Mr. Rogers, my childhood hero, famously told a story of being a child and seeing scary things on the news. His mother told him, “Look for the helpers.” It is a beautiful sentiment, and very comforting for children during times of chaos or disaster. It speaks to the sense of abandonment and helplessness that many of us - not just children - feel when we look at the world around us.
For some of us, though, spotting the helpers is not quite enough. I don’t want to just look for the helpers. I want to - need to - be the helper. The person who provides others a sense of comfort and respite and safety, because those feelings and the people who provide them are becoming scarce. Or if not exactly scarce, then perhaps harder to find. Because to be a helper means to be vulnerable - to say to yourself, “There is a need, and I am going to risk ____ in order to do something about it.”
That may seem like an exaggeration, but I don’t believe it is. Helping people shows that you care, even if it’s just about your own well-being, just a paycheck. In my experience most of the people who choose a career in helping or service have at least a slight philanthropic streak. Even if they are doing it for recognition or accolades or bragging rights, they still have to get their hands dirty. That may mean physically touching humans that most others would consider untouchable, because they are sick or wounded or distressed or in pain or poor. It means swallowing pride, hiding fear, and being willing to admit that you actually see the suffering of others. If you can see it, and you want to do something about it - however peripherally - that means you have the capacity to feel it. And empathy and vulnerability go hand-in-hand. Recognition of another person’s need says you have, on some level, in some way, experienced that need yourself.
Becoming a medical assistant was a natural choice for me, when I became restless with my job delivering medical equipment. My earlier years as an assistant midwife and doula had given me a deep satisfaction and sense of purpose. I missed the interaction with people, especially people that I could potentially help. I also genuinely love people, and I love being of service, as corny and cliche as that might sound. I consider it a privilege and a beautiful gift to be that person someone can talk to, reveal themselves to. I am honored to be a helper.
There is a lot of horribleness in the United States right now, and not for the first time. This is, however, the first time that I am in a real position to help. To me that means providing a sense of safety, hope, and welcome. I work in a non-profit community health clinic. Most of our patients are modern-day ‘untouchables’: on public assistance of some kind, minorities, or immigrants, or a combination of those. They have been taught by experience that most people don’t care about their pain or stress or illnesses. They have been ignored, they’ve been sidelined, and - oddly - they have been told that their situation is their own fault (how?). It is my sacred duty to care for them - to listen to them, to empathize, to actually physically touch them. To reassure them through my actions and my touch that they are human, and they matter.
The one thing they do not need from me is more fear and worry. I know that my hyperawareness of horror and tragedy affects me deeply and spills over: I wear it on my face and in my demeanor. It renders me helpful to no one. Over the years these negative effects have become much too easy to acquire and extremely difficult to set aside, to the point where I even have to limit my intake of crime/drama/medical emergency fiction in whatever form it appears. I also have to limit my exposure to it in the real world. This makes it appear that I am burying my head in the sand. That I am promoting toxic positivity. And if I’m not sharing bad news so that everyone sees it, I’m somehow not helping. Believe that if you need to. I simply cannot afford the toll that bad news takes on my mental health and soul - not for myself, not for my patients.
I am especially worried about those who are new to this country. Who are smiling and hopeful and overwhelmed and probably already scared. Do they need my fear and despair? Will it help them? Will it be of service to them to project more worry and fear? I don't think it will. I think what helps - what is of true service - is to show them kindness. Love. Light. Humor. Welcome. Safety. Camaraderie. The stuff I have an abundance of. My gift. That is what I can do.
Everyone has a candle. Everyone. Everyone has a wick. Everyone has the potential to be light - to make light. I can sit alongside them in the dark - be the dark, whisper horrors, spread hopelessness and fear - or I can be a flame. I offer my light without hesitation. It doesn't diminish my own flame, not in the slightest. Instead it creates more light. And if their light can light someone else... then it's a win-win. More light for everyone. We can see what we're doing, where we are. We can find each other. Our light allows others to do their work (I initially wrote 'worth' instead of ‘work’, which is one of those serendipitous misspellings that I love). It allows the ones who can fight - the beautiful righteous warriors of love - to do so fully, because they know there is always a light on for them when they need to come home to rest and recover.
I’m reminded of an old black and white movie about Thomas Edison, played by Mickey Rooney. I don't remember much of the movie, I was very young when I saw it. What I remember is that his mother needed emergency surgery, and although the doctor was available, there wasn't enough light to perform the operation. The situation was getting increasingly dire... then Thomas realizes that mirrors would create more light. So in a frantic scene that I’ve never forgotten, he gets all the mirrors he can, setting them up so they reflect the original source... and each other. His mother survives.
If you are in the dark, if despair and fear are winning in your psyche, look for the helpers.
If you can't be a helper -
If you can't be a flame -
Be a mirror.
Image: a subdued sunrise, grey and muddy gold, but the sun’s rays are beaming up over the top of the cloud in a very heavenly way.