“Sometimes within the obvious, there is even more obvious, if we take the time to sit with, love ourselves, and accept exactly where we are at, right now….”

-Moon (Emily)

Don’t they say that it all comes back to potty training? I spent over a decade working in the Early Childhood world, and eventually, I did master the art of walking two, three and four year-olds through the incredibly challenging transition of becoming potty trained. I have known little girls that are rebelling by peeing their pants because of their trauma, even though they were perfectly capable of not peeing out of place. I have had a five year-old wipe off his bum on the door to the classroom. I have changed endless diapers and cleaned many drippy poops out of pants, and down into the shoes. I have been shamed by a parent for allowing my student to take an inappropriate poop on the playground, as though I was the one to blame.

I, myself, don’t recall having any real issues with potty training at home. I had one experience at two years-old, however, that was very upsetting to me; when I pooped my pants at daycare at two years-old. I then proceeded to put a little boy’s Cookie Monster underwear on backwards, as I thought Cookie Monster should definitely be front and center, and I was shamed further for dressing inappropriately. In my career as a Preschool and Toddler teacher, I found ways to engage children through their potty training experience, so that they could be aware and proud of themselves, and maybe even have a little fun.

Food in our culture is surrounded by so many issues, various behavioral imbalances, addictions, and can be very confusing as we enter the dieting world, and the world of eating politically correct. Because I had an eating disorder from ages 14 through 17, and then it taking several years to recover beyond that, and because I became overweight because of medications I take for mental illness, I was increasingly focused on food and exercise, as most of the population is. Trouble is, after five years of working at a job in the Early Childhood field, that was keeping me stable, but in a way was a backward pedal in the progression of my life, I found that I had become chronically constipated. Yes, one could blame the meds, and partly this is truth. However, there are much deeper roots as well as deep psychological reasons for my inability to poop regularly. I have practiced bringing awareness to, and becoming comfortable with my daily movements. I still portain an inability to relax while sitting on the toilet, that has lead to an impatient and neglectful attitude surrounding this very important once daily task.

I left my job, where I was teaching other young humans how to pee and poop, and I eventually learned how to poop myself, though with the help of a daily pint of prune juice. I was so constipated, that when I went on a camping trip for the first time in over five years, a past-time that my husband and I used to do about 8-10 times a summer when we lived in Seattle, I then became fully relaxed, and was reminded of joy in life, and what truly makes me happy; being in the mountains, with the rivers and the trees, the rocks and ravens, making love to my husband, and singing around a campfire with good friends. I literally took 7 full-sized shits in a day and a half with no added help. So, I know when to read obvious signs, as I have been in many challenging situations in life, and my body and circumstances were telling me to make a change. I came home and gave immediate notice to my work.

My roommate, several years later, used to joke with me about how I should start a ‘poop blog’. I would take pictures, describe the poop, what I had been eating, the experience of defecating, how often, what it smelled like, everything. Humorously, I see how this would be strange and even gross, and yet I am completely serious at how important this discovery of trying to poop everyday, and being intimate with my pooping experience, is to my health. I have been playing the game of mental health so long, I refuse to take at point-blank that my meds are the sole cause to this chronic constipation. Because, it is not just constipation, it is the psychology, the early childhood development, my experience with food and diet, as well as my general act of holding it in. There is a place for my will, my sense of joy, and my appreciation for myself, to exist in this delicate equation. It does not surprise me that doctors don’t always see this. They have their 30 minutes to figure us out. And I am not sure they are able to care about our delicate psychological and developmental beings, that reside inside us; thus they don’t always make necessary observations.

So, it is obvious. I am holding it in. And, for all of the attention that I put to my mouth, esophagus and stomach, I really should think about the exit plan being just as important as the entrance. Message for the day: “In all matters, take your time, Emily. Learn once again to slow down, let it out, and to love yourself more.”