The Helpers

Some people come into our lives for a season, not forever. They may leave because of a disagreement, a change in location, or simply because they were there for a specific moment when you needed them (or when they needed you). I’m thankful for the people God has placed in my life for those fleeting seasons, especially the ones who helped me through a particular moment in time.

Susan was one of those people. I can’t even recall her last name, but for a year when I was a teenager, I visited her once a week. She helped me navigate one of the most traumatic times in my life—when it felt like the world was against me. She welcomed me into her office and onto the ivory loveseat across from her tufted armchair. There, I poured out my heart to her, and she gently helped me begin to piece together the broken parts of myself.

As I wrote a scene in my novel All the Times I Almost Died, I found myself thinking of her. The therapist in the story is based on Susan—right down to her tapered bob, with bangs that never budged, and her refined, elegant style. In contrast, I often showed up in cheap stirrup pants and a baggy boho shirt, my hair a permed mess styled in a “classic” mullet. We couldn’t have been more different, both in appearance and background, but I never once felt judged by her, and I always treated her with respect.

Her office became my sanctuary, my safe space once a week. The walls were lined with books, and the scent of old pages greeted me each time I entered—a scent that still brings me comfort today. That love of reading is what connected us from the start. Our conversations often drifted toward the books we were reading, and sometimes, she would let me borrow one from her shelves.

Her office felt like a cocoon. Located in an old building, the original hardwood floors creaked with every step, and soft, instrumental music played in the background. It wasn’t the kind of music I would’ve chosen, but it helped set a calming tone for our sessions.

Sitting on that ivory loveseat, I shared deeply personal things with her—things I wouldn’t say to anyone else. She listened without judgment. I don’t remember all the details of our sessions, but I remember how I felt: cared for. At a time when everything else felt uncertain, I knew she genuinely wanted the best for me and wanted to see me healed.

As I wrote about her in my book, I felt compelled to revisit the gift she gave me during our final session: The Song of Love by Joan Walsh Anglund. I’ve kept that book for thirty-seven years because it means so much to me. The front flap describes it as reflecting on “the power of love as a unifying force in life and an antidote to pain and loss.” She knew my love for poetry and understood the message I needed to carry with me as our paths diverged.

However, it’s not the book itself that made me love it so, it’s the inscription she wrote in it:

“To Tammy with much love, respect and every good wish for your success and happiness.”

It was a simple statement, yet it meant everything to me—a heartfelt wish for my well-being from someone who truly meant every word she wrote.

Thinking of Susan brings to mind something Fred Rogers’ mother always told him when he encountered frightening situations: “‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” Susan was one of those helpers. While some might argue she was a helper because it was her job, she was truly invested in the art of helping others. She did it with such dedication, and I’m grateful she was compensated for her work!

We are all created to help in different ways. Susan helped through counseling and therapy. My hope is that through my writing, I can help others as well. My purpose is to show women that there is always hope for a better life—it’s never too late, and you’re never alone.

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My question to you this week is: Who is/was your helper? Just say their name and share your gratitude in the comments! 

I don't know about you, but I’m incredibly grateful for those people who come into our lives for a season—especially the helpers.