many of our loved ones and even for those who are more able, it's just an idea that equates to loneliness.  'Interdependence' is a much better guide post for our actions and policies to support both caregivers and their charges, but that word hasn't caught on as many of us had hoped.

I think it's dignity that must drive our search for the language of care and most often, dignity can be equated to contribution.  Everyone wants to feel useful and to have the opportunity for being empowered to act, even if their physical or mental capacities are very diminished.  So perhaps, it's 'enabled autonomy' that we strive for in our caring relationships.  Let it be so for the purpose of this line of thinking.

If we want to help someone be autonomous (even if they need assistance to get through much of the day), what are some ways of offering help?  Perhaps the first way is to be silent and observe closely.  Is your loved one struggling to do something?  Is that the moment to ask, "Want some help with that?"  Next time that task comes up, does it seem appropriate to mention, "I saw in a magazine recently these really nice sweaters with zippers instead of buttons.  I'll pick one up for you to try, but in the meantime, I could help with these buttons - they are so annoyingly tiny!"

Facilitating people to be autonomous with dignity is time consuming work of the human heart.  Caregivers know perfectly well that it's much quicker and easier to just do the task for the person while prattling on about a different topic in order to distract 'the patient'.  And there may be times when that is necessary, but can't we be honest about it?  Our loved ones deserve the dignity of an honest exchange during their care activities.

Offering assistance when it's unwelcome can be tricky.  Sometimes, "I'm here if you'd like a hand with that" can result in watching in painful silence while a loved one tries and fails to manage eating a bowl of soup from a spoon held in a trembling hand.  If inserting dignity into the situation, rather than dealing with the mess (or eating the soup) is the objective, perhaps it's not so hard.  Make the soup texture the common enemy - "look at how they make the soup so runny these days!  It's probably a cost cutting measure.  Let's see what's in the fridge - maybe we can use that soup as a base for stew.  Mashed potatoes here we come!"  Because dignity is the objective and enabled autonomy is the means to the end, the words come out in ways that are conspiratorial, empathetic, light-hearted and conversational.

But, what of asking for help?  Should we expect our charge to be aware of preserving dignity in herself as well as her caregiver?  I believe we should.  Take the case of our son.  He has very severe cerebral palsy, but that hasn't stopped him exercising terrible manners over the years.  A disability is no excuse for rude or self-centred behavior in our house.  So, when I walk into his room in the morning and it's Mother's Day, for example, I might hear a demand to change the channel on television.  I want to correct, but not demean, so Nick will laugh as he tells people that my response will be "Nick, I'm going to walk out of your room and walk in again.  We're going to say good morning properly next time so repeat after me, 'Good morning, Mom! You look especially fantastic today!' (I jazz up the compliments so we can both laugh, but he gets the point of the exercise.)  And for those who aren't aware, Nicholas is non-speaking.  But his language comprehension is near-perfect and if he manages to blow me a kiss the second time around entering his room, I take that as a respectful morning greeting.

I still don't know how to begin a conversation with a homeless person I've never met.  I don't know how I would end that conversation, if I ever did manage to begin.  The language of care is very tricky and fraught with emotion.  But one thing that my gut tells is right: we must begin with love and dignity.  Perhaps the words will follow.