For so many of us in the helping professions and caring roles, it’s not just something we do, it’s an expression of who we are. We have chosen a path that’s aligned with our values, provides meaning and purpose, and gives back to us in many ways.
At the same time, these roles require a great deal of learning and unlearning, where we need to shift from our automatic human reactions to more considered responses. And like any muscle, we can overuse these learned responses to the point they get out of balance from other parts of who we are.
Maybe we find it hard to turn off our helper response and become further drained when we most need to recharge. Maybe we lose a sense of spontaneity as we learn to be more mindful of how we behave when we are with others. Or perhaps we are so attuned to the pain around us that we miss some of the lightness and joy that is also there.
And maybe others reinforce this feeling that we continually need to be in role. Small talk becomes an unexpected consultation about intimate problems. If you’re not willing or able to respond to every request for support, maybe you don’t really care. If you struggle with something related to your field, you’re expected to be able to resolve it yourself. If you can’t resolve it, your ability to support others with similar challenges may be questioned.
Carpet layers need to look after their knees, physiotherapists may need to learn how to incorporate elbows to save their thumbs, and plumbers are not bad people if they have a leaky tap. And we need to protect ourselves from getting fused with one part of our identity.
We can embrace broader, more encompassing ways of being. We can actively cultivate other parts of who we are. And we can support each other to step out of role when needed, the way we might help someone take off a jacket or unload a pile of bags if they’re getting tangled and would like an extra hand.
Helen Mentha 