Tags: Staff Editorial
March 24, 2015 | 04:32 PMLast week, my car died.
It was giving me some signsthat I ignored on the way to an assignment. I just acknowledged them, then forgot.
A flashing battery light? I don’t even know what that means. Trouble accelerating? My car just needs a nap.
If that doesn’t tell you how bad I am handling automotive issues, just find me at a gas station when my tank overflows and gas is gushing down the side of my car.
So, on Tuesday, I left my car to rest in a parking lot for an hour. Really, I didn’t even think about the trouble it was having driving out to Geneva Ridge Resort.
When I came back to my car, I thought that the trouble on the way out was a fluke and on the way back into town it wouldn’t be a problem.
So I tried to start it. It declined. I tried again. It refused. All I got were clicks and wheezing from the engine.
Geneva Ridge is about four miles from home for me. Completely reasonable distance to walk when the weather is good.
My first thought was to walk home and call a service station in the morning for a jump start.
I didn’t want to bother anyone, my roommate or my coworkers. I thought to myself, they’re probably too busy for me.
But I was wearing flimsy, girl shoes and a skirt that wasn’t meant for evening weather in March in Wisconsin. So I finally bit the bullet and called a few people.
Actually, that’s not true. I texted my roommate first. Much less scary to ask for help via the keyboard.
Which made me think, why is it so hard to ask for help?
I would gladly leave my couch on a Tuesday evening to pick up one of my friends if stranded.
Yet it was so hard for me to text her, and then it was hard to follow that with a call to my boss.
I like to think that it’s because I’m so strongly independent. I’ve lived on my own for a while, and I like to make my own decisions.
Asking for help makes me look weak, makes me look dependent on others, a stereotype about women that I hate. (Even though my automotive skills are completely stereotypical.)
Just because I was dependent on someone for a ride, doesn’t mean I need someone all the time.
So maybe it’s a pride issue. Asking for help is very humbling, the opposite of pride.
When someone suggested that my inability to ask for help stemmed from pride, I nearly shouted no. Which probably proved his point.
I struggle with even realizing I’m too proud. It’s hard to admit to myself that I’m not a subject matter expert in all things, despite my best intentions.
That’s quite a revelation, but what’s my next step? Do they have meetings for people who are full of pride?
It’s probably the act of consistently humbling myself — asking for help when I need it — that will help. So next time I’m not sure of what to do, instead of just working it through on my own, I’ll call someone.
Or maybe just a text message.