Writing and Pooping

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You know that feeling of levity and satisfaction that comes immediately after taking a huge dump?

Thats a bit like how I felt immediately after writing about last week’s trip to Disney World. I felt lighter, calmer and more in tune with the here and now. We went for a walk in the park – Amelia on her tricycle, Kohl in his wheelchair and Sarah in her yoga pants. Sarah started doing air squats, and I didn’t critique her form, invade her personal space or yell “there is no offseason.” Amelia didn’t fall off her tricycle or get PTSD from getting one of her feet wet while slipping into a puddle as she did a couple weeks earlier. And I was just there, enjoying a simple moment with my crew.

It struck me that it had been over a year since I had bothered to post anything on this blog. It had probably been just as long that I had bothered to take the metaphorical pen to paper and attempt to make sense of the dizzying array of thoughts and emotions that frequently plague my brain waves.

But I was driven to do so last week as I – a grown ass man of 38 years – found myself in tears leaving the world’s happiest place. Wondering what was wrong with me and whether I had any testosterone left in my body, I began to poop out some thoughts which, in turn, helped me explain and make sense of these emotions. I have never been comfortable talking about “feelings,” preferring to make awkward jokes about wieners or boobies in an attempt to inject levity into tough situations and conversations as a form of avoidance.

I’ve realized, however, that some things are unavoidable. Writing, I suppose, is my way of dealing with difficult thoughts and emotions. And there’s no way around it – they have to be dealt with, just as those turds taking up residence in your GI system eventually have to be evacuated.

I’ve realized that we parents of children that have severe challenges expend so much time and energy caring for them, and self care is, at best, relegated down the priority list or at worst, doesn’t make onto the list at all.

And as Kohl giggled, Amelia pedaled and Sarah squatted in that wonderful little afternoon last week in the park, I realized that I need this.

After ending my public writing hiatus last week, I was encouraged by a few to keep it up. For reasons that continue to elude my understanding, some actually read this bullshit and others seem to enjoy it and derive some value from it. So if it helps you, dear reader, I am pleased and that is an added bonus. If it doesn’t help you, then fuck you, it helps me.