Asking for help is a sign of weakness. An indication that you can’t take care of yourself. This is how I used to view it anyways. Needless to say, it is still a rusty endeavor, and still, I hold onto resistance in asking for a helping hand. But as is everything in life, I’m learning. Learning that asking for help isn’t a thought of the weak, but rather a crucial step in one’s own self-care, which absolutely and ultimately lends to one’s own ability to harnesss self-compassion.

My wife went out of town on a girl’s trip for five days (which for the record, makes me happy. Not because she is gone, but because I enjoy knowing she is out doing fun things), leaving me to care for our child, Rory, assist with horse care and animal care. I’ve never been well equipped for juggling too many responsibilities, although I have done so for a large majority of my life, I feel the stress of it. This has led me to recognize the need for an intensive stress management practice, which I am happy to say I have adopted and am currently practicing.

Leading up to my wife’s five-day trip, our son Rory was home sick for the better part of a week. This left us to juggle childcare, work and general responsibilities. By the weekend I was feeling it. Hell, I was feeling it a mere two days into his playing hooky. But like most things in life, I white-knuckled my way through it all, holding to the thought that I have everything figured out. Meanwhile my insides were on fire from the barrage of external stimuli. That all too familiar burning sensation in my gut, which without fail always finds a way to work its way up into my chest cavity and grab hold of my lungs.

After a long and wonderful Saturday out with Rory, which was spent enjoying a ferry ride to West Seattle for breakfast with Aunty Charlotte, a venture to Alki Beach and a nearby park, and lunch at Whole Foods for a salad, hummus and a treat of his choice, we were back home in the evening glow of our lush green property. We wrapped up the day by playing in the backyard, a good finish to the end of a great day of father and son bonding. But I was tired, ready to lay in my bed and dive into my book, or simply sleep.

Without undergoing great detail, nearly an hour before my perceived and targeted blissful retreat to bed, Rory decided to shove a bb sized plastic ball he found somewhere outside deep into his ear canal. This landed us in the Emergency Room for nearly five and a half hours. Arriving around 8:30 p.m. and finally departing with blood shot eyes at 2 a.m. While he fell asleep at the hospital and on the drive home, I did not. Sunday was rough. Anxiety unleashed itself, stress got the best of me, and I lived in a state of panic for the better part of the day. Full disclosure, I was in this state of panic in the days leading up to Sunday (although the day Saturday eased it some, it still lingered), so the late bedtime on Saturday (really Sunday morning) and the following days early rising had put the proverbial icing on the cake.

On a brief walk with my father and Rory that late Sunday morning, I explained our prior evenings events and he expressed how I should have called for his help. Said he is always there for me whenever I need him. I agreed but moved on, as I usually do, casually shrugging off words of assistance, thinking I have it all figured out. Later that day though, I though on his words and I did ask for help. Asked Leslie’s parents to pick Rory up from school the following day so I could get a few hours to myself. A deep need for no responsibility and general silence, or at minimum, no toddler volleying for my attention.

I went to the gym after work on Monday, lost myself to music and exercise for nearly an hour and a half and followed up with a guided meditation session in the corner confines of our local YMCA. Five minutes into the meditation, a flood of intense calmness swept through me. Rising upward from the floor, through my legs, up my torso, wrapping around my neck and head, it finally coalesced and settled deep in my heart where I was met with warmth, compassion and relief. Like a Molotov cocktail of the gentle variation, filled with fuzzy ferry dust and exploding with kindness and love, I was warmed to the core. None of which had I felt for some time. In that moment, a realization rushed forth; I was living in a constant state of anxiety for too long and the simple solution presented itself. Ask for help. Just ask for some damn help.

The simple solution to freeing up the stressors in life, to calm the anxiety and tension, to give yourself a little space and personal time is to ask for some damn help.