This post is a continuation of last week’s saga, which you can read here.
WHEN THINGS GOT AWKWARD
Where were we? Oh, right. Ten years of hiding my self-worth issues under socks and toenail polish.
Well, finally, on Friday I messaged my doctor.
“What changed?” you might ask. “Why this week?” A great question. I have no idea. Maybe it just got bad enough. Maybe I finally have a doctor I trust not to make fun of me. Or maybe I just fought enough itty-bitty battles against shame to build up my strength to finally win this war.
After an awkward greeting, here’s what I wrote to my doctor:
“I’ve had some toenail fungus issues in the past, and it seems to be getting worse faster than it has been, so I wanted to ask about it. Is that something I could see you about, or would I need to go to a specialist of some kind? (Is there a toe specialist? lol)”
Can you hear the angst? I can.
Here’s what she wrote on Monday morning:
“Can you schedule a visit so we can discuss this? It can be video if that works for you.”
Gulp. Yep. Let’s discuss it. I love discussing things I’m ashamed of. Great plan.
Well, it’s hard to schedule a video visit online, and I happened to be going to the office that day anyway to see my therapist, so I decided to wait.
WHEN THINGS EVEN MORE GOT AWKWARD
That afternoon, when I approached the desk to check out after my therapy appointment, I girded my loins and just said the thing.
“Hey, while I’m here,” (so casual) “My doctor said I should set up a video appointment with her, can you help me with that?”
The receptionist squinted at her computer.
“Yes,” she said loudly, “what’s the appointment for?”
I panicked and swallowed.
“My toes, of all things,” I said. Again, so casual.
“Your what?” She asked, in a voice I swear was audible across the state lines to Michigan.
I overcompensated.
“MY TOES,” I yelled.
She raised her eyebrows but kept her eyes on the screen.
“What’s wrong with your toes?”
I was in it now.
“I HAVE TOENAIL FUNGUS!” I couldn’t seem to stop. Freaked out by how loud I was yelling, I added, “ISN’T THAT EXCITING?”
To her credit, her face didn’t change.
“How about 12:20 pm tomorrow?”
I took a deep breath.
“Yup, great! Cool! That’s PERFECT.”
“Okay, she’ll see you then.”
Man, shame is a real jackass sometimes.
THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME
Well, at 12:16 pm on Tuesday, my doctor called me over video. She asked to see my toe, which meant I had to hold my laptop upside-down over my naked foot, and we both laughed about it.
Then she prescribed me a medication and said to let her know if it doesn’t clear up in 90 days.
That was it.
The visit lasted 6 minutes, we talked more about the weather than my toe, and I had a solution.
As one of my friends said in response to my story only minutes later, “Fuck shame, what a loser.”
Ten years, give or take a few months, of hiding something that had a less than six-minute solution. Now, of course, I have to take the prescription for 90 days. And it’s possible it won’t work.
But seriously. I have been holding onto this insignificant piece of shame for absolutely no reason other than I didn’t want anyone to know that there might be something wrong with me.
But of course, there’s something wrong with me! Nobody and no body is perfect. We all have flaws and weaknesses. I never learned how to moisturize and care for my skin. Maybe you never learned to say “sorry” when you make a mistake.
We all have these weak spots, these places where darkness and death and just plain old fungus show up. And we avoid them like that is going to help. But it doesn’t. Because fungus grows when you leave it alone.
WINNING A WAR
My metaphorical fungus grew out of an insecurity that I am somehow not enough: not beautiful enough, not feminine enough, not cool enough. My toenail really has very little to do with that. It’s a self-worth problem that my literal fungus came to represent. But I don’t want shame to win by controlling me.
Something that grows in darkness shouldn’t get to determine your identity or your worth in the daylight.
So. I still have toenail fungus, and it may or may not go away. But I am no longer willing to let the feelings of self-doubt and fear control me. I am no longer willing to just let my shame fester in the dark.
And I wanted to tell you about it because I want you to win a war against shame. I want you to look at that creepy little corner where you keep your tiny piece of shame and I want you to open up the windows, let in some sunshine, and say, “It’s over, shame. No more.”
That doesn’t mean you have to “fix” it. Not all shame has a solution. Sometimes it’s just acknowledging the thing, and figuring out how to no longer let it control you (easier said than done, I know.)
And if you feel like sharing that mini piece with me, I promise, I will not judge you.
I will only cheer you on.
Because no little piece of shame should win today.
Today you can win the war on shame.
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