I felt a little ashamed, because our culture tells us we should be ashamed if we can’t wipe our own behind.
But then I figured, ‘Forget what the culture says.’ I have ignored the culture much of my life.
I am not going to be ashamed. What’s the big deal?
And you know what? The strangest thing.What’s that?
I began to enjoy my dependency. Now I enjoy when they turn me over on my side and rub cream on my behind so I don’t get sores.
Or when they wipe my brow, or they massage my legs. I revel in it. I close my eyes and soak it up.
And it seems very familiar to me. It’s like going back to being a child again.
Someone to bathe you. Someone to lift you. Someone to wipe you.
We all know how to be a child. It’s inside all of us. For me, it’s just remembering how to enjoy it.
The truth is, when our mothers held us, rocked us, stroked our heads—none of us ever got enough of that.
We all yearn in some way to return to those days when we were completely taken care of—unconditional love, unconditional attention.
Most of us didn’t get enough. I know I didn’t.
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