You don't have to do it all alone
One of the best - and hardest - lessons I've ever learned
Hey friends,
I hope you’re all doing well.
This week has been another big week; we’ve had some big winter storms and new challenges - some welcome, some not so welcome, but all opportunities in their own way.
In the midst of it all, I’ve been finding myself going all out on the silver linings and trying to see the lemonade in everything. It might be a coping mechanism, but it’s sure helping me cope, so zero complaints there.
I’ve also been very much calling upon my village, and had a really interesting session with my mentor, which brought up a couple of the things I wanted to share today.
These last few years, I’ve really been leaning into the benefits of writing to make sense of my world - and the world - and so today’s post is me doing just that. It does get a touch spicy in the beginning, but then it mellows out, I promise.
Recently, I’ve been wondering how much my ability to see the bright side in everything comes from growing up in a family of optimists.
My mum always said she and I were realists, but to everyone else, we were the pessimists. I’d define myself as a the-sun-may-be-peeking-through-the-clouds-but-I’ll-bring-an-umbrella-just-in-case kind of person.
I was also brought up - by my mum, again - to be one of those “If you want something done right you should just do it yourself” kind of people. We were an island.
At school, there were more than a few times when a teacher gently erred that I could perhaps do with a little more support and should maybe speak to someone about it, but my mum shut them right down and said I’d be fine.
In her own way, she was protecting me; she said she didn’t want the black mark on my permanent record. She acted like it would tarnish my life, in the same way tattoos would tarnish my skin and ruin all my future prospects. She wasn’t impressed when I got my first one of those, either. By then, though, I was 20 and had been living away from home for a couple of years.
That isn’t to say she wasn’t a supportive mother. She was. She took me to so many different doctors when we couldn’t figure out what was causing my chronic migraines. She took me to acupuncturists and osteopaths and even learned reiki and practiced tai chi, but she didn’t like the idea of brain help.
I don’t think many people did, back then.
It’s interesting looking back and thinking about how much stigma there used to be around any kind of mental health stuff, including therapy, counselling, and self-help books.
I still remember when Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus came out in 1992. It felt almost scandalous; a book to be hidden under the bed, not displayed on the bookshelf.
Now, it feels like self-help - or self-improvement - books are everywhere. While they have a long history, with their counterparts found in Ancient Egypt, Greece, and China, there’s little doubt that the industry has exploded in recent years.
It’s almost like we’re all looking for a little something to take the edge off.
Back in the 90s in the UK, though, there was more of a stoic, “Keep calm and carry on” kind of vibe - like asking for help was the worst thing you could do.
We already had it better than my grandparents, who’d lived through the Blitz by hiding under the kitchen table while bombs went off around them. In contrast, our table - which was never once rocked by an explosion - always had food on it. We had access to libraries full of fiction books, an abundance of nature, and Saturday morning cartoons.
What more could we want?
Definitely not someone to talk to about our problems - because our problems weren’t real problems. There were kids starving in Africa. They had real problems. Not like us.
Gosh, writing that feels spicy.
But the truth is that all our problems are relative. Just because we were born in a place of geographical privilege doesn’t mean we didn’t have other problems. I didn’t have to worry about where food was coming from and fortunately didn’t grow up in a violent household - it was more passive-aggressive than aggressive - but there were still other issues at play.
I found myself talking about nervous system privilege with my current mentor the other day. She said she grew up in a house where she felt very loved and safe and regulated, and while she has other issues, she can easily come back to a place of regulation.
As we were talking, I realised that I was the opposite. I didn’t feel safe a lot growing up. My mum couldn’t easily trust anyone, and so I learned that I couldn’t either. It’s taken a long time for me to override that: to learn to trust other people and let them help me.
That said, knowing how good it can feel to open up and trust people also makes me sad for her, my grandma, and my aunt - who both died tragically and feeling all alone in the world.
They’re far from alone in that.
As humans, we need community. We need each other. We could never have arrived at where we are now as a species if we hadn’t worked together, so it blows my mind how isolated and individualistic we’ve become as a society; how much our trust for one another has been eroded over the years.
The consequences have been dire. We’re in the midst of a loneliness epidemic, Mental health crises abound. People feel unsupported and dysregulated. There’s less stigma around accessing support, but the support structures can’t keep up. Many people slip through the cracks. It’s no wonder the self-help book market is booming.
Life is hard.
Yet, within the hardships, and those cracks - not the ones that Leonard Cohen said let the light in, but the other ones - there’s also space for evolution. Space for us to move away from the nuclear family, and recreate our own villages - ones that look very unlike traditional support structures, but are still able to fill the void and give us what we need to lift each other up and grow together.
It makes me laugh to think about how hyper-individualistic I was when I first arrived in Australia, five years ago.
Back then, it was just me and my backpack against the world. I had a couple of friends I loved dearly who let me into their home and I let into my heart, but it was a small tight-knit crew. I’d got where I’d got on my own - in business and in life - and I was just fine with that, thank you very much.
Until I wasn’t.
Even my realist, “I’ll pack an umbrella in case it rains” attitude wasn’t able to see COVID, my mum’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, or the shitshow of other stressors - like losing my working rights and needing to spend the entirety of my life savings on a visa application - coming.
It was then that I learned that we can’t do everything ourselves. The hard way. Of course.
It took me a while to get there, but eventually I realised that doing it all on my own was actually doing me a disservice. It was keeping me small - more like a tiny boat bobbing around in stormy weather with the sails pulled down to keep from getting damaged.
Once I could work again, I took some - most - of my income and re-invested it in a writing mentor, hoping to regrow my business to surpass where it had been before I’d lost it all.
While I ultimately ended up moving away from the writing business, her support was invaluable. I never realised how good it would feel to have someone in your corner, cheering you on. How when you paid for someone to help you, they actually helped you.
It wasn’t like getting a coffee with a friend when you say you’re fine or “Oh, enough about me, what about you?!”
It was also someone I could trust - because I’d paid for their trust and for them to have my back. We had a confidentiality agreement. No matter what was going on in my life, I could show up as my whole self, and they wanted to help me. No extra strings.
After a lifetime of fearing that “black mark” and feeling like the world was against me, it was life-changing.
With their help, I finally learned what it was like to have someone you could trust and talk to. I learned how to let more people in. I was able to expand my circle of trust. Break down my barriers. Ask for help when I needed it. I could practice flexing those muscles in our safe space, and then send that out into the world.
I learned to advocate for myself; to ask editors for extensions or pay rises. To push back and say no when I didn’t want to do things. To negotiate without feeling like an ungrateful snob who was lucky enough just to be in the room, or like the rug was going to be pulled out from under me at any moment.
Before I started working with her, I referred to my business as a Jenga tower. It was like I’d built it as high as it could go, but it was riddled with holes and had some severe structural limitations. I’d tried to figure it all out myself, and I’d done a good job to get as far as I had, but I was struggling.
Truth is, my life felt a bit like that, too, but she really helped me shore up the foundations.
While I hired her to help with the business, our work together was transformative in many other ways. She welcomed me into a new era in my life - one where I'm actually able to ask for and receive help.
I’m so grateful that I now get to carry on that mantle, helping my own clients strengthen their Jenga towers, break their own glass ceilings, and move past their own limiting beliefs to see - and realise - their true potential.
And, while I’m sad my mum will never get to experience the massive expansion that exists on the other side of this self-made village, that spurs me on more, too. So much of what I do I do because of her. She dedicated her whole life to helping others - often at the cost of herself. I’ve learned that I can dedicate my life to helping others and help myself, too.
We can all rise, together.
Reflection questions
Are you someone who is easily able to ask for help or do you struggle a bit?
Are there areas in your life where you feel like you might benefit from more help? Perhaps somewhere where you feel like you’ve reached a glass ceiling or got as far as you can go on your own.
What is your villlage like? Have you got a good crew around you or does it feel like a ghost town? Remember, help and community can come in many ways including (but not limited to) books, people, friends, mentors, podcasts, and teachers.
Try to identify one area or thing in your life that you’d like support with right now. Is there a tiny step you can take to find that help?
While I do offer creative mentoring sessions if you want 1:1 support, I also have a lot of other resources and tricks up my sleeves gleaned from working with both of those mentors - and others - that I’m more than happy to share.
If there’s anything in particular you’d like help with at the moment, feel free to hit reply or let me know in the comments. I’ve been really loving the conversations I’ve been having there and I’m always happy to dive in deeper if it will have value.
Sending you all lots of love this week - and every other one, too.
Cxx
PS: I also stayed up far too late revamping my website design on Wednesday night. I intended to just add in a couple of different offerings, but then ended up going all out and updating the whole lot. While I forgot to save the old version for a side-by-side, I’m so happy with how it looks. Check it out here!
PPS: My writing is all free to read. However, if you would like to support me, you can do so either by upgrading your subscription or buying me a coffee. Alternatively, likes, comments, shares, and recommendations also all help and are much appreciated!
Definitely #1 for me! I’m not great at asking for help and it’s for a similar reason to what you wrote about. I always think I can get it done better and faster if I do it myself. It’s a horrible way to be and I try to break the habit, but it doesn’t always work and then I end up feeling life I’m just trying to please everyone else alllllll the time. Thanks for the reminder to work on this, Cassie! ❤️
Beautiful words, as always. I love the images; always a delight for the eye, and your website looks great. I found it easy to navigate and inviting to check out different sections. xx