The Gift of Being Helped

Last weekend reminded me of something I often encourage my clients to do, yet sometimes forget myself:

Allow people to help.

It began with a simple message from a friend I hadn't seen for quite some time. Jodi reached out to see if I was around over King's Birthday weekend. We made plans for her to arrive on Saturday evening, but instead she appeared at my gate just after 9.30am on Saturday morning, moments after I had returned from a refreshing walk along Te Arai Beach with Bruce.

The timing felt perfect.

We shared breakfast and headed off to the Mangawhai Market, which was buzzing with energy. The long weekend had drawn a crowd and there seemed to be more stallholders than usual, each with their own treasures, creations and stories to share.

Amongst our purchases was a copper carafe and matching cups. Apparently, when water is left in the copper vessel for several hours, it becomes naturally alkalised. Whether it was science, placebo, or something in between, we both loved drinking from it all weekend. There was something strangely satisfying about pouring water from a beautiful vessel and slowing down enough to enjoy it.

Today I am ten days into a twenty-eight-day Paleo Reset, and this weekend was my first wine-free weekend since beginning. I had already decided I wanted to stay committed to the process and mentioned this to Jodi. Without hesitation, she joined me.

There was no sense of deprivation.

Instead, there was beautiful food, good conversation, plenty of laughter, and the simple pleasure of sharing time together. Food has always been one of my love languages. I love cooking for people and gathering around a table. We ate well, drank our copper-infused water, pulled cards from the Council of Horses Oracle deck, and spent hours talking about life.

Jodi and I have known each other for eleven years. Horses brought us together.

Many years ago, one of her beloved horses came to stay with us. My son rode him and formed a special connection with him. The horse became part of our family for a time, which made his passing all the more poignant when he died just six months later on the hunt field with my son aboard.

Horse friendships are often like that. They are woven together through shared experiences, memories, grief, growth and love.

On Sunday morning we headed back to the beach with Bruce. The weather was not quite what we expected. Wind whipped around us and rain threatened to roll in at any moment. On the way back we took off our shoes and grounded ourselves in the sand, carefully hopping around the bluebottle jellyfish that the storm had scattered along the shoreline.

By the time we returned home we were both feeling a little weary.

After showers and breakfast, we sat looking at the spare room.

The room had slowly become a holding space for everything displaced during my recent bathroom renovation and laundry project. Added to that were items from my own bedroom decluttering efforts. The room wasn't terrible, but it was definitely overwhelming.

Earlier, Jodi had enthusiastically declared, "Let's get into that room while I'm here. I can help you."

Yet at that particular moment, neither of us had the energy.

So we listened to what our bodies were asking for.

Instead of forcing productivity, we settled onto the couch and watched an interview with Swedish facilitator and horsewoman Emelie Cajsdotter on Buddha at the Gas Pump. The conversation was deep, insightful and profoundly moving. It also helped Jodi understand on a whole new level why I am travelling to Sweden later this year to learn from Emelie.

Before long, both of us were struggling to keep our eyes open.

Jodi went for a sleep and I stretched out on the couch.

There was no guilt.

No pressure.

Just rest.

When we woke later in the afternoon, everything had shifted.

I made pizzas and suddenly we both had energy again.

What followed was one of those magical experiences that can only happen when you are working alongside someone who genuinely wants to help.

I was able to focus on making decisions: What stays? What goes? What still serves a purpose?

Meanwhile, Jodi tackled the cleaning itself. Before I knew it, she had us vacuuming, mopping and refreshing not only the spare room but the entire house and even the porch.

By 5pm we sat down, tired but deeply satisfied.

Outside, the Full Moon hung somewhere beyond the clouds.

There had been several invitations to join Full Moon ceremonies over the weekend. Yet the weather had discouraged beach gatherings, and neither of us felt called to leave the comfort of what was unfolding.

Jodi decided to stay another night.

Instead of ceremony, we shared slow-cooked lamb that I had prepared the previous weekend and spent the evening watching horse documentaries.

It was perfect.

Monday morning was a public holiday. The house felt calm, organised and spacious. Jodi eventually packed up to head home, and I found myself standing in the quiet afterwards feeling deeply grateful.

Not just because the house was clean.

Not because another project had been completed.

But because I felt supported.

There is something profoundly healing about being helped.

Many of us are comfortable giving. We support others, offer advice, cook meals, hold space, solve problems and carry burdens. Yet receiving can feel surprisingly difficult.

Sometimes we convince ourselves that we should manage everything alone.

Sometimes we don't want to inconvenience people.

Sometimes we forget that helping is also a gift for the giver.

This weekend reminded me that friendship is not always about grand gestures.

Sometimes it is breakfast after a beach walk.

Sometimes it is drinking water from a copper cup.

Sometimes it is talking about horses and life.

Sometimes it is taking a nap in the middle of the day.

And sometimes it is simply someone standing beside you while you sort through a room that has become too much to tackle alone.

As I moved into the week ahead, I felt lighter.

The house felt lighter.

Even my heart felt lighter.

And I found myself thinking what a blessing it is to have friends who not only see what needs doing, but are willing to roll up their sleeves and help.

Those friendships are treasures.

The kind worth nurturing.

The kind that remind us that we were never meant to do life alone.