Looking for the Helpers

Last night, something kind of magical happened.

On a whim, I tossed my name in the hat to speak at Stoop Stories at the Creative Alliance. The theme was “Look for the Helpers: Stories about first responders, caregivers, and unexpected heroes.” I didn’t come planning to speak—I came because 2024 has pulled me deep into the world of caregiving after my mom had a life-altering stroke. I came with someone who’s also walking a caregiving journey, and we both needed a reminder that people can be good.

Some context for those who may not know: The Stoop Storytelling Series is a beloved Baltimore gem, an organization that brings people together through the power of personal stories. Their live shows and podcast feature everyday people telling extraordinary true tales, and their workshops help anyone feel confident sharing their own. They’ve been around for 20 years, and I sincerely hope they’re around for 200 more.

The event took place at Creative Alliance, another cornerstone of our city’s creative community. It’s one of those places where art, culture, and connection swirl together in beautiful ways—whether you’re catching a show, taking a class, or wandering through an exhibit.

At last night’s show, there were seven featured speakers with prepared stories. But during intermission, the hosts invited audience members to bravely throw their names in the hat for a chance to speak in the second half. I don’t usually think of myself as brave in that way. And I certainly didn’t feel ready.

But when the call was made, my companion turned to me and said, “You should do it.”
I laughed and said “nope,” but the second the words left my mouth, my mind started writing.

I have a thousand stories I could tell about caring for my mom, but those stories are still unfolding. Not only that, but I’m still in the thick of it. And I didn’t feel enough distance from it to give a clean beginning, middle, and end.

But then I remembered Chelsea.

I met her in line at Sweetgreen, because—no joke—I thought we looked so alike (freckles, curly hair, similar features) that I tapped her on the shoulder and said, “I think we might be cousins.” That one comment led to laughter, witty conversation, and the beginning of a real friendship. She had just moved to Baltimore with her partner and their beautiful young daughter in a stroller.

Months later, I got the heartbreaking news: Chelsea’s partner had passed away suddenly of a heart attack. Her world, her life, and everything she had been building came to a halt. And in that moment, I decided—no, knew—that she really was my cousin. I offered my support, my community, my resources. I knew none of it would be enough, and I didn’t have the perfect words. But I showed up anyway.

And that’s what I spoke about last night on stage.

Years later, Chelsea and I are still good friends. When we see each other, we yell “Hey cousin!” across whatever space we’re in. Because we are family now.

The moral of my story is simple: we’re rarely going to feel ready for the hard things life throws our way. But when we show up anyway—with what we have, as we are—it’s enough. And that small act of showing up can ripple into something lasting.

Huge thanks to Stoop Storytelling co-creators, Laura Wexler and Jessica Henkin, and the Stoop Storytelling team for creating a space where stories like this can live. Where vulnerability isn’t just welcomed, but celebrated. And where we’re all reminded to look for the helpers, and to be the helpers, whenever we can.

Image source: Stoop Storytelling