Poop Washes Off

In the past week I’ve been down. I’ve felt achy, tired and anxious. I’ve chalked it up to either hormone ups and downs or having to deal with giving away our dog.

Feeling a bit down isn’t something totally new for me. You see, I have depression. I take medication for it and meet with mental health care professionals, but apparently taking those steps doesn’t guarantee that I’ll be symptom free everyday from now until eternity. Sigh.

Last night as my husband and I were talking before falling asleep, I thanked him for being my rock. His devotion is solid, steady, always there – kind of like bedrock.

I, on the other hand, am a bird. I enjoy the rush of air in my feathers as I soar to heights of self-discovery and dream of new vistas. Some days I spend my time pecking at bits on the ground – wrapped up in the drudgery of housework and being the mom. I also love to chirp – gab and giggle, flutter and fly.

After thanking my husband for being my rock yesterday, I said, “ Honey. I’m a bird, and I’m sorry that sometimes I poop on you.” Being the kind man he is, he chuckled and forgave me.

I’ve been thinking about it, and I imagine we all poop on others from time to time. I’ll admit that my kids sometimes do it to me. But poop washes off. Bird droppings wash off cars. Manure comes out of soiled overalls. And the excrement we fling on one another can be washed away too.

When someone forgives me for opening my mouth before engaging my brain, I’m grateful. And the next time I’m the recipient of someone’s filth, I’m a bit more understanding. The person who cuts me off in traffic doesn’t raise my blood pressure. My child who takes their day’s worth of frustrations out on me is allowed to decompress before I talk calmly with them.

Yes, poop washes off. Thank goodness.