“Reaching out” has become a very popular term over the last few years. It gets used in business speak as a gentler version of “ask for”, “connect with” or “collaborate with”. But as I suspect The Four Tops had in mind, I see it as a hand stretched out looking to be held, to be pulled out of the rubble, to be guided to a safe place.

To me, reaching out is the need to be rescued, whether on a small or or large scale.

Over the last few years, I have become so much better at reaching out and asking for help. It’s not been an easy thing for me to learn as I’ve previously been pretty self sufficient and have been happy to give help, but not as comfortable with receiving it. But of course, things have changed and now I appreciate the importance of asking for help from those I trust, not only for sheer survival but to maintain some standard of wellbeing during the storm.

And here’s the thing – I’m lucky to be surrounded by people who care about me and who want to help. I keep repeating to myself that I am not a burden to them, I’m not an imposition. I’m a friend in desperate need, reaching out and always finding a hand to haul me back out of a dark place.

As well as getting the support I need, asking for help requires me to pull down any barriers (pride, privacy, etc) and open myself and my world up to those around me. That’s a good thing. That’s where real connections and relationships are formed. My next door neighbour has quickly become one of my dearest friends, primarily because a) she has been so wonderfully willing to help with anything I need and b) I can be completely open with her and she understands with no judgement. How bloody lucky am I?

This morning, I took the act of “reaching out” one step further. I dropped Robin at nursery (tears as usual) and as I came out, one of Woody’s pals was being dropped off by his mum. I watched them arrive as I was about to drive away and tears sprang to my eyes. I felt deep loss of not being able to drop Woody off, of knowing he’s not seeing his friends, of losing (hopefully temporarily) our normal life.

I sat for a minute and got back out of the car and went over to the mum to ask her a favour. I explained Woody’s situation and how much he loves his little friend and I asked if they might be able to put together a short video message or something similar.

Of course, this fellow mum was more than obliging, full of sympathy and willingness to help however she can, even though I’d never met her before. She also said that her son talks about Woody and she had no idea he wasn’t around. This was good to hear – good to know he’s not been forgotten, that he still belongs.

Even a few weeks ago, I don’t think I would have taken that step to ask for something like that. But, I’ve changed. I know Woody needs to remember his friends and how they make him feel. I don’t want him to feel forgotten and the more positive connections I can make for him, the better his brain will recover. I’m not too proud to make that happen, far from it.

I never know where the next dose of kindness will come from – whether it’s a “reaching out” rescue, or a surprise cup of tea and scone brought to me in ICU. But each and every one helps keep me afloat, like a puff of air re-inflating my sagging life jacket to keep my head just above the water, keep me breathing.

If you’re reading this and you know me – thank you for being there, for not letting me drown. Please stay nearby and keep a look out for me, there are more choppy waters to come.