Support systems with a side of guilt
Why is allowing others to help us so damn hard?
Welcome to Solicited Advice, our weekly column that celebrates the helpfulness in health. Because in a world where strangers at the grocery store love to tell you that a specific brand of magnesium will indeed “cure” what ails you (it probably won’t, so sorry), we’re all about passing on our lived experience in a way that makes your life a little better. Are we experts? Nah, not really. But we’re great listeners who have perfected the art of pillow screaming. Let’s get into it!
My question comes with an asterisk, because I know how rare it is to have a small, strong support system surrounding me. But that love often comes with a gigantic side of guilt — over the sacrifices they make, the money they spend. If you can relate, how do you deal?
Jess: I don’t feel like I have a ton to offer here other than solidarity — the guilt is so real and overwhelming sometimes. Three things that help me manage it:
Regular therapy (and new this year: anxiety meds!)
Surrounding myself with people who understand I have a firm boundary around consent, honesty, and transparency. I need to be able to trust people’s yeses and nos. This is for all things, but specific to support — I don’t want to spend days wondering if they were really OK with that thing they said yes to, or find out about quiet resentment months down the line. I need to know they will tell me no if they want or need to.
Hand-in-hand with the above: Being willing to have really tough conversations with the people who matter the most, and trusting their willingness to have those conversations too. We start from a place of mutual understanding that we love and care for each other, want the best for each other, and are solution-finding together — not blaming, shaming, guilting, or being led by those emotions either.
One of the harder lessons for me to learn years ago was that if I enjoy helping and supporting people, if it brings me joy to do those things and actually makes it harder when people overly protest — it’s quite possible that’s true for other folks too. Since I started reacting to the support the way I’d like folks to react to my support, that’s made a big difference.
Ash: Around the age of three and a half I had to suddenly take a crash course in hyper-independence. It was then that my brother was born with a rare chromosomal deletion — which doctors were unable to diagnose until over a decade and a half later — and needed (and still needs) a lot of support. I have a complex relationship with this dynamic. On one hand I recognize my parents are human and only had so much time and energy in the day, and on the other I know I needed a lot more than I was willing to let on. Even as a child, I was masking in ways I’ve only recently been able to do the work on unlearning.
Growing up alongside someone who saw various doctors and therapies frequently, I was unconsciously given a barometer to compare myself and my needs to. Unfortunately, that comparison completely distorted my perspective on what support can look like because his example was one I couldn’t relate to. It means I too feel that guilt because I’m stuck on the notion that someone else needs it more, and I should just deal with it alone.
Call it autism, call it anxiety, call it nature vs. nurture — but I need folks to be direct with me when they’re offering their support. I get that it may feel a bit weird, but dancing around the subject or communicating through implications just leaves me frustrated. This approach is the only thing that got me through the hardest moments of guilt with my partner when, for the first time in years, I needed significant financial support which led us to shifting bills around and him taking on a larger brunt of the expenses while I scrambled to get things figured out. It also meant being direct on how I was feeling, where I could verbalize the feelings of shame and guilt that kept me up some nights. Without it, he would have never reminded me that a few years back we were in opposite positions and how it was also hard, but that I didn’t consider supporting him to be a burden. It also gave me the validation that my needs were worth the support system and to stop comparing my needs to others.
These open conversations gave me a valuable perspective that when folks are offering help with no strings attached, they mean it. They wouldn’t do it otherwise because it can be hard. While being direct may not be the exact trick for you, openly communicating is always the best approach in any type of relationship, and can ultimately help you figure out solutions that make the best out of a situation.
Kat: This particular topic is extremely well-timed as I am justtttt moving back home after 3+ weeks at my parents’ house, where I was recovering from my most recent surgery. Like you, I recognize how lucky I am to have two people in my life outside of my ride-or-die partner who are truly willing to drop everything and reschedule anything to make sure I’m taken care of. But with that safety and softness comes unfathomable guilt — because my parents are getting older and I want them to enjoy the years they’ve worked so damn hard for — and deep-seated grief. The latter comes from a prickly place of “Why me?” Why can’t I recover at home like other people? Why do I have to have a vestibular disability on top of a shoddy immune system, both of which complicate recovery tenfold?
For the first time in a while, I spoke all of those fears and feelings out loud to my parents (not surprisingly, we had a lot of time on our hands) and it truly gave me a new perspective — or a refresher at the very least. They openly admitted that my dog and I wore them out, but they’re so glad to be able to help in a very tangible way. It made them feel less helpless and greatly decreased their overall anxiety levels (which would skyrocket if they weren’t with me and were relying on haphazard texts or sporadic short calls in my hazy state).
Last year, I wrote about curbing caregiver burnout for our paid readers (hi! we love you!) and my advice still rings true: The best way to avoid burnout on their end and reduce guilt on your end is to make sure everyone in your support system gets to live their own lives. I doubled down on that over the past few weeks, persistently encouraging my parents to plan a trip in the near future — and I’m happy to report they did! I helped them do excursion research, browsed through beachside B&Bs with my mom, and chuckled at waterslides they’d never in a million years try out. And what do ya know? Aside from it being a nice way to pass the time with each other, my guilt lessened significantly because I knew there was a deadline on their generosity, and that there was a true reward for them both to look forward to.
I also believe in good old-fashioned thank you notes. Buy fancy ones and get a little vulnerable. Take the time to explain why someone’s help matters, or what energy it allowed you to save. Be specific. You’ll never regret doubling down on gratitude, and the right people will likely never get tired of hearing it. (On a related note, try your best to replace “I’m sorry” with “thank you” in your letters and conversations — it makes a huge difference in watering down that guilt, too.)
Since I have the honor of wrapping up this week’s column, I’ll leave you with this mini pep talk: You are worthy of good support, and the people who give it to you believe it as well. As long as you have a healthy relationship with the person (in my world, that means they don’t view my health as a burden and don’t demand reciprocal help in return), go ahead and lean on them. Independence is important and I fight for mine daily, but I also know my community and family won’t always be around to prop me up. So take the help when it’s offered, thank them authentically in your own way, and return the favor if something pops up!
Got a question you want to ask us? Reply to this email or DM us on Substack — we’ll keep your identity anonymous! P.S. Our really professional lawyers (they wear pantsuits and everything) tell us we can’t dispense any kind of medical advice to the public, but we appreciate you thinking we could even do that in the first place. You’re a real one.
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