I’m proud of my dirty bathwater.

I’m proud of my dirty bathwater.

I used to feel a lot of shame when I would set up a bath for myself and the water would be dirty when I was done. I mean really dirty.

Like you couldn’t see through it, dirty.

I used to feel guilty for waiting “too long” to take a bath, to get clean, to take care of myself.

I didn’t have a lot of compassion for the fact that I was in survival mode from the age of four, and lived in 20 different places throughout my teenage years, including a shelter and on the streets.

Caring about how often I could take a shower (no baths) — which were often at 3am to avoid the bullies who I shared a room with in the shelter — was the last thing on my mind.

I also never really thought about the fact that as sacred as I find a hot bath now — for a long time it served other purposes.

As a teenager, it was one of the places where I would self-harm. It didn’t matter if I bled, because the water washed it away. It was one place where I could be the person in control, instead of the people who were hurting me.

As an adult, I was in two different relationships where time in the bathroom alone wasn’t respected, and locking a door would’ve meant a fight later.

Before therapy, I never really took stock of all that.

How complicated my relationships were (and still often are) with everything in my life, but in particular my relationship with anything that brings me joy or peace or pleasure.

I lived in West Virginia last year for six months without a bathtub, and every day bubble baths were one thing I missed deeply. I spent a lot of time in my best friend’s backyard, with my dog, getting dirty and started leaning into the messiness of life.

I stopped judging myself so hard for not being what I then considered to be a “functioning adult” because I struggle with self care tasks.

I started recognizing that every day I’m alive at the end of? That’s another day when I successfully kept myself alive.

If that’s not a functioning adult… I don’t know what is!

So now I feel proud when I see my dirty bathwater.

I don’t feel ashamed, or attach a story about myself and whether I’m doing a quality job of “Adulting.”

I don’t try to count how many days it’s been, though that number sometimes pops into my head unsolicited…

Even still, I feel proud now when I see my grey, dirty bathwater.

I think of kids, and how they run and run and run — caught up in the playtime of life — totally unaware of the responsibilities we have in taking care of these vessels.

How they go through periods — sometimes more than one (*ahem, growing up with brothers) — when they think taking a bath is a WASTE of perfectly good playtime.

But then when they finally do, and the water gets cloudy, and you help them remove the sweat & grime, you know it’s because they were so busy getting caught up in the moment, living life, fully immersed.

They were getting messy, and enjoying it.

So I feel proud now when I see my grey, cloudy, dirty bathwater.

Because I know I’ve been living my life.

As I wash my joints and find splotches of paint, I’m reminded — I’ve been in it, immersed.

As I scrub my nails of soil, I think of my garden. My first real garden.

And Amelia Earhart - my tomato plant. I don’t have a trellis or a stake, so we’ve been dancing, she and I, to see how summer will go.

As I rinse my hair, knowing that it needs the head massaging type of washing more than ever, but not having the strength to do anything but pour and rinse and sigh —

I feel proud now when I see my grey, cloudy, bubble-less & dirty bathwater.

Because more than once, I dreamed of having a home.

Of having a place that was safe.

Of having a place that was completely mine. Where I could be myself.

Where my loud, colorful, introspective and spiritual personality could be on full display. Where I was never too much.

I DREAMED of not sleeping on park benches and city buses.

Of having a bedroom like Shirley Temple in the Little Princess. Plush purple comforters, a roaring fireplace and best of all? Food. So much food.

A bathtub was not even on the list, that would’ve been EXTRAVAGANT AF.

I dreamed of living in a place without being afraid to sleep at night.

Back then, I couldn’t imagine getting caught up in life — being playful & immersed — because all I could do was survive.

So I’m proud now, to see my dirty bathwater.

Because it reminds me I’m alive, and alive enough to get messy.