Why sometimes we have to hold space for the struggle

Yes, I'm struggling. No, I don't want help.

Wait, what?

It made no sense to my husband either. He knows that my joints hurt and that I struggle with fatigue. It's all part of my autoimmune disease, psoriatic arthritis. May is both Mental Health Awareness Month and Arthritis Awareness Month. Both of these intersect within me. Let me explain.

I started a garden project this spring.

"Do you want me to cut those for you?" My husband asked as I shortened bamboo poles for garden edging.

"Nope. I've got it."

My husband could not understand why I'd choose to exert so much energy when his help could also help me save some of my energy to do something else later. If he helped, maybe he wouldn't even have to hear me say how exhausted I was at 8 p.m.

But to me, it sounded a lot like him edging in on a project that I was enjoying accomplishing myself, even if the progress was slow and involved a wince here and there.

Both of us were irritated.

"Why won't you let me help you?" He asked.

Tears filled my eyes as I tried to help him understand. Every appointment with my rheumatologist starts with filling out a "health assessment questionnaire."

The paper lists questions like:

Can you dress yourself, including tying shoelaces and doing buttons?

Can you lift a full glass to your mouth?

Can you walk outdoors on flat ground?

For each question, I rate my ability on a scale from "without any difficulty" to "unable to do."

Every time I fill out this form it is with the understanding that I am watching these skills get more difficult and they will possibly slip away completely as the years pass. Medication helps manage the disease, helps slow it down, but there is no cure. So, yes, I want to do all the things now, even if it's hard. Later, when I've said my official goodbyes to certain capabilities, I want to show my kids my garden projects and remember the joy of beautifying the yard and cultivating the soil.

"I didn't know that," my husband answered.

I do a pretty good job at asking for help when I need it. I can raise a full glass to my mouth, but I struggle with a full pitcher of water, for example. I hate to ask, but I do. That's when I must tend to my mental health. It's OK to grieve the loss because it is still a loss. An incremental loss that ebbs and flows with good days and bad like zigzagging down a mountain side for a gentler descent. I'm grateful for that.

My husband loves me, and I know it's hard for him to watch me struggle. I can see why he thinks I'm stubborn. And I am stubborn. But sometimes, that stubbornness is what keeps me going, keeps me fighting.

It's OK to offer help, I do it all the time out in the world where I see people trying to open doors with their hands full. But it is also OK for someone to say, "No thanks, I've got it!"

This is true for children, the disabled and the elderly. Sometimes being present in someone else's journey is the best way you can possibly help. Let people do things for themselves no matter how uncomfortable it may make you feel to witness. It's not always bad to struggle. I am prepared for this path; there's no need to clear it for me.