It’s tricky, isn’t it? Almost taboo… Crazy, but true. You worry that it’ll be seen as failure to cope or, worse, nagging.

I vividly remember asking for help rather unconventionally nearly 20 years ago, when Firstborn Son was tiny. Let’s just say his dad and I didn’t live together… so anyway, like all new mums, single or otherwise, I hadn’t slept for some weeks. I was OK with that, I hadn’t expected it to be any other way. But on this particular day I realised I hadn’t had a proper wash for, well, too long. Would have been bearable if I’d been able to foresee a bath in the immediate future. I couldn’t. Because he cried every time I put him down for more than 2 minutes. So I mustered up all the courage I could, and knocked on my next-door neighbour’s door. I handed him the baby and begged him for an hour. Ok, stop. Rewind. I owe you, baffled reader, a wee bit of context!

My next-door neighbour was a paediatrician who happened to work at my hospital and, although we probably wouldn’t have ever spoken to each other had he not moved in next to me, we became good friends. Even though I was a home birth midwife and he was a neonatal paediatrician who firmly believed that births should happen in hospital! Anyway, he’d been designated  Supporting Adult  (aka godfather) to Firstborn Son, so you see, it wasn’t exactly a case of dumping him on a poor unsuspecting stranger. And yet, it took a certain amount of desperation to ask for help. I still remember that relaxing and restorative bath, and the gratitude I felt for that hour (or maybe 90 mins…) of tranquility! Here’s the thing: I reckon people don’t always offer help which they would love to give because they worry the helpee might feel judged. Or they don’t know how best to help. Or even that you need help. What a shame! So much untapped assistance because it is so hard both to ask and to offer. I reckon part of the problem is that a helpee might not be in a position to return a favour, and it often feels preferable to refuse help than accept help that we cannot pay back. Kinda like accepting charity… or asking for it. But I’d encourage people to adopt the paying it forward approach to accepting help, whereby you pledge to repay the favour when you can, by becoming a benefactor to a friend in need when the occasion presents itself.  If you tell that person that they are fully absolved from paying you back because you are in fact paying off your so-called debt, they are more likely to accept your assistance and pay it forwards once they are in a better place. Easier said than done, but no harm trying. 

When I first qualified as a midwife (in the era of Adam “this is going to hurt” Kay) it was super taboo to ask for help or advice. It was understood you could ask your newly qualified peers, but they were as clueless as you, and equally prone to agonising over their next move when what they actually needed was help PDQ.  It was pretty scary. Junior doctors couldn’t ask their more senior colleagues, much less get their consultants out of bed at night if they had concerns. We all feared that we’d be seen as ignorant and weak (a pretty devastating combination) if we asked for help. So we didn’t. At untold cost to parents and the NHS. I said in my last post that fear makes us dumb. I stand by that assertion. Luckily, I’m pretty sure we’ve improved. To be honest, I’m never sure if that’s because I had to develop rhino-thick skin in order to desensitise myself from unkind words and that visceral fear of being judged and found wanting. It’s not that I no longer care, obviously, simply that I’d rather be safe (and admit I need help, and risk feeling sheepish, an uncomfortable feeling, but you develop the tough leathery skin to deal with it) than risk getting things horribly wrong. Plus, of course, many things do get easier with experience. To the point that I can, in some circumstances, be the helper that my more junior self would have so appreciated. Just not computers. Look, I’m amazing at amazon shopping and any online activities that want you to splurge your cash. But our new(ish) work software isn’t quite as intuitive! As with everything always, it gets easier with practice but the fact that we all supported each other throughout that difficult initial stage suggests that we’re learning to ask for and accept help. But asking for help at work, when lives are potentially at stake, that’s one thing. Asking for help remains difficult in most other contexts. Which is why I’m struggling to write this next bit. Because I’m going to ask… for help… from you, dear reader…

The time has come for me to introduce Vivian, my alter ego and the protagonist of the book wot I wrote quite a few years ago. She’ll be eternally 32, stuck in an age where pagers were a thing; she talks too much and has feministic tendencies. She’s a homebirth midwife. Oh, and she’s pregnant.  She was first conceived when I wasn’t managing to conceive Only Daughter. She was my book baby until I was lucky enough to fall pregnant, and then I’m afraid she got pushed aside while life with 3 kids occupied all my bandwidth. She resumed growth by a few chapters a year once Only Daughter started school (but the ever-recurring school holidays impeded progress) and she was fully formed towards the end of Covid (home schooling was a hindrance, not gonna lie!) And now she’s lying dormant, having been turned down by a few agents. She’s the reason I started this blog; I kinda hoped to get a bunch of regular readers which might impress a potential agent. A cunning plan, I hear you say. And I agree. Except for one thing: I can’t get to grips with the Instagram malarkey. I simply can’t figure out how to make reels, I’m too old to be posting selfies and I can’t quite motivate myself to spend hours on the socials bigging up my life trying to get followers. My life (as evidenced by the fact that my smart watch thinks I’m asleep by 10pm most nights, FYI I’m reading/watching Netflix!) simply isn’t interesting enough!

So Vivian and I need a midwife. Lots of midwives. To help her make an entrance. That’d be you, loyal readers. I’m asking/begging/entreating you to actually share this blog (Midwifemotherme.com) on your socials; look me up on the insta thingy (Midwifemotherme.com) and maybe be my groupies; and, if you haven’t already, do please subscribe. It’s a big ask, I know, and I wouldn’t ask but I have more fingers and toes than insta followers. I’ll never be able to return the favour, but I’ll find a way to pay it forwards.

I thank you warmly.