Do I have to suffer before you’ll help me?

by Regine Rauin | When Spaces Tell Stories

 

I’ve just learnt something rather uncomfortable about myself.

And it has to do with my current GoFundMe campaign.

I want to take my artwork ZEYNEP to Florence. To the ART TUNNEL. And I want to experience it there huge.

Not somewhere small on a wall, squeezed between two other paintings where you need a generous dose of goodwill – and possibly your reading glasses – to see it properly.

I want to see it really, really big.

And because I can’t currently fund the whole thing myself, I’m asking people to support me.

Simple enough.

In theory.

Because then I started looking at the other campaigns on GoFundMe.

And suddenly things got complicated.

There are people whose homes have burnt down.

People in hospital.

Children who are ill.

People whose entire existence is hanging by a thread.

And I thought:

“Erm … and now here I am with my art project?”

Other people are fighting to put their lives back together.

And I want to see my painting absolutely enormous in Florence.

Isn’t that a bit bloody cheeky?

I almost caught myself apologising for wanting something.

Not because I think art is more important than someone’s home burning down.

Of course not.

It was because I suddenly realised how instinctively we associate support with need.

When someone desperately needs help, we immediately understand why we should help them.

There’s a problem.

We can do something.

So we do something.

We give money.

We share the appeal.

We cross our fingers.

We feel for them.

And when the house is habitable again, the child is well, the bill is paid or the person is back on their feet, we say:

Right. Done. Sorted.

But what about someone who doesn’t want to climb out of a hole?

What about someone who wants to go somewhere they’ve never been before?

What about someone who says:

“I’ve got an idea. And I think it could become something really bloody good.”

Are you allowed to ask for help with that?

Or do you first have to get properly knocked sideways before a donation becomes socially acceptable?

Do I have to suffer before you’ll help me?

This question is much older than GoFundMe for me.

I remember having this thought as a child.

Not a specific situation.

More like an odd little certainty:

If things get bad enough, someone will eventually help me.

It sounds rather absurd now.

And at the same time, strangely logical.

Because as a child, you can’t get yourself out of every situation.

You’re dependent.

On adults.

On parents.

On people noticing what’s happening.

And perhaps somewhere along the way, that can turn into a rather unfortunate equation:

Help is available when things get bad enough.

So perhaps you learn:

I’m allowed to need help.

But I’m not allowed to simply want it.

I’m allowed to receive support.

But only when I genuinely need it.

I’m allowed to lean on someone.

But preferably only once I’m already close to collapsing.

And then you grow up.

You learn to do everything yourself.

And you say:

“It’s fine. I can manage.”

Of course you can.

What else are you supposed to do?

I’ve always managed on my own.

That’s one of those sentences that sounds like strength.

And sometimes it absolutely is.

But sometimes there’s something else hiding inside it.

A rather well-disguised inability to accept help.

I know this one.

If I want something and I don’t have the money for it, my solution has traditionally been pretty straightforward:

Then I simply won’t do it.

Not:

Maybe there are people who would actually like to help make this happen.

But:

I’ll have to wait until I can pay for it myself.

Sounds sensible.

It probably is.

But there’s a tiny catch:

It decides in advance what is possible.

And it decides according to one particular measurement:

How much can I carry on my own?

That is a completely different question from:

How big is the idea?

And that difference is enormous.

Maybe “I can do it myself” isn’t always strength.

Maybe sometimes it’s simply a very elegant form of keeping yourself small.

Ouch.

I don’t particularly enjoy that thought either.

But the longer I sit with it, the harder it is to ignore.

Because if I’m only allowed to do what I can finance, organise, carry and control myself, then my life will inevitably stay within the limits of my own capabilities.

And my capabilities are limited.

Just like everyone else’s.

That isn’t a character flaw.

It’s maths.

If one person is supposed to carry a piano up a staircase, they can either become extremely strong.

Or they can get someone else to help.

And possibly the second option is simply the more intelligent one.

What if help isn’t about fixing something?

Maybe that’s where we get it wrong.

We often think of support as something that repairs damage.

Someone is ill → we help.

Someone has lost everything → we help.

Someone is in trouble → we help.

But support can also mean something completely different.

It can open a door.

Make a leap possible.

Accelerate an idea.

Give someone access to something they might otherwise have needed another ten years to reach on their own.

And suddenly a donation has a completely different meaning.

I’m not giving because you failed.

I’m giving because I believe you can make something happen.

That isn’t rescue.

That is enabling.

And I think that requires a different kind of person.

People who don’t want to fund your downfall, but your rise.

Maybe they’re people who like trying things themselves.

People who love ideas.

People who know how difficult it is to build something from nothing.

People who don’t necessarily ask:

“Do you really need this?”

But:

“What could this become?”

I find that fascinating.

Because suddenly, a donation becomes a form of participation.

You’re not just giving me money.

You become a tiny part of the story.

You were there.

Perhaps even before anyone knew what it might become.

And imagine this:

ZEYNEP actually ends up enormous inside the ART TUNNEL in Florence.

And you’re standing there.

Perhaps with a glass of something Italian in your hand.

Looking up.

And thinking:

“Bloody hell. I helped make this happen.”

That’s actually rather wonderful, isn’t it?

Or is it?

Because now we get to the uncomfortable bit.

What happens when the person you supported actually becomes successful afterwards?

It’s a question we surprisingly rarely ask.

We talk a lot about how lovely it is to help someone.

But what happens when the help works?

When the small business becomes a big one?

When the unknown artist suddenly has paintings turning up everywhere?

When the person you supported eventually becomes much more successful than you are?

Are you happy for them?

Or do you think:

“Hang on. I didn’t donate for this level of success.”

😂

I suspect both exist.

Because helping someone get back on their feet is one thing.

Watching someone grow is something else entirely.

And perhaps that’s the difference between helping and enabling.

Because success changes relationships.

As long as someone needs help, the roles are clear.

One person gives.

The other receives.

But when the other person starts growing, things become more complicated.

Eventually:

“I helped you.”

can become:

“I was there when you started.”

And that feels completely different.

Maybe that’s exactly why some people prefer helping when someone stays small.

Because small people don’t threaten anyone.

Successful people sometimes do.

And suddenly we’re talking about your home.

Because this is where it gets really interesting for me.

I’ve spent years exploring how much our homes reveal about our inner stories.

And perhaps our homes also reveal this:

How much space do I actually allow myself?

Not just physically.

In life.

How much am I allowed to want?

How much am I allowed to have?

How visible am I allowed to be?

How successful am I allowed to become?

How much support am I allowed to accept?

And above all:

Am I allowed to be well without having to provide a good enough reason for it?

Sometimes you can see these answers surprisingly clearly in a home.

There’s the dining table that has been sitting in exactly the same place for ten years, even though it’s far too big for the room.

There’s the beautiful armchair nobody sits in because it’s “too nice”.

There’s the guest room that has been waiting for guests for five years, while you work at the kitchen table.

There are the good glasses.

For later.

The beautiful bed linen.

For visitors.

The favourite perfume.

For special occasions.

And somewhere in the middle of all this sits the person who owns all these things and still keeps telling themselves:

“I don’t need that right now.”

Maybe it’s the same story.

We wait for the catastrophe before allowing ourselves to live.

That may be the most bitter realisation of all.

Sometimes we only allow ourselves to change once change has become unavoidable.

When the relationship is over.

When the job is gone.

When the flat has become too small.

When the body refuses to cooperate anymore.

When nothing works.

Then suddenly:

“Right. I really need to change something.”

But why?

Why do we always need a reason?

Why isn’t a person allowed to simply say:

“I want something different.”

No crisis.

No drama.

No burnt-down house.

No breakdown.

No catastrophe.

Simply because they feel like it.

Maybe the real impertinence is wanting something.

I think that’s where something is beginning to shift for me.

I’m practising.

Not suffering.

Wanting.

And even more than that:

Accepting.

I’m practising allowing people to support me.

Not because I’m helpless.

Not because I can’t do anything on my own.

But because I want something I currently can’t make happen entirely by myself.

That is different.

And that’s why my GoFundMe campaign is there.

Not as a cry for help:

“Please save me.”

But as an invitation:

“I’ve got something I want to do. And if you think it’s as bloody exciting as I do, you can be part of making it happen.”

Maybe you give £10.

Maybe £50.

Maybe nothing.

That’s completely fine.

But perhaps there are people out there who don’t just want to help someone get back on their feet.

Perhaps they want to see how far that person can run.

And what if I become successful afterwards?

Then I hope you’ll be happy about it.

Not because you rescued me.

But because you can say:

“I was there.”

Maybe that is one of the most beautiful forms of support there is.

Not:

“I saw you small enough to be able to help you.”

But:

“I saw what was possible before everyone else could see it.”

And perhaps we need a little more of that right now.

People who don’t just fill holes.

But open doors.

People who don’t ask:

“Why do you need this?”

But:

“What could happen if you got it?”

Maybe we don’t have to suffer before someone helps us.

Maybe sometimes we’re simply allowed to say:

I want this.

I want to see this painting in Florence.

I want to find out how big ZEYNEP can become.

I want to discover what happens when I stop limiting myself to what I can manage alone.

And yes.

I need help to do that.

Saying that still feels slightly unfamiliar to me.

But perhaps that’s exactly the point.

Maybe growing up isn’t:

“I don’t need anyone.”

Maybe it’s:

“I know what I can do on my own. And I also know when I need someone else.”

And perhaps that isn’t weakness at all.

Perhaps it’s freedom.

If you’d like to see ZEYNEP in Florence

I’ve started my campaign to make exactly that possible: to present my artwork ZEYNEP in the largest possible format inside the ART TUNNEL in Florence.

If you’d like to help push this story forward, I’d be absolutely delighted to have your support.

And if you don’t want to – or can’t – donate:

Share the thought.

Because perhaps the real question behind this campaign isn’t:

“Who will give me money?”

It’s:

 

“What might become possible in my life if I stopped believing I had to do everything on my own?”

About the Author

I'm Regine Rauin, also known as Mystic Maveress.

I read rooms the way other people read tarot cards.

And every now and then...

...I write a book.

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