Let me tell you the story of how I nearly lost my will to live... over poop. Yeah, you read that right. Not heartbreak, not poverty, not existential dread, just plain ol’ constipation. Or as I like to call it now, poop peeping- when the poop comes to the door, peeks out, then slams the door in your face like, “Not today, ma’am.”
It started innocently enough. A few missed meals here and there, a little dehydration (I was busy, okay?), and then boom everything stopped. My digestive system clocked out like a casual intern who only came for the free lunch. I didn’t think much of it at first. I mean, it’s just a skipped meal or two, right?
Hours later, I’m bloated, gassy, and already regretting every life choice I’ve ever made, including that time I ghosted someone who just wanted to talk about my bad eating habits. Poop was teasing me now. I could feel it chilling somewhere in the hallway of my intestines, humming like it had nowhere to be. I’d sit on the toilet and feel hope. Just a little nudge, I begged. Just one brave push.
Nothing.
Here I was walking weird, talking with less joy, and snapping at people who chewed too loudly. I Googled everything: "natural laxatives," "pressure points for constipation," "can stress block your anus?" I drank hot coffee like it was holy. I took long walks like I was hoping the motion would shake the poop loose like a stubborn coin in a vending machine.
Still. Nothing.
And then came the moment. I felt the rumble. A gentle shift in the cosmos. I ran to the toilet like I was making an Olympic dash. Sat down. Breathed. Focused. And just like that... poop peeped. Not fully. Not gracefully. Just enough to say, “Hey. I’m alive. But not coming out.”
Excuse me?
Now my ass was hurting. Literally. Emotionally. Spiritually. I started negotiating. “Look, if you just come out, I’ll eat more. I’ll give up snacking. I’ll do smoothies for a week, okay. Fine, I’ll just stop talking trash about fiber.” But poop was stubborn. It was in its villain era.
Desperate, I drank water. Bottle after bottle like I was prepping for a hydration contest. My stomach was a waterbed, sloshing around, but I kept going. And then…
POP.
I can’t describe the relief. Angels sang. The air felt cleaner. My spine straightened. I became humble again. I wanted to go outside and apologize to trees, to people I’d wronged.
I didn’t need a massage. I didn’t need a therapist. I just needed release and baby, I got it.
Moral of the story? Listen to your gut. Hydrate. Respect fiber. And never, ever underestimate the sheer drama constipation will bring into your life.
Next time someone says “how are you?” I just might answer, “I pooped. I’m unstoppable.” Because honestly, that’s a win. And we take all our wins, even the bathroom ones.
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