Just Show Up
- Lauren Shaw, Ph.D.
- May 15, 2017
- 3 min read
My 30th birthday was a disaster. I had a three-week-old baby who cried non-stop, at a volume my ears had never been exposed to before. I fear that when you read “cried non-stop,” you may think that I am exaggerating and she just cried a lot. This is not the case. She cried hours and hours and hours on end. She cried in the car, she cried in my arms, she cried without ceasing. The pediatrician said it was colic, and she would probably stop the incessant crying between 3 and 4 months. This information did not feel in the least bit helpful. Looking back, I know that I was entering post-partum depression, but I didn’t know that then.
I also had a little boy who had just turned two. In the three weeks since his sister had been born, he had a severe double ear infection and horrific poison ivy. And, on my 30th birthday, he broke his arm. It was a minor fall and we really didn’t think much of it until hours later when we saw that he wasn’t using it at all. We asked him to try and use it, and when he did, he howled in pain. We called his pediatrician, who said she would meet us at the emergency room. We really kept our pediatrician busy that spring.
We decided that my husband would take our son to the ER, and I would stay home with the baby. I sobbed as I watched them pull away. It broke my heart to know my little boy was hurt and I wasn’t with him. And it killed me to hear my newborn crying. Those are dramatic phrases, but I was exhausted and feeling incredibly dramatic.
I texted one of my friends to give her the update, and she responded “I’m coming over. See you soon.” This friend lived over a half hour away. She was pregnant and had a two-year-old of her own. But on that June evening she worked it out and she showed up.
I don’t remember much about her time at our house. I know there was crying (from me and the baby). I think there was Chinese food. I don’t know if we talked about anything or watched a show or what. But I remember she was there. I remember that on one of my earliest and darkest moments of parenting, she showed up.
And I will never forget what a rich and precious gift that was to me.
It can be really hard to know what to do for a friend who is struggling. It can be hard to know how to meet them and love them well when they are in a dark place. The dark place can be a big deal, like a child in the hospital, a divorce, or losing a parent. Or in can be less extreme but still felt deeply, like a stressful and anxious season, difficult parenting days, or intense pressure at work. When we see our friends and family struggling, it can be hard to know what to do.
People seem to worry a lot about being intrusive. About bothering people who are hurting, interrupting their private time, or adding stress to their schedule. I know I worry about those things. I worry about asking too many questions, being obnoxious, becoming a burden to someone I am trying to serve.
But as I think about stories I have heard, personally and professionally, this is very rarely a problem I hear talked about. People don’t tend to talk about how much it bothered them when a friend called and asked how they were really doing, when someone dropped off a meal, or when a friend stopped by to give them a hug. People do tend to talk about feeling alone and isolated in their pain, about wishing that people had been more present in their struggle.
I know that when I have been in dark places, it has meant the world to me when my friends showed up. There are a million ways we can show up for the people we love. We can make a call, send a text, or (best yet) come over. We can make a meal, deliver coffee, send flowers, or write a note. We can tell people we love them and are here for them, and then we can show them. We don’t need to wait to be asked.
Let’s give ourselves permission to show up for each other. Let’s be present in as many ways as we can find for those we love who are in hard places. Let’s not underestimate the rich and precious gift we can give by just showing up.
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