Wet Toilet Seats
Read or listen… and see where this one goes ’round. Don’t worry if things get a little messy.
Have a seat if you dare… read or listen, and see where that takes you.
We’re living in troubled times.
After years of not putting the toilet seat up when relieving myself, it was my turn to experience what it would be like for the next person.
Almost slipping off my throne, I quickly realized that some kind of pisser made a mess. They’re responsible for the mess, but that doesn’t mean it’s their fault. Maybe that’s why they’re here—not always seeing me. They never got the message, or can’t remember, that their parents weren’t going to clean up after them forever.
And now the reality of school or life is knocking on the door.
Trying not to assume, I imagine a kid, maybe someone my age, tossing a clump of paper towels soaked with water or urine, and missing the basket—not bothering to pick it up. They had better things to do—or nothing at all.
So did I. But I knew what I needed to do.
I’m feeling a little conflicted right now if you can’t tell. As I’ve said, we live in troubled times. I won’t say more. Some may know what I mean. Others probably see me as the problem and would fire me if they could—or put a lock on the bathroom door and restrict my access.
I could take it to Judge Judy and say that my rights were being violated, but I might end up smelling pretty bad. I often have the quicker option of talking to one of those helpful “healthcare” chatbots, but that might be even worse.
Yeah, troubled times… Some days I just yearn for the voice of a human—as long as they show they care.
Maybe I’ll buy one of those smart vans I always see on Facebook and hit the road. Better yet, I think I’ll climb Mount Everest or hike the Appalachian Trail. That would give me a way to justify being lost, but I might find myself lost again—maybe even forever.
But at least I’d have a new t-shirt.
Fortunately, there are a lot of people in the same boat and lots of places to stay—to feel nourished and clean up along the way. I worry about those who stay too long. That could be frustrating for the innkeeper. They still have to come back home eventually. That’s assuming they had one to start with.
Yeah, I know. That’s a hard place to live, but like my dad used to tell me, “No one owes us a living.” You’re right, Dad. It’s not my job to save the world, but I don’t have to ignore it or treat it disrespectfully either.
Yeah, I think I’ll go home and work on my fairy trail and write a bit, hoping that someday someone will enjoy using their imagination and dreaming about all the things we can do to solve life’s mysteries. My granddaughter, Annie, would like that.
AI might be able to do a lot, but I hate to think about what we’re losing—like our creativity and imagination, access to our Core Self… the past and the future. Without that, what happens to healing trauma right now?
What about humanity?
Tough questions… I hope it’s not too late. We can’t forget how to feel the pain and enjoy life. And I want my grandkids and theirs to have that capacity—and option.
I think I’ll be a therapist and try to help my clients connect with their kids—even the ones who are all grown up and on their own. Or those who come back home to live again—or give me a place to live in theirs.
You know, learn how to aim in the right direction and deal with wet toilet seats… and bad jokes. That’s about as real as I can get right now. No joking.
Here we go, I just found the map inside that helps me see the big picture. You know, the Core Self—my internal compass and caregiver.
That’s the light that’s always turned on and helps me stay on the road—taking a breath and resting when I need to. I just have to figure out how to access it—so I don’t check out all of a sudden… or gradually dim the lights.
By golly, I’m just an old-fashioned guy delivering milk and honey to those who need some—in my own way. Maybe a little öl brew with some special friends, too. Proud of my age—a real classic… whatever way you look at it.
Life might get a little scary or sticky at times but at least we’ll have a way to find ourselves in the light of invisibility.
Good night and good morning… Home at last. I’m alive. I found my voice again. Time to use it to help us heal—connecting the right side of my brain to the left, as I help others do the same. The pieces of the puzzle are coming together as one.
We’re on this journey together even if we sit on a wet toilet seat from time to time. We may feel a little uncomfortable but we won’t be alone.
Grateful to be here—not hiding any longer. I have a blog and newsletter to keep the light on for me and others, bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
That's the way I want to live—leading from my Core Self. Not perfect, just real. I hope you can live there too. I'll hold the light until you find your own. Two lights are brighter than one… and the light gets even stronger when more come on board.
Home again… I just hope it will still be there if I get lost… or move on.
Wow! All that from a wet toilet seat. We can learn a lot from even the most basic acts of life.
What we expect is not always what we find. Thank God for that.
We’re living in troubled times. But it's really not that bad—is it? Yeah, it could be worse. But let’s not wait until it is.
Please don’t flush while I’m taking a shower. Not the last angry man anymore. Becoming the first.
Sometimes you never know what you’ll find...
That’s the way that the world goes round.
Dedication: To all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together, even when things get messy. Check out öl brew for more clarity.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
Challenge: How many metaphors can you find in the piece above? Let me know what you see. There might be more hiding in there and inside ourselves than either of us knows.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work—standing solidly in the healing power of accompaniment.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
Stay tuned for more—as this living model continues to grow—with self-compassion leading the way around the world… and back home.