I can do it myself

Kiki is reaching around into the side pocket of her backpack to grab her poncho. It is pouring rain. No, it is sheeting rain. It is blinding rain. It is rain coming at us sideways. We’re standing off to the side of the path, somewhere between Rabinal and Ponferrado or maybe just outside Triacastela. I don’t remember. I remember the rain. I remember starting to help Kiki grab the poncho. I remember her telling me, no, I’ve got it. I can do it myself. And I remember thinking: Yes, I know you can do it yourself. That’s not why I am offering.In that moment, I saw myself so clearly it just about floored me. Kiki was the mirror.I was the one who almost always refused help. I was the one who conflated being helped with being helpless, who interpreted an offer of assistance as a criticism of my abilities. "I can do it myself" had pretty much been my motto for as long as I could remember. Sometimes it takes someone else doing just what you have done, saying just what you would have said, to shake you awake.It occurred to me, there in the downpour, in the mud, at the tail end of a tough day, while watching my companion struggle (successfully, of course) to extract the poncho from the pocket of her backpack, that when someone offers help it may have absolutely nothing to do with whether they think you’re capable of handling the situation by yourself.I knew Kiki was capable. I had seen her grab the poncho a dozen times or more. I offered my help to be of service, to perform a small act of kindness, to show friendship, to connect in the moment. When Kiki refused (as I had so many times refused such offers)—I can do it myself!—she was not just proclaiming her self-sufficiency, she was depriving me of this opportunity to be a friend. Of course she didn’t do it for that reason, or knowingly, just as I had not all those many times I had refused such offers.Lesson learned? I am trying.