On Helping

I was walking home from work last Saturday evening when I heard a woman’s voice calling out down the sidewalk. With tears streaming down her face, she was standing by the road waving her arms and yelling at passing cars, “Help! Help! Why won’t anyone help me?!” It was getting dark and snowing heavily- no one was stopping.

I walked towards her, admittedly a little nervous. When I reached her, she collapsed into sobs in my arms, continuing to cry, “Why won’t anyone help me?!” As I talked with “Dawn”, it came out that she had missed two days of methadone treatments, and was in a lot of withdrawal pain. As well, one of her feet was extremely swollen, and an earlier stroke had affected a lot of her physical movements.

Dawn told me that when she went to the hospital to see about her foot and about getting methadone, she was told she was going to have to wait and shouldn’t come to the hospital when she was high. She left after waiting for four hours, but when she tried to go back to her apartment, her methadone withdrawal symptoms made her neighbours lock her out after accusing her of “being a druggie”.

As Dawn wandered the streets in pain and frustration, she began to yell at passing traffic to stop and help her. By the time I found her, Dawn was utterly convinced that everyone passing by just thought she was a “dirty hooker drug addict”, and that’s why they wouldn’t stop. As we stood in the snow, Dawn’s pain was palpable as told me how hard it is to change- she didn’t work the streets anymore and was getting off drugs, but still no one seemed to believe she was anything but a “worthless crackhead”. She asked me how she was supposed to believe in herself if no one else seemed to. Her own self-worth had taken another huge blow from all her negative experiences that day- they had reinforced her belief that she would never really be able to make a difference in her own life, that no one wanted to help her.

I asked Dawn what help she wanted- did she want me to call an ambulance? Give her a bus ticket? Walk with her back to her apartment? It turns out she didn’t want any of those things- I think she had been yelling for help in the deepest sense: “Help me to believe in myself. Help me to change. Help me find hope.”

Dawn has challenged me to consider more fully what we mean when we say we want to “help” people affected by poverty- I'm realizing it is sometimes easier, and so much more complicated, then we think.