There is something comforting about the smell of Vicks. Maybe it's the memories of being handled with care, of being gently nurtured, of feeling nothing but the need to just 'be'. The warm touch of my mother rubbing Vicks on my back. The child I was, completely sure everything would be fine once mommy was there. No sense of responsibilities to others, but the ability to accept care , the ability to be fragile, without self inspection, any sense of failure or feelings of being unworthy of attention.
You know, I don't tell my children that they need to be worthy of assistance or that needing it makes them less than. So why do I feel such turmoil at the thought of needing help. As if there was an age at which we outgrow being worthy of kindness. As if we have to now earn it somehow. Sometimes I act like asking for help means somehow I have failed.
I hope and pray that every week offers opportunities for me to accept kindness, that I and anyone like me will find the strength to be okay with being vulnerable. Moms like me need help to accept that it's okay to have our needs met too. My hope is that those childlike qualities in us that allow us to not equate need with personal lack in other people, will allow us to be gracious with ourselves.
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