Asking for help

Everyone has a history with money.

Mine was not terribly complicated. There was always money for food, vacations, new clothes. My dad never told me what he made, and my mom didn't work outside the home. When it was time for college, they said to go anywhere and to not worry about the cost. I was hugely blessed. 

I also internalized a strong belief that I should work hard, be frugal, and not ask for help. That's what I saw my dad doing. He would help others, but I was under the impression that he would never put himself in a position to ask for help. I'm older and have a more evolved view of the American Dream - I know now that hard work alone does not necessarily lead to rewards. I know that my dad benefited from privilege and that I do, as well. I would never look down upon someone else for asking for financial help. 

In fact, when I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, my husband was in London awaiting his final visa interview. We had just moved back to the United States. I was uninsured, working a low-paying part-time online job, and my husband would not even be eligible for work for another 2 months. We had just spent all of our savings on immigration proceedings. During my pregnancy and for the first year of my daughter's life, we received Medicaid. If it weren't for that, we would have been in dire straits financially. 

And yet, I still have trouble asking for help. 

Last week, I was about to put in my resignation for my job in order to go full-time on nido. Before I sent my letter, I did our taxes. I knew we would owe some money, and I wanted to be sure there weren't any huge surprises. Well, there were. About $5000 worth of surprises. Everything in our savings - the savings that were meant to support us over the next 6 months until I can receive a paycheck from nido - will be gone on April 15. I didn't sent my letter. 

Over the next week, I deliberated. I had two choices:

1. Keep working and postpone or compromise my dreams for nido. The workload at this point for nido is greater than what I can do while continuing to work in my editorial job, so I knew that I may not be able to see nido to its fullest potential. 

or,

2. Ask for help.

I was nervous, but last week, I called my dad. I explained the situation. I braced myself for the internalized messages of my youth - work hard, wake up earlier, stay up late. Never stop. But this is what he said: 

"I'm proud of you. Of course, I'll help. I'm happy to."

Relief. Gratitude. Peace. 

I sent my letter of resignation the following morning. I accepted the help. Because I know that his help will enable me to create something that will be far greater than what I could do without his help. And that is totally worth it.