I just got back from the doctor’s. My legs landed me there because I was so swollen and in pain due to a chronic condition. I was juggling a cane and my bag to make my way into the Uber driver’s car. “Get your ass into this car,” I chided myself. “Don’t let him come around and help you.”
Of course, he came around and it took about 10 minutes to get me into his ride. My dress got caught up in my bag and without a thought, he untangled it. I was sniffling as we took off. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll get there.” “I’ll get you right up to the door and you can have my arm.” I gently refused. Not because I didn’t need it, but because I hated feeling so vulnerable. But when we got there, there was no refusing him. He delivered me to the door.
He didn’t cure my pain. He didn’t take away my fear. But he confronted the things I was afraid of — falling, being dependent, looking needy and pathetic.
He gave me compassion. And I accepted it. It wasn’t graceful, but it was full of grace. He treated me with a combination of tenderness and respect. And when we said, “Goodbye,” it was as if we had completed a transaction, one in which we were both enriched. He took the chance of being kind and I took the chance of accepting it. I was reminded again, that feeling humble is not the same as being humiliated.