The problem with ‘owning your shit’

Photo by Tim Golder

I see this notion a lot in the zeitgeist these days. This concept of having to ‘own your shit’.

It’s spoken as a badge of honor. The suggestion is to openly tout a narrative around something that may have happened to us.

And I get it. It’s an empowering message. And it definitely beats what many of us have always done, which is ‘suppressing our shit’.

Knowing our ‘crazy’ is a good thing. And this part of the message, I have no problem with.

After all, spiritual constipation is no bueno.

But ‘owning your shit’ — I just think even this might lead to even more ‘shit’ down the road.

See, our ‘shit’ is just a narrative. Not to say it isn’t ‘real’, but it’s made up. This is how we humans are designed: to make up our realities through the mechanism of thought.

Which is all fine and good. However, by taking ownership of these man-made thought forms, we tend to keep them rooted in reality. Yes, it’s better than keeping our shit in the shadows because when it’s there, it just stinks and we have no idea where the stench is coming from.

But owning shit? I don’t know about you, but when my dog shits in the park and I cup it with my plastic-bagged palm, the last thing I want to do is put that shit in my pocket and take it home. I toss that little baggy of love into the nearest trashcan, pronto.

So here’s my suggestion.

See your shit, but don’t own it.

Don’t take it home and put it in your pantry. Because every time you go in for peanut butter, it’ll smell. And it gets worse over time.

See the shit for what it is: shit. Accept it. Love it. Bless it. And toss it.

This is how we stay regular.