No Thanks I'm Fine
A couple of months ago I found myself unexpectedly doing some last minute party organisation. I won’t bore you with the details, but, in essence, my friends (whose party it was) had had a crazy day, so I stepped in to do the final push - getting glasses and drinks out, transporting food from fridge to table, readying plates and cutlery, that kind of thing. The party started at 6.30. At 6.20, a lot remained undone, but I comforted myself with the thought that much can be accomplished in ten minutes. At 6.25 the first guests arrived.
As I yelled the word “welcome!” whilst cutting copious amounts of bread and gesturing with my chin to where people could leave their coats, a couple of guests, perhaps sensing an aura of stress, asked if I needed any help. “No thanks, I’m fine!” I replied cheerily, sprinting for the drinks table where there were currently no glasses and, in fact, no drinks.
But as I was returning to fetch the next round of tumblers, a voice of sanity entered my mind. What on earth was I doing refusing these people’s help? I definitely needed help! I knew it, they knew it - and, frankly, it would be much better if, when people arrived, they had glass available to drink something out of, which wasn’t the case currently. So when the next person offered me their aid, I said yes, and before long, I had a small army of helpers and, between us, we got everything prepared and laid out in no time at all.
I don’t think I’m alone in regularly turning down help when secretly it would be incredibly useful. I’m big on offering support on the tube - parents with more children than hands attempting to climb up stairs whilst hoiking a buggy under one arm, people with particularly heavy suitcases that they’re struggling to carry, those who clearly need a seat in an overcrowded carriage. And surprisingly often, people say exactly what I said: “No thanks, I’m fine!”. I’ve observed it at other parties that I’m not organising - people whizzing around the kitchen, single-handedly whipping up three courses, whilst also mopping a spillage and finding some more snacks for the kids, but very clear that they’ve totally got this and they absolutely don’t need any help. That evening at my friends’ party got me thinking about this tendency, and why we often say we’re fine when we’re not.
From my own experience, I know that sometimes those words, whilst they may seem inexplicable, are legit. If I’m cooking a meal for people, I have strong territorial instincts around my kitchen - I don’t want others in my cooking space, even if technically it might make things quicker. And I’ve been the parent hauling the buggy down the stairs whilst refusing help - but this is usually when I’ve already started the descent and I’m at least balanced in whatever ridiculous position is needed, so I’d prefer to just continue rather than pause and rearrange myself with an extra pair of hands. But a lot of the time, there’s this weird sense that I’m imposing on someone by accepting their offer. If I’m hosting, I have a strong instinct that the people coming round are my guests - it’s the job of the guests to relax and enjoy, and it’s my job to provide them with everything they need to do this. If it’s carrying a heavy suitcase on the tube, I feel like it’s no one’s fault but my own if I’ve put in more stuff than I’m able to carry - I shouldn’t assume people will stop and help, I need to be able to shift it on my own.
This last point is, I think, the nub of the issue - and the one that has the most resonance in my leadership career too. We should be able to do it alone. Our job is to lead - to be on top of things, to solve problems, to fight fires when they arise. We have taken on board Voltaire’s wise words (which we probably heard in the Spiderman films) that with great power comes great responsibility. We are not literal superheroes (newsflash) but sometimes we feel like, to be a leader, we have to be superhuman - and that means, never saying that something is too much, or that, to get something done we need more hands and minds than just ours.
Here’s the interesting thing, though, about accepting help. It’s a really powerful act - not just for you, but for the person who has offered it. Going back to my party hosting scenario - suddenly, my small army of helpers and I felt like a little team. We chatted and laughed together as we got everything ready, and, later on in the party when there was less organising to be done, we were able to speak to each other a little more familiarly, like we knew each other much better than our hours old acquaintance would suggest. I think of the friends and neighbours that I and my family have leant on over the years - my partner’s wonderful friend who rushed round late at night to sit in our house and watch the baby monitor when we had to go to the hospital to have our second child; the neighbours who helped out when we had a break-in; the many things that people have lent us over the years - extra cutlery for a party, a trestle table, a fancy dress costume for one of our kids. These acts (and the reciprocal ones that we have provided) are what bind us to those around us; they forge the connections that make us feel part of a community that is bigger than just us because, to use another famous quote, no man (read: person) is an island.
And so, when someone in your team sees that you’re struggling and offers to help - consider saying yes. Even better - before you get to that point, reach out to a colleague, or a Board member, or a fellow leader, and ask for what you need. Ignore that voice in your head that tells you it’s an imposition on their time, or that you should really be able to manage on your own, or that to ask or accept support shows weakness. To allow someone to help you when you need it is an act of strength - it tightens bonds, it creates more effective teams and it role models the vulnerability and humility that we all need to be the best we can be at work and in life. Big problems - or even small ones, like organising a party - can rarely be solved alone; enlist your team, your peers, your Board, or whoever else you think could offer useful help, and you’ll stand a much better chance of success - and, more importantly, of keeping your sanity intact.