Shower confessional: How vulnerability can deepen friendship

Confession: I do not enjoy taking showers. Please don’t misunderstand me; I absolutely love the feel of hot water on my skin, the sweet fragrance of scented soaps, the soothing comfort of a shampooed head massage, and the lifestyle of good hygiene! But as an adult with SMA, the whole experience is tainted by an uncomfortable and unavoidable awkwardness that drains all the fun out of it.

I have a very cool shower setup in my bathroom at home, actually. I have a roll-in shower with a reclined and padded bath chair, a barrier-free lift system and mesh sling, a hand-held shower head, and a caregiver curtain. It might be the most physically comfortable showering scenario I could ask for.

But regardless of all the bells and whistles, my disability limits the strength of my hands and the reach of my arms, so I still need someone else to undress me, put me in the shower, and wash me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. And that’s a vulnerable thing, something I wouldn’t choose to submit myself to. In a space where most able-bodied people can enjoy a few minutes (or longer) of privacy and autonomy, I need to verbally guide a caregiver to properly and thoroughly do everything necessary to keep me, at the very least, healthy and clean.

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However, I’ve noticed throughout my life that a strange phenomenon occurs when I’m taking a shower with certain caregivers who become real friends. I call it “the shower confessional.” If someone helps me take a shower several times and gets the gist of what I need and want them to do, they begin to relax and open up to me about their life.

At first, we might chat about their family or work or hobbies, the TV show they’re bingeing, the book they’re reading, or their plans for the weekend. But after a few more showers, the topics deepen. Slowly they begin to share their faith questions and relationship conflicts, their fears for suffering loved ones, their stress over financial burdens, and their doubts about their parenting abilities.

Somehow my vulnerability has given them permission to be vulnerable, too. And as the hot water begins to run out and my fingertips become raisins, I realize that I don’t feel so awkwardly aware of my nakedness and helplessness anymore.

Weekly showers lead to a beautiful friendship

Every Monday morning, my friend Lisa comes to my house in an old T-shirt and messy bun, with a giant mug of coffee in hand, and gets me out of bed for a shower. Our first real encounter was three years ago, when she arrived at my apartment to learn how to give me a shower the first week I moved to town, and she’s been showing up just about every week since.

Initially, I was impressed because she was a CrossFitter and physical therapy assistant who had great hair and cool style — all qualities I could certainly benefit from. But it didn’t take long for me to see that she’s also quirky, hilarious, smart, honest, feisty, and strong, with an abundance of love for her family, her community, and her friends.

After three years’ worth of weekly showers, we’ve gotten to know each other pretty well. My bathroom has become a safe place where we share embarrassing anecdotes and laugh about them and then unload our biggest struggles and cry over them. We pray together, counsel each other, point out what is true, and cheer each other on. Since we met, we’ve both experienced physical illness, injury, and loss, as well as victories, adventures, and breakthroughs. And we’ve unpacked and processed them all together in our little shower confessional.

And you know, I don’t think I’d have this kind of friendship with Lisa if I didn’t need her help taking a shower. I can’t imagine trading all of our shares for a few minutes of “privacy and autonomy.” It’s a strange thing to realize that this disease, this weakness, this need that I have is actually a gift and an opportunity to draw people close in the most unlikely places and transform strangers into the dearest of friends.

Note: SMA News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of SMA News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to spinal muscular atrophy.