Last week, my daughter overflowed the toilet upstairs so badly that it started to drip through the vent in the downstairs bathroom. She nonchalantly came into the living room and said “Something’s coming out of the ceiling in the bathroom” as if she had no idea why this could be. When I dashed upstairs, she immediately launched into apologies and self-flagellation. “It’s ALL MY FAULT!” she kept repeating. “No, honey, you just took a big dump. That’s all.”
The cleanup for this particular incident was elaborate, involving plungers, towels, and disinfectants to mitigate the presence of fecal matter all over the bathroom floor. Phase two involved dealing with all that got a generous sprinkling in the downstairs bathroom which included my makeup bag. After everything was dried and disinfected, I talked to my daughter about the importance of a courtesy flush mid-dump. It’s the only way we can prevent future overflows. How can such a tiny girl produce such clog inducing waste?
Dealing with toilet eruptions is only one part of the crappy side of being human. Not many of us bring up poop stories in polite company, it’s considered distasteful and inappropriate mealtime banter. I would posit that this avoidance of bathroom talk is exactly why we avoid most topics involving our flawed humanity. Why do we do this to ourselves? We leech onto the pretense of perfection but secretly crumble under that pressure. If only we felt comfortable enough to discuss our deepest imperfections and imperfect moments. We are creatures on a planet on the edge of one of the bazillions of galaxies in the universe. Of course we all clog toilets and do weird things. If you’re not weird I’m going to start telling people you’re a robot.
This week I had to openly discuss my OCD. It is only one slice of me but it is the very slice that explains a whole lot. I have lived under its shadow for nearly 30 years without ever knowing it and have cringed at the realization that my weakest moments were a direct result of its control. Since coming clean about OCD a year ago in this publication, an enormous weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Rather than feign perfection, I have flaunted my flaws with pride. This awkward honesty has allowed me to stay firmly planted in this new reality I have carved out for myself. Living life is so much better than fearing it.
When I taught my daughter about the courtesy flush, I realized just how applicable that concept is to many other aspects of our lives. If we just confront the crap before it gets to be too much, we avoid a lot of messy situations. My discussing OCD this week is an example of what I would call a “courtesy flush conversation”. Why? Because if I don’t admit it verbally and vocally (not just through writing), I am still allowing shame to have its way with me and potentially harm all the progress I have made. Shame on me? Nope. I dropped you like a bad boyfriend a year ago and I am no longer interested.
So go ahead friends of mine. Talk openly about what makes you human and deliciously weird. I will happily pull up a chair and listen. Everyone poops, everyone has clogged a toilet once or twice, and everyone is weird. Don’t try and tell me otherwise. I might even write about your weirdness if I’m impressed. And, for the love of your bathrooms, be sure to do a courtesy flush when necessary. It’s not just for the smell anymore, it’s for your and your bathroom’s protection.