Is This Post About S**T?

There's a story that I like to tell because I find it humorous and oddly philosophical. Star date 2005. I was in a job that I abhorred. I was ill regularly, including migraines and the worst stomach cramps that I had ever known. At completely inconvenient junctures daily, I experienced what I can only describe as a gut punch that literally caused me to double over, groaning and wincing in agony. I finally made the decision to see a doctor who informed me that in order to understand what was happening he had to look at my insides.

Cool. No biggie I thought; let's get this X-Ray going.

Or not.

Nope, this doc wanted to get a really good look at my insides. Like with a scope. Yup, I was to be violated. The poop chute was going to be shot by video and the only way in was to clean it out. Allll the way out.

I was given a bottle of horse-sized pills and very simple instructions: “take one every hour on the hour until they're complete. We'll see you in 24 hours.”

Sure, no prob, what’s a little cleanse? How bad can crapping be?

Hours 1-3 weren't all bad. A pill here, a quick potty break there. Intersperse some TV and crude BM jokes and you've got a chill afternoon.

Or not.

Because then the s**t hit the fan. My insides were at war and I. Wasn't. Ready.  

I recall a rather critical point in the dark days of doo when, lying weakly on the cold bathroom floor I cried out -- to God, the toilet and my intestines -- "I have nothing left to give!"

Because I didn't. What seemed a simple task of popping pills and pooping became laborious and traumatic. It was an exhausting, wretched and yes, emotional experience about which I’m still haunted.

Even in the moments when I felt as though there was nothing left and surely I was done, back to the bathroom I went -- and eventually stayed -- to share more with my good friend John. Why would the doctor do this to me? There had to be an easier way. And yet there wasn't. I had to endure it. And for 12 hours I did. I got rid of all the crap that I had been carrying in an effort to help my physician see me – all of me.

Oh what a necessary evil. I certainly felt better the following day. Lighter – I had to have dropped 5 pounds or more – and ready for what was next. But I was also weak and desperately wanting to fill this new void with something, anything, that would make me feel less empty.

In case you haven't realized, this post is about meaningful s**t because that's the only s**t that matters.

More often than not, we walk around carrying a bunch of unnecessary s**t. We become burdened by things that threaten to physically, mentally and emotionally destroy us. Even when we get rid of some s**t, we crave new s**t that we think will fulfill us, if only momentarily, and we start the wretched cycle again. We’re constantly seeking something to take the space of the perceived emptiness we feel without giving thought to the fact that empty, open and accessible is a great thing or that it can, and should be, filled with something better than the s**t before.

But what happens when we really unload the figurative crap that we’re carrying around and allow others to really see us as my doctor was able to see me? Sure, he could have done a surface level examination, and that would have been easier for the both of us and certainly more comfortable for me. Unfortunately, my healing could not have come from a comfortable place. I had to drop pretense, drop trou' and drop some...well, you get the idea.  

The same is true for you.

Life isn’t meant to be lived carrying around a bunch of crap. Far too often I see people – hey pot, I’m kettle – throwing, hiding and generally masking their s**t out of pride and hurt. But I have realized just how desperate I am for authenticity which is found in transparency, vulnerability and inter dependency. I suspect that you might be too.

But first we have to stop acting like we have it all together and instead invite people into our lives in order to experience our failures, brokenness, successes and joy. I have been blessed over the last couple of years, to have people who were willing to come along with me and help me carry my crap even when I’m unwilling to relinquish it. The same can be true for you. How much lighter or different could your load be? Are you willing to share someone else's burden, and in turn gain some perspective about your own?

My blog is built on transparency. I write so that someone (I hope) feels permitted to laugh, cry, commiserate and feel a little less alone in the world. In short, you’ll see that our s**t really is the same.

So, let’s proverbially “unload” together. In the comments section tell no one in particular what s**t you would like to get rid of.