Bathroom Smackdown ... Almost

I walked into a restroom at work this afternoon and saw a woman I'd never seen before.

(There was a time when I recognized everyone in our building, but those days are gone! Makes me feel old.)

She was a big woman. A really big woman. It was hard to tell just how old, but I'd put her over 35, but under 50.

She was washing her hands.

And bent over, leaning on the countertop to do so.

Bent all the way over, leaning on her forearms on the messy, wet counter. As if she was too tired to stand up straight to wash her hands. As if the trip into the bathroom was too exhausting for her to complete it without a rest break at the sink.

And I just wanted to smack her.

I wanted to shake her and yell, "If it's too much for you to stand up at the sink, there's a problem! Stop hurting yourself. Start helping yourself!"

Hmmm. It was a strange reaction. The ferociousness surprised me. Seems like some wounds run deeper than I would be willing to admit.

I wasn't angry with her. I was angry with me ... for being so miserable for so long. And for not starting on this journey earlier.

Plus, I wish I could make her see that it's not as hard as it might appear.