Help!

I have a hard time asking for help. I don't like to admit that I sometimes need assistance. Asking for help is a sign of weakness.

"I can handle it," I tell myself. "I'll be alright."

I concoct the most feeble excuses not to call on a friend or neighbour.

"He's probably busy. I don't want to bother him."

And of course, fear is always there, lurking just around the corner.

"If I'm too much of a nuisance, they won't want to be my friends anymore."

It's crap, I know. But that's how I think sometimes, Ms Journal. I can't remember a time that a friend has asked for my help and I didn't give it freely and gladly. Why then would I expect others to behave differently?

I moved my fridge on Saturday morning. It's been making a funny rattling noise when it shuts off and I've been concerned about it. So, Saturday morning, I pulled the old girl away from the wall in the kitchen so I could inspect it. It's a very heavy appliance, my fridge. And old. Very old. Thirty years, maybe. Anyway, I strained and struggled to move this stupid thing and in doing so, I scratched the hardwood floor very badly.

I stood there, huffing and cursing and bemoaning the fact that I really hadn't the slightest clue what I was doing. I don't know anything about repairing fridges and I'd have to slide the bloody thing even further just to see behind it. I tried putting rags under the four corners, but I wasn't strong enough to tip the fridge and insert a cloth at the same time. And I was afraid I might injure my back.

"Shit," I said out loud. "Shit, shit, shit."

The refridgerator was now sitting in the middle of the kitchen (I have a tiny kitchen, Ms J) and it was also blocking the cellar door. I couldn't slide it back without further damaging the floor. I didn't know what to do. I tried sighing heavily and glaring at it, but that didn't help. I used stronger curse words and even threw a dish rag but all to no avail. I needed help.

I had plans to visit some friends that afternoon. Frankie and her husband, Tom. Frankie is the friend who went to the spiritual retreat with me last month.

"I wonder if Tom would help me," I thought, then followed immediately with "He's probably too busy. They're not coming over here anyway. I'm going there."

I stood back and looked again at the fridge, sitting crookedly in the middle of the kitchen floor. Well, I couldn't leave it like that, could I? Not forever. Eventually, it would have to go back against the wall where it belonged. And I would need help to move it.

I tried another glare and a half-hearted sigh. Yes, Ms J. I would have to bother my friends and ask for their help.

Tom did not hesitate whatsoever.

"Sure Dale. No problem. I'll help you. What time do you want us to come over? You want me to swing by Home Depot first and get some of those rollers for heavy appliances?"

"No, it's OK Tom. Just come over and give me a hand please. I'll make supper for us. We can have our visit here instead of at your place."

So my friends popped round a bit later. Tom is an engineer and he understands mechanical things better than I do. He examined the fridge and determined there's nothing we can do to stop the rattle. The compressor is nearly worn out and I may need a new fridge one day soon. He helped me put some old rags under the corners so it wouldn't scratch the floor, and then he helped me return it to its original location. With Tom's help, it was easy. I'm glad now that I called him.

I'm glad I asked for help. My problem is solved and I had a brilliant evening, visiting with my friends.

I still don't like asking for help, you know. But each time I do it, it gets a little easier. Asking for help is not a sign of weakness, is it Ms J? Christine says that admitting weakness is a sign of strength.

I suppose it's another of Life's great paradoxes.