Adulthood

It is amazing to me how little I was prepared for adulthood. 

That statement is not geared toward my parents, grandparents, or teachers in any way, shape, or form. How in the world do you prepare a child for the difficulty, challenges, and pain of growing up? You can try, and you can even try your best, but even your best will not fully prepare your child for adulthood.

Somehow, I have known from a young age that, emotionally, life would be intricately complex. But, even so, somehow I created preconceptions of what it meant to be a real working adult. That, as long as I worked hard, was cooperative, assertive, and willing to learn, that I would succeed--or, perversely, that I would not suffer. Since becoming a "real grown-up with a grown-up job," I have learned that the complexity involved with growing emotionally also folded and squirmed itself into my career. I have learned that, sometimes, my personal life--my emotions, how I present myself on a daily basis--cannot be separated from my work life. Sometimes, without my permission or approval, the two "lives" that should be kept apart from each other end up sharing a bed. I almost believe that it is the nature of my career--taking care of people & saving lives-- that prevents me from being able to completely separate my career and my personal life. As much as I may try, I cannot entirely shut off my emotions while I toil away at work. I cannot always turn off my empathy. Sometimes, I have to find an empty room and cry.

Is this what the twentysomething age group encounters? Is this just me? Am I the only one who thinks growing up is difficult?

Does being a twentysomething mean that we are finally faced with the real, raw challenges and sufferings of adulthood that no parent is ever able to fully teach? As children, we are taught that there are "bad people" in the world and that we should never accept candy from a stranger, etc. etc. We always had a parent, guardian, grandparent, or sibling to walk alongside us and to show us the way. Now we are expected to figure out adulthood on our own. Sometimes it can be such a challenge to listen to God's voice. Sometimes I think He whispers, when I really just want Him to shout at me.

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The environment in which I work is not an easy one. I care for elderly people for a living. There are so many different dynamics of a skilled nursing facility, and none of them are simple. Again, I had created for myself so many preconceived notions of what it would look like to be a real working nurse. It is nothing like I imagined. It is harder, dirtier, multi-faceted, and darker than I ever imagined it would be. I encounter life's fragility, loneliness, and decay on a daily basis.

I have learned countless things from my current job experience. One lesson, though, is more humane and raw than the others, and a lesson I realized tonight. My band director from 6th grade to 12th grade had this funny saying that he would often bark at his students while they were lined up on the marching band field,

"Your poop smells no better than anybody else's!"

I always appreciated the humor of the saying, and, as a high schooler, I grasped the simple concept of the saying: Don't act like a jerk, don't develop a superiority complex, etc. But, for whatever reason, this saying came back to me tonight while I was  crying over  reflecting on everything that occurred on my last shift. This pondering [crying] allowed me to finally realize the true meaning of  ^ that silly saying, especially in the context of my current career. My health, my youth, my position, my abilities, or my person does not elevate me above my patients, their families, or my employees. I am no better. I am human. I am just as--if not more--flawed, broken, and sinful than those I encounter on a daily basis. Nothing I have done has made me a better or more glorified human being. The temptation to think otherwise is stronger than you might think, especially when surrounded by death, decay, and disease. Just because I have the ability to cognitively grasp the need to poop and this patient cannot does not make me better. My poop smells just as bad and probably worse sometimes. The elderly need advocates because they cannot always advocate for themselves, whether out of fear or complete cognitive or physical inability. 

I know what it's like to be burnt out. If there are any nurses out there reading this, and you are exhausted and empty: I know what it's like. I understand your exhaustion. But, please... As one health care professional to another... As one human to another... Protect your patients' dignity. Respect your patients. Treat them with kindness. They are not animals. We are all the same, here... We are all living the human experience. Respect that.

I guess the next time you need to learn a life lesson, first, cry a lot. Then take a poop. 

You're welcome for saying poop.