Why I’ve always found it easier to give support than receive it
Giving support has never been hard for me. Receiving it is a different story entirely — and it showed up in two situations after my heart attack that had nothing to do with each other on the surface, but everything to do with each other underneath.
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Coming Home to Silence
When I got home from hospital, my eldest daughter picked me up and brought me back to the cottage. Nothing had been touched in about a week — my towel still lying where I’d left it, the bucket still there. It was a bit overwhelming.
She tidied it all up, got me settled, and told me she was staying the night with my granddaughter, just to make sure I was alright. She’d already been on the phone to the hospital too — something about my discharge letter medication didn’t sit right with her.
I knew it was care and love, plain and simple. But it felt like being a burden. I’ve always been the one who looks after other people. Having it run the other way made me feel older, more fragile, not just unwell.
It Wasn’t the First Time
Months before the heart attack, I’d had bilateral pneumonia, and she’d done exactly the same thing then. Both times, after one night, I asked her to go home and let me get on with it myself. Not in a grumpy way — I lived alone back then, and she, along with my other children and siblings, kept checking in by phone and text daily regardless.
But letting her stay felt like admitting I was weak. That wasn’t who I was. I needed to manage it on my own.
The Weight I Could Carry
A while later, back at work, we were felling a big Spruce that needed to come down. My workmate had made all the cuts, but he couldn’t push it over alone — he needed my strength added to his. Between the two of us pushing, it went down.
That gave me real satisfaction. Proof I’d built myself back up enough to be there for him. Giving that support didn’t feel like a burden at all. It just felt good.
Only Running One Way
Same kind of situation, both times. Same me. But it only ever sat comfortably running one direction — me giving the support, not receiving it.
I’ve been sitting with that. Quick to help. Slow, maybe unwilling, to let anyone help me back. I’d guess a fair few of you reading this know exactly what that feels like.
The NHS and the British Heart Foundation both point to staying connected and letting people support you as a real part of recovering from a heart attack, not something separate from it, and the American Heart Association says much the same for readers outside the UK.
If the head noise is loud right now, the 7-Day Mind Reset Plan came out of exactly that kind of period.
I don’t have this fully figured out, even years on. But I think support only really does its job when it runs both ways — when you’re as willing to take it as you are to give it. I’m not there yet. I’m working on it.
Listen and Watch
You can listen to this episode in the player above or watch on YouTube if you prefer.
If you found something in this reflection, you might also connect with:
Helping Others Without Losing Yourself
Men, Vulnerability, and Real Talk
A Different Kind of Strong
Final Thought
If someone came to mind while you were reading this — someone who’s quick to help and slow to let anyone help them back — maybe share it with them. You don’t need to have the right words. Sometimes this says it for you.
If the head noise is still there in the background: