Everyone has certain words that give them the ick. For some, it’s a descriptor like moist; for others, it’s corporate jargon like “circle back.” I once had neighbors who made me cringe just a little each time they called each other “Mama Bear” and “Papa Bear.”
Disgustingly cute pet names and corporate word salad aside, nothing tops my word-ick list more than the word “help.”
Now, a therapist may say my dislike of the word “help” stems from my “eldest-daughter” need to be hyper independent. To that therapist, I’d defensively say, “You don’t know me. I have very valid reasons for not liking the word help.”
So here’s my very valid problem with the word “help” and other words of its ilk, like “divorce.” Words like these carry implications and expectations. Believe it or not, there was a time when I used the word “help” around my house with abandon. I would say, “Can you help me unload the dishwasher? Can you help me with the laundry? I need your help putting the kids to bed. Can you help me hang this up? Can you help me move this furniture?”
In fact, the only way I got the other adult in the house to participate was to ask for help. It’s something I never questioned until one day, while I was drowning in piles of laundry, dishes, and to-do lists, I looked up to see my husband sitting unbothered on his phone. I thought, “Can he not see all the things that need doing?” I asked him why he wasn’t concerned about doing the things, and he said, “It looks like you have everything under control. If you need my help, just let me know.” That’s when I realized the power of the word “help.”
I had an epiphany. In that one moment, I understood that by using the word “help,” I implied that all the tasks belonged to me, because when we say “help,” we really mean “provide temporary assistance.”
For example, when you donate to a charity, they ask you to “help.” The implication is that the organization is doing the majority of the task, organizing volunteers, outreach, getting supplies, etc., and you are to temporarily assist by giving money or donating an afternoon of your time. You give in a small way; you help. So, every time I used the word “help” regarding a chore around the house, I subconsciously reinforced the idea that everything was my sole responsibility. This is when “help” became the only four-letter word I stopped using.
Today, I no longer ask for help when performing routine chores with my three children. Instead, I ask them, “How are you planning on contributing today?” Or I list the things that need to be done and ask who wants to do what.
For example, “The dog needs to be walked, the laundry needs to be put in the dryer, and the dishwasher needs to be emptied. How would you like to contribute?” There is no helping mom because these chores are not mine alone to complete. They are our shared responsibility. These tasks belong to our house, a micro-community that requires everyone to contribute, not to HELP.
Outlawing this word at home has allowed me to build community and also feel comfortable setting boundaries. For me, helping is reserved exclusively for assistance with a skill, medical attention, or temporary support. And to the hypothetical therapist who previously judged me, I told you so.
