I’m curious about what you felt as you read this headline: You are not a burden. Did it come as a sigh of relief? Did it rub up against your deeply held notions of yourself, or of how others perceive you? Or maybe it jogged a memory that communicated otherwise, a painful past moment where someone you relied upon made you feel unworthy of receiving their care.
Most of us, at one point or another, have wondered whether our struggles are burdensome to those around us. Sometimes that message has been directly communicated, sometimes it has been implied, and other times we have assumed it must be true.
All of us deeply desire to experience something different. But it can feel like too much to ask for or expect from others.
I spoke with a friend the other day about chronic illness. She shared that beyond the physical pain she experiences regularly, there were also emotional and social struggles. The thoughts that lingered below the surface were, "I hate feeling like my situation is burdening or inconveniencing the people in my life. That's not what I want. I don’t want them to associate me with my struggle."
She said she'd had difficulty even asking her close community to pray for her, because her suffering was ongoing. There was no neat and tidy beginning or end. The idea that she would have to keep asking for prayer and support was uncomfortable for her.
I gently reminded her that for the people who know and love her, she is not a burden. Her need for help and support is not bothersome to us. Because we love her, we absolutely want to be there for her.
Another person I know has had some very painful losses in her life. Grief looms large, and trauma is very present in her story. She struggles to believe that her friends really do want to be there for her (she has been let down many times by people she should’ve been able to count on). She also fears causing those close to her any additional pain or sadness. Because of all of this, she has made a practice of dealing with the hardest stuff on her own.
However, in times when she has gathered the courage to be vulnerable, she has been met with such kindness and care from her friends. Even when she begins to isolate herself, she has people in her life who are checking in and making sure she’s okay.
And of course, I’ll never stop telling my own story. When my husband and I stepped into a season of foster care, we realized immediately that we could not do it alone. There were desperate last minute calls asking for friends to come over as soon as they could. We received meals and cried in the arms of others. One friend even slept on our couch for a night and checked on the babies in a period of intense sleeplessness. We were shameless in our asking, because we knew we would not make it otherwise.
Sickness, unhealed trauma, stress, and anxiety-- these are experiences that all of humanity has in common. So I wonder why we are so quick to believe this idea that our own particular struggles are too much. We are too much.
If this is a message you’ve internalized, if it has kept you from reaching out to others when you’ve most needed to, please hear me again: You are not a burden.
My hope is that you would begin to believe this to be true. That fear or shame would not keep you from speaking up about your suffering to those you trust. That you’d know that those, like me, who have the privilege of holding your story do so with great care and compassion.
To walk with each other through the difficulties of life, making space to listen and meet needs and cry together, all of this is a gift. Let’s not go it alone. And remember: You are not a burden.
By Allison Wopata, Certified Clinical Trauma Specialist/Restorative Mentor