It all started with a cereal bowl. The bowl, inched closer to the edge of the counter as my husband wrestled open a box of cereal. We were standing on opposite sides of the counter talking when I noticed the bowl was centimeters away from crashing to the floor. I reached over and moved the bowl out of harm’s way.
I’ve got it under control, was my husband’s response. In shorthand- I don’t need help.
I’m not criticizing- I utter something to that effect when he steps up to help me empty the dishwasher, or put the leftovers away or strip the bed Saturday morning, “I’ve got it.”
I began to wonder, while stuck in traffic, why do we infer so often that we don’t need help.
Why can’t we accept help? It seems to be a problem for independent people.
I’ve been doing things for myself since I was…
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