Just Say the Thing

This weekend, I took a much-needed break to my happy place — the mountains of western NC. The timing couldn’t have been worse — Mike was laid out from maintenance chemo, my tailgate gave up the ghost, everything at work broke, and construction on I-26 had traffic backed up from Spartanburg all the way to the state line.

But there weren’t any other weekends I could sneak in a mountain trip before leaf-peeper season drove prices through the roof. So I put on my big-girl pants and went anyway.

The house sat on top of a mountain with views for miles. My only company was my book, a bottle of sparkling brut, and maybe a turkey or two. Which is why, when I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed my first night there, I was…let’s just say startled…to look up at the light/vent fan combo and see three dead lizards staring back at me.

Now, I don’t have anything against lizards or skinks (IYKYK). But decaying lizard carcasses in a vent fan? That’s a hard pass. I couldn’t stop imagining the fan turning on and showering me with a cloud of lizard particulates. So I did what any reasonable human would do: I texted the owner.

“Oh yikes! This is a weird one…there are 3 dead lizards in the vent/light in the master bathroom…”

I knew I wouldn’t hear back until morning, so I went to bed trying very hard not to picture lizards dropping onto my face in the middle of the night.

The next morning her reply pinged in with a casual, “Oh dear, I’m sorry. We have pest control, but the lizards do get in. At least they eat the bugs.”

Um…excuse me? I fail to see how dead lizards are handling the bug problem. Also…EW.

And here’s where my stress spiral kicks in. I was letting the responsible party know about an issue, expecting them to handle it. Instead, she brushed it off. My first instinct was, Oh well, I’ll just deal with it. I don’t want to be a bother.

But then came the second thought: Hell no. I’m paying good money for this place, and I deserve a lizard-free bathroom.

After five drafts, I finally sent back: “Would it be possible to send someone out to remove them today?”

Not exactly poetry, but polite, clear, and direct. I just said the thing.

And it got me thinking — how often do we go through life accepting the unacceptable because we don’t want to be a bother or ruffle feathers?

I could have settled for a lackluster oncologist who literally pointed at a piece of paper and said, “This is just what we do.” But I said the thing, and we moved to a doctor who actually listens.

I could have folded when that same doctor resisted giving Mike a referral to Duke. He said, “I just don’t think they’ll tell you anything different.” But I said the thing: I’ll get 48 second opinions if that’s what it takes to give my person the best chance at survival.

Recently, someone told me about a devastating diagnosis in his family. He admitted he hadn’t shared sooner because he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable given what Mike and I have been facing. I get it — I’ve been on the receiving end of people trying to “out-pain” me, and it’s awful. But grief isn’t a competition. Our grief is our grief. We all deserve love and support, and when we stay silent out of fear, we cut ourselves off from connection. Sometimes the bravest thing we can do is say the thing.

We’re all human — messy, complicated, emotional. And yes, it feels like we live in a world where people tiptoe around their words for fear of upsetting someone. But that’s the beauty of our First Amendment. Our founding fathers thought it important enough to make free speech the very first right.

Of course, freedom to say the thing doesn’t shield us from the consequences of saying it.

When Mike got sick, his sister didn’t reach out. Not once. During the scariest time of my life, her silence cut deep. In a moment of vulnerability, I finally texted her — I said the thing. Her response? “Today is not the day, and I am not the one.”

Painful. But clarifying. Saying the thing removed any doubt about where I stood with her. And with clarity comes freedom.

So say the thing anyway.
Advocate for yourself. Advocate for your people.
Reach out to your loved ones, even if it’s just to say, “I don’t know what to say, but I’m thinking of you.”

Life will always hand us lizards in the vent.
Don’t swallow your discomfort.
Don’t silence your needs.

Just say the thing.