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While house sitting recently, I realized what I enjoy so much about it. Yes, its nice to be in a big house with a hot tub and a cat, where I can stretch out and have room for projects, with peace and quiet to center my mind. More importantly though, I feel truly free, but perhaps not in the way you’d think.
I enjoy the freedom to not stress out about other people and my preconceived notions of what they think of me. I’m free to wear unflattering clothes that are comfortable and not look in the mirror to make sure my imperfections are covered up. I’m free to poop and not feel poop-shamed by smells or stains left behind. I don’t feel the constant burden to hide evidence of my presence. I can live and be messy and not worry that I’m negatively affecting others.
I know this insight into my psyche may not exactly come as a shock to others, but it caught me off guard to see just how much I hide myself from the world. Why do I feel the need to do this? Why do I feel like I need to be small? Why do I feel like I’m of less value and importance than others? Where did all this shame come from?
Other than the poop shame, which I will get to in a minute, the answers are somewhere in the coalescence of my life experience and thus hard to pin down objectively. All I can do is share some insights to what kinds of experiences I’ve had that contributed.
Back to the the poop shame (because I know that’s why you’re still reading). There was one particular incident that I credit for it. Strap yourself in.
When I was younger, like post-college adult age, I visited my grandmother when I could. My aunt also lived in the house with her husband. We had always had a good rapport, but long story short, she was sick through a good chunk of my twenties and thirties, so I didn’t interact with her that much. Years later (again, long story short), when she was in a better place physically, I came to learn that she has some pretty severe mental health issues. For example, she screamed at me at the top of her lungs one Thanksgiving because (wait for it) I put the pumpkin pie in the fridge. Literally, that was it.
So back to poop shame. One day I was visiting the house and I used her bathroom for a number two. I did my best to deal with the odor. (Does anyone else find it confusing to deal with odor in other people’s houses sometimes because it’s like, everyone has different sensibilities about such things?) A short while later, my aunt comes to me with one of those very serious “we need to talk” looks on her face and proceeds to scold me with a raised voice about leaving skid marks in the toilet. I mean, she was actually mad about it, as if I was a misbehaved dog that shat on the floor. I’m pretty sure the comment she made under her breath was something about how she didn’t understand how I could do such a thing and why I didn’t know better because it was clearly offensive.
That’s all it took. From that point on, I started covering my metaphorical, and sometimes literal, poop tracks in any way I could, and I still get very stressed out about it when I’m around other people.
Just recently, I saw a meme online dealing with this. The comic strip shows a person at work mitigating their poop situation by making sure no one is around when they go in, lining the inside of the toilet bowl with toilet paper, multiple flushings, using spray–the whole nine yards. It was all too familiar.
What gave me pause was someone’s comment: “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal? Everyone poops, its normal.” My reaction was: “Aww, you’ve never been poop shamed, and it shows.”
It wasn’t until then that I really took a hard look at the situation and realized how fucked up it was. I guess seeing the problem is the first step to dealing with it and working on it, so there is that.
Sometimes my train of thought takes off in an unexpected direction, as in this case. As always, thanks for reading!
Sowing Crafty Seeds 