Helping a friend prepare her garden yesterday, I looked around at the others raking and shoveling along side me as we built her rows, and I realized that this is harder for me than it is for them.

I’m a New York native.  I’ve lived on both coasts over the years, had a brief stint in the south a decade ago, and have lived or worked in 4 cities since college.  My kids and I are back in the south and are growing accustomed to the gardening parties.  Many hands makes light work…or at least light-er work.

And so, we had a gardening party for a friend as three families pitched in to till and prepare her soil.

We had been at it for over two hours when it came time to make the rows.  Shovels were already taken, so I was attempting to pile the soil high with a garden rake.  It’s not easy work to begin with, but about midway through the second row I realized that while we were all working hard, the strain this was taking on my body exceeded the strain on the others.  And for a split second, I was annoyed.

Gardening has been a new thing for my family this spring.  We have never gardened before we but are surrounded by many gardening friends.  I’ve always wanted to try my hand at growing vegetables, and it seemed a great time to start.  We have our own little container garden outside of our apartment and are teaming up with another family in their traditional, plot garden.

During one work day at that garden, there was a wheel barrel full of weeds needing to be dumped.  The stinker was H-E-A-V-Y!  I made my best attempt at transporting this massive load from the garden, through the pasture gate and over to the chicken coop.  I made it almost 20 yards when I finally conceded, I cannot do this.

The weight was heavy but manageable.  The main problem was that I could not get the firm, two-handed grip needed to successfully move the wheel barrel. I just couldn’t, and rather than fuss at it, I conceded my inability and left it for a more able person.

I hate when I’m not able to do something.  I hate when my physical limitations are indeed limitations and no amount of adapting can make up for that.

I grew up being told I could do anything and be anything I wanted to be.  I excelled at sports, and there was really no room to make excuses for failure.  As a kid I just found ways to make it work.  I (don’t think) I minded the challenge – in fact, I took great pride at rising to the challenge.  And most of the time, I did rise.

But this past few months as I have taken on this new hobby of gardening, I am being reminded of my limitations, and I don’t like it.

So back to making rows.  I am pulling with all my might to move that dirt from the furrow up onto the hill, and I am making progress, but it sure seems like this could be done faster.  And then I realize, it would be done faster, if only…

if only I wasn’t relying almost entirely on the strength of ONE arm because while the other hand can guide the handle, it cannot really grip and certainly cannot pull.  Oh yeah, and it would help if my lat-muscle on my right side was still fully intact, (as it was used during my reconstructive surgery).

No wonder I’m having some trouble.  I’m working at a disadvantage.

As I quickly process all the thoughts pouring through my brain I conclude, these are indeed my limitations and I simply need to work within them.  My pace may be slower — I need to be okay with that.  What am I trying to prove anyway?  I may not have the strength to do all that I want to do — I need to be okay with that.  Do what you can, with what you have, right?

I strongly detest making excuses.  I want to be able to do everything.  I do not want any limitations.  I can gut out most activities, and pride pushes me onward to do just that.  My limitations are not anyone else’s problem and I certainly don’t want pity or sympathy.

The day I failed to move the wheel barrel, my friend did that task.  With plenty of strain, she managed to move the heap of dirt and weeds from point A to point B, and my pride said, “If she can do it, why can’t I?”  And my pride said, “I wonder if she thinks I’m a wimp.”  And I debated giving her the explanation, that I simply could not grip the handle.  And I am fully convinced that she would have received that explanation without any judgment.  Nor do I really think she judged me for crying uncle.

There are still aspects of PS that throw me for a loop; new situations needing to be navigated.  Surely there will be a next time, when my pride and reality clash and wisdom says to back down and seek help.  But even knowing that puts me on edge because I want to be self-reliant and I want to be capable of everything, and I want to be perceived as abundantly able.

But I’m not.  We all have our limitations.  Mine continue to be a thorn in my flesh.