The Shower Saga
Standards, Capacity, and Rebuilding
I have handled some hard things in my life.
Divorce.
Career uncertainty.
Reinvention.
Starting over.
Moving my entire life.
But apparently…
My final test was a shower.
To be clear, I wasn’t asking for a luxury experience.
I wasn’t asking for a five-star spa.
I wasn’t asking for eucalyptus towels, aromatherapy, or a rainfall showerhead imported from Italy.
I simply wanted water to come out of the wall at a reasonable temperature.
That’s it.
That was the dream.
Isn’t that how life works sometimes?
It isn’t always the mountain that breaks you.
Sometimes it’s the tiny pebble in your shoe…
…after you’ve already climbed the mountain.
After a week of holding firm boundaries.
Navigating a relationship transition.
Managing family dynamics.
Moving everything I owned into a storage unit.
Interview after interview ending with,
“We’ve decided to move forward with another candidate.”
I wasn’t asking life for answers.
I just wanted a proper shower…
…and maybe a decent meal.
Several people called that week.
“Just checking in. How are you doing?”
In my head I wanted to answer,
“How do you think I’m doing? It’s moving week. This is organized chaos.”
Thankfully, my neighbor stepped in.
A teammate showed up exactly when I needed one.
My family surrounded me.
Moments like that remind you something important:
It really does take a village.
They also reveal something else.
You quickly discover who shows up to help…
…and who simply wants access to your energy.
Here’s something no one talks about.
Some people weren’t checking in because they wanted to support me.
They were checking in because they needed something from me.
Apparently, the sound of my voice soothes their anxiety.
Normally?
I’m happy to be that person.
I’m a coach.
A damn good one.
But that week…
…I had reached capacity.
One person asked,
“So…are you stressed? Are you sad?”
Inside my head I answered,
“No. I’m a robot. I have no feelings.”
Of course I was stressed.
I had simply run out of room to carry one more thing.
Then came…
The Shower.
I stood there staring at it.
Turned the handle.
Nothing.
Turned it again.
Still nothing.
It became so loose that I knew I wasn’t getting any water tonight.
And before I knew it, I was yelling…at the shower head…
“For the love of everything holy…FIX THE DAMN SHOWER or just go away!”
Then I cried.
For about ten minutes.
Then…
I laughed.
Like, really laughed.
The kind of laugh that comes after you’ve cried so hard your body decides,
“Well…this is ridiculous.” Because honestly, that shit was funny!
Because it wasn’t about the shower.
Not really.
It was about finally realizing…
I’d spent years becoming incredibly skilled at adapting.
Accommodating.
Enduring.
Making things work.
At some point resilience quietly turned into tolerating things that simply didn’t work.
I hadn’t noticed.
Until the shower.
After my “holy hour,”
I accepted one simple fact:
No one was coming to fix this for me.
So I grabbed a wrench.
Removed the showerhead.
Made a temporary repair.
Water.
Finally.
Flowed.
Sometimes healing doesn’t look like a breakthrough.
Sometimes it looks like clean water finally coming out of the showerhead…
…and realizing you’ve spent the last month holding your breath.
And it’s time to put a damn wrench into the whole situation.
A Note on Functionality
The shower ended up asking me a much bigger question.
Does this work?
Does this relationship work?
Does this environment support the person I’m becoming?
Does this routine give me life…
…or slowly drain it?
After a season of survival…
…you’re no longer asking,
“How much can I tolerate?”
You’re asking,
“Does this support the life I’m building?”
That’s a very different question.
Ten years ago, I probably would’ve written this story differently.
It would’ve been about grit.
Pushing through.
Hustling harder.
Proving something.
Today…
It’s about capacity.
It’s about standards.
It’s about admitting that even the strongest people have limits.
It’s about creating a life where the basics actually support you.
It’s about finding humor while standing in the middle of uncertainty.
The shower was just an experience.
The real story was this:
I don’t need a perfect life.
I want a healthy one.
A functional one.
One where the things that are supposed to support me…
…actually do.
Because the shower was fixed.
But the woman who demanded it?
That was the real transformation.
