Where's My Village?

OK, that sounds a bit accusatory; truth is, part of my customary village was temporarily unavailable for various reasons.  The housekeeper had childcare issues and couldn't come.  My assistant had an out-of-the-country travel opportunity and wasn't planning to come.  Earl and I decided to put our rental property on the market, so we had scheduled painting and cleaning bids.  Another rental property, newly vacant, needed to be shown to prospective tenants. However, we're a pretty effective couple and crafted a plan to get it all done.  Typical of life, everything happens at once. We had an unexpected family medical issue that required Earl to fly down to California for an unspecified length of time.  I thought I was on my own, until I remembered the village.*

When you're a person with disabilities, it's easy to fall into the trap of becoming overly dependent on some kind of support to do things or go somewhere.  Skeeter and I had been on the go for three years, so scooting wasn't an issue; I still drive short distances to familiar places.  One often focuses too much on what is no longer easily doable.  It's an ongoing learning curve to balance the need to maintain some independence and still remain safe and injury–free.  The working motto—"Do as much as you can for as long as you can" has served us in a variety of situations. Being home alone with a list of "to do's" was an opportunity to remind myself what was reasonable to do and when to call on the village.

Fortunately, my family and friends trust me to speak up if I need help.  They know they're not expected to be mind readers, a cheering squad or offer sympathy (spare me).  My village doesn't automatically equate struggling with a specific inability.  If I do miscalculate and fall, they don't immediately rush to my aid, roll their eyes, or verbalize some version of "I told you so."  Who needs that?** 

I had a few things in my favor.  First of all, being retired and having no expectations put on me, I can take all the time in the world to do something.  Secondly, the peaceful solitude meant that there was no one to observe the goofy way I looked when completing a job.  And while ataxia may have caused me to give up multitasking, I have learned to pay attention to one thing at a time.  Focused attention helps me not feel so overwhelmed and has become my primary coping mechanism.  Lastly, pain isn't a constant companion.  I am, after all 65, and have both acute and chronic aches like many people.  Thankfully, neither physical nor mental pain is a severe, demoralizing, or debilitating presence in my life.

But my village did handle the bids, brought over dinners and grandchildren, cleaned my kitchen, and offered to stay overnight with me.  I had to gratefully decline the offer due to my much anticipated date with Season 5 of 'Doc Martin' and a glass of wine (heaven!).

The Lesson:  I know it takes a village; the good news is we have one.  Priceless!

* Previous Post: The Help
**Previous Post:  In the kitchen: one step at a time