Uppity Women (bless 'em, Lord)

While I have no intention of dithering with this project every day, I do have something to wonder about for the moment. Having finally got round to going grocery shopping this afternoon (no small project in my current debilitated condition), I was driving home and wondered just how I was going to get that big ol' bag of dog food out of the trunk of the car and into the laundry room. A friend had offered to come over and move it for me but, Always The Caretaker Me, I said I would try to manage it myself first. I did manage, somehow, to hump the darn thing into the house, but it took every ounce of strength I had and left me longing for oblivion. Now, why did I do that? What makes it so hard for independent women to accept help from others? I would not think twice about helping someone else with whatever needed to be done (actually, I think I might draw the line at slaughtering hogs ...), so why is it such a major project for me to allow someone else to help me? Am I afraid of being, somehow, indebted to someone else? In truth, we are in that condition every day whether we know it or not. Am I afraid that I will seem, somehow, less than what I am if I accept help? How could allowing someone else the blessing of helping others diminish me in any fashion? Or, if I'm miserably honest for a moment, have I just lived alone for so long that the idea of anyone else entering my hermit crab shell fills me with dread? Perhaps that is it. In any event, I told my friend that if he ever offered help again and I refused, he had my permission to give me a dope slap!