(and Society Isn’t Ready for It)

When your gut makes the rules you have to live by:

There are some moments in life that humble you instantly.

Not character-building humble.
Not laugh about it later humble.

I’m talking about the kind of humble where your body looks at your carefully laid plans and says,
“Cute. Absolutely not.”

Today was one of those days.

I live with a gut condition — one of those invisible, unpredictable, wildly inconvenient ones. The kind where everything is fine… until it isn’t. No warning siren. No gentle nudge. Just an urgent, full-body announcement that you have approximately 30 seconds to locate a washroom or accept your fate.

This is not drama.
This is biology.

So today, when my gut decided it was go time, I did what anyone with lived experience does: I scanned my surroundings like a raccoon in a parking lot and made a beeline for the closest possible washroom.

Enter: a fast-food restaurant.

I made it. Barely. Victory!
Or so I thought.

Because when I came out — having already endured the internal shame spiral that accompanies any public digestive emergency — I was met not with discretion, but with a manager waiting outside the door.

What followed was a lecture about how the washroom is “not public,” how I shouldn’t have used it, and an overall tone that suggested I had committed a moral failing rather than survived a medical emergency.

I tried to explain.
I mentioned a medical condition.
I was polite. Mortified, but polite.

It didn’t matter.

Instead of compassion, I got condescension.
Instead of understanding, I got implied unwelcome.

And let me tell you — if embarrassment had a soundtrack, this would’ve been the dramatic violin scene.

Here’s the thing that people who don’t live with gut conditions often don’t understand:

When we say urgent, we mean now.
Not “after I explain myself.”
Not “after I buy something.”
Not “after policy review.”

Now.

There is no dignity in these moments. There is only survival.

And the embarrassment? That comes later. Usually in waves. Usually when you’re safely home, replaying everything and wondering why a bodily function feels like a personal failure.

Spoiler: it isn’t.

Not all disabilities are visible.
Not all medical conditions are neat, quiet, or polite.
And not everyone who needs a washroom is being difficult or disrespectful.

Some of us are just trying to make it through the day without an incident.

I did contact head office. They listened. They acknowledged that the situation was handled poorly and said they would be educating the manager involved. That matters — not just for me, but for the next person who won’t have the energy to explain, advocate, or push back.

If you live with IBS, IBD, Crohn’s, colitis, post-surgical complications, medication side effects — or anything else that turns your digestive system into a wildcard — please hear this:

You are not gross.
You are not weak.
You are not doing anything wrong.

And if you don’t live with these conditions?
I hope this gives a little insight into a reality many people quietly carry.

Sometimes kindness is as simple as looking the other way.
Sometimes it’s offering grace without explanation.
And sometimes it’s understanding that when someone needs a washroom, what they really need is dignity.

Even if society isn’t quite ready to talk about poop yet.

The next time someone needs grace in a moment that feels inconvenient or uncomfortable, I hope we choose empathy first. Sometimes the kindest thing we can do is simply let someone be human.

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