Today I moved to a new office space and I was so excited! My morning started up with several unexpected issues and I rushed to haul everything in one trip. It’s about a 5-minute walk and my schedule didn’t allow for two trips. My original #Instagram post was written while I was catching my breath after struggling up a poorly paved road. I lied about not feeling sorry for myself. Although I wasn’t in full-on self-pity mode, I did feel a little sad for myself. Like every situation involving human beings, the photo does not provide an accurate glimpse of what led up to this particular Instagram post. I didn’t feel sad about carrying things, but I did feel very unsupported. Was it anyone’s fault? Yes. Mine.
This was my original post:
Now that I’m sitting comfortably in AC and no longer a sweaty animal, I’m feeling so silly that I felt like I didn’t have support because I didn’t ask. I work with the most incredible people and if I had asked, I would’ve easily gotten some assistance in lightening the weight of this trek to my new office space. The truth is I have a huge problem with asking for help. Perhaps it’s rooted in fear that I’ll be seen as “less than” if I let people know I need assistance. I chose to work in a helping profession because I genuinely enjoy assisting other people realize their own potential. When it comes to other people, I am happy to assist and always encourage my clients to utilize their resources.
When it comes to making sure my own needs are met, I would… rather not. Like many other social workers, I don’t do a great job at taking care of myself. I ate lunch at 4:30pm before my last client was scheduled at 5pm. Instead of leaving by 7pm (I actually finish at 4:30pm), I stayed a little later and tried to organize my space so my desk wouldn’t look like a wreck tomorrow. I’m primarily motivated by being useful for others because I spent most of my life feeling quite uncomfortable if I wasn’t occupying all my time being productive. The only time I feel okay about relaxing is when I’m in the midst of a bout of depression and it’s hard for me to convince myself to wear pants.
I’m getting better with asking for help because I recognize the outcome of trying to do everything on your own. During my final year of grad school, I primarily worked with children with special health care needs and their families. The parents I worked with put my 12-hour workdays to shame. I don’t know how they did it. Many of them had two jobs, other kids AND the responsibility of navigating the complicated web of the American health system (which is sometimes confusing and horrible). Family caregivers are at high risk for burnout due to the demands that many others don’t understand. They are typically ignoring their own needs because their primary focus is on their loved one. In the course of eight months, I’ve spoken to several people who were just completely depleted, but didn’t know what to do.
