Learning the Art of Not Helping

Don’t know about you, but I was always the kid who wanted to take home every mangy mutt or mewing kitten.  The girl who endeavoured to save tadpoles, rescue worms and rehome spiders.

My favourite patients were birds.

Channelling ‘Nurse Nancy’ from ‘Twinkle’,  I’d scoop up every injured sparrow - even if was so welded to the road I had to use a shovel and it had less chance of making it than Joe Biden to the next election.

It didn’t stop me. I’d speak lovingly to them in their shoebox hospital bed as their weary eyes faded…..

I’d give them names- usually ‘Ruby’ - and offer them warm milk…… okay……attempt to ram my ‘Tiny Tears’ bottle down their gullet.

The poor things must have been bloody terrified - the bird equivalent of waking up in Kathy Bates’ house.

Once, I even brought home two hens I’d found chucked in a bush (that’s Rochdale for you) and fed ‘em popcorn kernels. I was a teenager, it was pre-internet and how the hell was I supposed to know what chickens ate?

Still,  I meant well.

We always do, don’t we?

It’s a trait that followed me into adulthood and morphed into wanting to help people.

I’m a massive Fred Rogers fan.  He famously said:

“Look for the helpers”.

Well, I was most definitely around.  Nancy had grown up and arrived on cue at your train-wreck life wearing day-glo and singing “You’ve got a friend”.

But people don’t always want to be helped, do they? It has to be the right time.

For them, not you.

There is nothing sadder or more frustrating than watching someone you love or care about, suffering.

Especially when you see the sparkle of their raw diamond but they feel only the weight of the rock that surrounds it.

So often, we see exactly what someone needs, tell them and then they don’t heed our advice.

Why can’t they see what appears to be blindingly obvious?

But turn it around.

How many times have we done the same; refused counsel, thought we knew better? Told people to butt out?

It’s human nature to strive to live out our own script, not the version of life someone else wants us to enact.

We all have very personalised lessons to learn in our own good time.

Growing up is realising that, despite your best efforts, your ‘projects’ won’t always make it.  And even worse, some stray dogs you take in will turn around and bite you on the arse.

And maybe, just maybe……your interventions are making it worse.

Do you remember the first time some smug bugger told you that the birds you’d ‘helped’ would wind up pecked to death because they now had your scent on them?

Yes, brought to you by those same bastards who said you can’t feed bread to ducks, they informed you that the mama bird had been waiting on the fence for you to piss off and you’d basically scuppered their chances.

Makes you think, doesn’t it?

Wanna know why she was the one able to help them?

Because she was the one the bird called to.  Not you.

If you’re still inclined to over-help without being asked, consider who are you really doing it for. What good does playing martyr do?

Does your Nurse Nancy secretly house a touch of Beverley Allitt, feeding on the attention and drama?

Do everyone a favour and back off the mic.

The good news, is that there is a wounded bird you can always help …….one that begs to be nurtured.

A bird that longs to thrive.

That’s right - you!

I seldom try and help people these days unless they want me to (and I actually like them) although admittedly, it is a hard habit to break.

I endorse pinning your prayers to your own wing.

And gently nudging yourself.

We do our most important work in the sky where others can model and aspire to our take off - especially if they know we’ve also suffered the odd broken wing along the way.

So…..go fly!

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Enjoy?

PS: If you enjoyed this post, you may also like this one.

Getting back to ME