To this day, there is a four-letter word that is more than frowned upon in my house, but it isn’t a swear. My kids will joke around and say it once in awhile just to see me cringe.
Ready for it? I’ll spell it because even writing it gives me the heebie-jeebies. L-I-C-E
That’s right, that dreaded four-letter word. Truth be told, I never had a problem with the word until we had the experience, until I found myself massaging my scalp with tea tree oil and asking both my mother and my husband to comb through my hair with one of those wide combs. (In case you’re wondering, my oldest son brought it home by way of a catcher’s helmet on his Little League team.)
You might think I’m being dramatic, but that was a terrible time for me. Not only am I OCD about my cleaning, but the thought of little creatures inhabiting the heads of my family and my home nearly drove me crazy. Never mind the fact that I was absolutely mortified.
Didn’t this happen to dirty people? People who didn’t know good hygiene?
And yet now, I found myself classified with said people.
That experience taught me a few things about hiding, but it also taught me a few things about what it’s like to be in someone else’s skin—someone’s skin I never thought I’d find myself in.
I didn’t have empathy for those who suffered this unfortunate head malady before I became one of those sufferers. And I didn’t have empathy for the families of those who have committed terrible crimes until I put myself in their skin by writing about them.
You know, there’s a part of me that still wants to hide my vermin experience. Yet one afternoon while working at the pharmacy, I noticed a young woman agonizing over the L-I-C-E products. She stood there for a long time, obviously agitated. I approached her. “Not fun, huh?” She expelled a big breath and shook her head. There was relief in her eyes as I went on to share my own trials with the stubborn parasite.
She wasn’t alone.
I realize this is a small thing, but I think no matter the issue—big or little—we all simply want to feel understood. None of us want to hide our ugliness, our messiness, our—gulp—lice. That’s why we need one another, and it’s also why I like to go to some of the messy places in writing my fiction.
Because someone out there needs to know—they’re not alone. We all have things we hide, we all sometimes struggle to be real, but opening ourselves up to those we trust is part of the human experience, part of what makes life worth living.
I never thought I would share about my lice experience in a public manner. Honestly, I’m getting itchy just thinking about it! But as I look back, it’s just one more experience to write about, one more experience to relate to others about, one more experience to find grace in.
Is there anything you’ve ever experienced that mortified you, but looking back you find not quite so embarrassing or painful? How have your own struggles helped another person?