Your Mask First.
Put your own mask on first – she knows the announcement by heart, and still waited until the edge to ask for help.
The list from childhood is familiar: care for the animals, help your elders, never leave a friend in trouble. Bella notices what the list never included – yourself – and that our parents were handed the same list. Everyone knows the airplane rule about whose mask comes first; almost no one flies that way.
Then she describes a week that proves it: alone with the baby in a brand-new country while her husband is away on business, crying by the end of it. When he returns, they spend the day on chores, and she still hasn't asked for the break she needs – though he is always glad to look after their daughter. The anger that follows lands on herself, not him, and that's where the post earns its keep: a need is right, and it should be said out loud before the edge, not at it. Her question – are we any worse than the people we run to help at any hour? – is the Amulet of Love's ground note said her way: you deserve the same care you give.
She doesn't end resolved; she ends practicing. That's the honest version.
Since childhood we were taught to care for animals, to help and respect our elders, “a friend won't leave a friend in trouble” and so on – but for some reason nobody taught us to take care of OURSELVES. Which, in theory, is the most important thing. It's like the announcement on a plane: put your own mask on first, then the child's. But unfortunately nobody taught us that – and that lesson passed our parents by too.
Where am I going with this: my husband left on a business trip, and for a whole week I was alone with our daughter 24/7. In a new country we'd arrived in a week earlier🙈 At first it was fun and easy; by the end of the week I was crying. Tired. It's hard not to feel like yourself, to have your every move depend on a child, without a minute to catch your breath.
And then he came back, and I thought I'd exhale – he'd spend time with our daughter and I'd breathe a little. In the end we spent the whole day on household chores, since the apartment is empty and the move isn't finished yet. And toward evening I realized that my daughter's whimpering was irritating me beyond reason, that inside I had no strength left. And tomorrow my husband might leave on another business trip and I'd be alone with the little one again. And I felt so hurt – and then anger took hold of me. Not at my husband. At myself. That I, a grown woman, can't ask for help from my man – who, by the way, is always glad to stay with our daughter.
So there I am at the edge; I called him in for a talk and poured it all out: that I'm exhausted, at my limit, that I'd expected help from him and so on. That I'm angrier at myself, and that I need rest too. And of course he responded reasonably, as he always does. He, for his part, had been thinking what a good job he'd done – cleaned the toilet, took a walk with me and our daughter and so on. To be fair, we're both exhausted; the move drained us badly.
And so I'm thinking: why are we ready to help everyone around us, but not ourselves? Are we any worse than the people we run to help at any hour of the day? And it's not the first time this has gone this way with us: I only realize my battery is nearly dead at the last minute, hand over the child and go recharge – when, had I paid attention to it in time, everything would have been many times easier and calmer for everyone.
Thank you for reading.
If her words reached somewhere mine don't – good. That's what this blog is for. Take what fits and leave the rest.
– Jan