Needs

Me in my red cardigan sweater during a marathon cluster feeding (IYKYK)

I’ve been asking for help a lot lately.

My husband Josh and I had a baby in December. Her name is Harriet. She’s exquisite. And she’s a baby, so her needs aren’t negotiable.

One of the trickiest parts for me of being an adult, in relationship with other adults, is figuring out

1. What I need
2. If I can get away without meeting that need (not proud of this one)
3. If I can provide it for myself
4. If not, is there a way I can get it without having to ask directly (and acknowledge that I need something)
5. How to ask for as little as possible
6. If I can immediately return the favor

Maybe you resonate. Perhaps this sounds insane. I’m not sleeping so well these days, so my gauge is less reliable but so is my filter (which should make this interesting).

Despite the above, I’ve found myself asking for help, direct assistance, a lot these days. Community care is more than a nice idea; with a new baby, it seems to be a necessity. I’m not just asking for support that I can immediately return, I’m asking for time and energy that I will likely not have the resources to repay for months, maybe years.

The irony is that for the last two years I’ve been collaborating with Chrissy Martin and Amanda Maraist on a duet (between us and everyone here) that has turned out to be about friendship, specifically: vulnerability, self-reflection, care, and the ongoing negotiation of meeting needs as they arise. We’ve been rehearsing for TWO YEARS and talking about how helpful it is to share hard things and get support. And yet, every time one of us brings something to the table that’s genuinely challenging, we feel so apologetic about it.

“Sorry for taking your time.”

“Sorry, I’m so much/so emotional today.”

“Sorry, all these hard things keep happening and I’m having reactions to them.”

Sorry, I’m a person.

Because people have needs, right? My daughter Harriet certainly does. No one has yet taught her that her needs are a problem. That she is too much. That it’s important to track the math of ‘need-meeting’ and make sure the balance sheet always totals in someone else’s favor. I am desperate that she never does.
​
One of the insidious aspects of heteronormative, patriarchal, white supremacy culture, is the way it rewards us for dehumanizing ourselves. The less help we need, the better. The smaller female-identifying folx can make ourselves, literally and figuratively, the more we are winning. And so we find ourselves apologizing for genuine engagement, for being people who need other people to get through the ever-shifting terrain of our lives.

In the duet, Chrissy and Amanda don’t just need each other, they need the audience too. That’s where we are right now in the process, figuring out what we can ask of our viewers. How much will they want to engage? Will they find it too much? How can we invite them into our world and imagine something new together?
Because the price of not asking is suffering alone and the reward of being honest and soliciting help is connection and the possibility of something different. Josh and I have allowed so many people to come into our home and drop off food or cook, do laundry, wash so many dishes…and, in the meantime, they’ve told us stories, given long hugs, seen me in the same red cardigan sweatshirt day in and day out. Our community showed up, they are making our lives better, sweeter, easier, and yet I still feel like throwing up every time I reach back out to ask for more (see above).
​
Clearly, I don’t have an answer here. between us and everyone here is loosely about this topic because I have a history of making art that asks the questions I don’t know how to solve. But it seems like ‘solving’ is not the right orientation for this challenge. Solving implies a tidy sum sitting on the other side of the equal sign. Living, especially with an infant, is less like math than strapping yourself in for a much scarier, incredibly fulfilling rollercoaster ride. Sometimes you need a hand squeeze, sometimes a bucket. And like all rides, I find it helpful to look around and see the faces of terror and delight around me. Because while I’m on a more personal, infant-shaped ride, all of us are unwittingly strapped into the deluge of horror and subversive care of this current moment.

As usual I’m writing to you what I want to say to myself: let’s stop pretending we can handle it alone. And that our inability to handle it alone is a sign that we are inherently broken.
​
This is the point where I want to offer you some kind of support in return for you reading this essay and engaging with my meanderings. But let’s be honest, I barely have the capacity to make dinner this evening. What I can share is some art: between us and everyone here premieres the first two weekends in July at the Neofuturists Theater in Andersonville. Every show grapples with these questions and never the same way twice. Also, there’s a lot of really spectacular dancing.
​

---