Giving Light a Whole New Meaning: Shower Therapy Edition

Get lost in your mind with me for the next three minutes as you gently but carefully imagine what I’m about to describe for you:

Imagine you are in the shower of a small, project bathroom. It is clean, and the water feels exactly how it should be, whether hot or cold. But the bright off-white light that shines above your bathroom medicine cabinet reminds you of the hospital lights that kept you wide awake in the middle of the night the two times your dad was hospitalized after being rushed to the ER from complications of his terminal cancer. You close the shower curtain as you put both feet in the shower, the door is closed, and you hear the pattering of the water hit the shower curtain and the bathtub floor simultaneously. You look up and still see how bright that eerie light is…your mind starts to race, with quick, passing yet incessant & intrusive thoughts like:

“Am I having a heart attack?”

“What if I pass out here and nobody hears or finds me until it’s too late?”

“Am I dying?”

“Will I die like my dad did? Is this it? Is this my time to join him?”

Your heart starts to pound as the warm water begins to feel like it’s burning against your skin. Now your heart is not pounding, it’s skipping beats, and you feel as if you can’t breathe. So you turn the hot-feeling water to freezing cold to calm your nerves, and your body begins to tremble so quickly that your muscles tense up and you feel like you’re going to lose consciousness. You turn off the shower and run out of the bathroom door with the towel wrapped around you until you get to your bedroom and plop yourself on top of your bed where you feel safe & like you can breathe again. Your fearful emotions release in the form of tears as your body starts to calm down & you realize the whole time that you were safe in that shower.

Sit with this description for a minute. Imagine this is you experiencing this very short but seemingly infinite moment. At this point, close your eyes for a moment if you must get the full experience for about two minutes, then keep reading.

Did you feel it yet?

That’s the feeling of severe shower anxiety, a phenomenon I experienced after the passing of my late father in March 2021. The combination of both the endless harmful thoughts that I felt I had no control over as my grieving process became more complex, and the start of my detox process from benzodiazepines simultaneously started making showering for me in my own apartment the most horrifying, dreadful activity I could ever imagine. Every time I hopped in the shower, I felt another panic attack coming on, and there were times where I even tried to put music on as a distraction, which only made matters worse. I became highly sensitive during this time in my life, feeling like nothing would work for me to be able and stop these attacks in the shower. What once was a therapeutic moment for me to wash off and release all of the negativity that encompassed my body and soul became my worst nightmare, and I couldn’t see myself waking up from it…

I decided to take a break from showering and started taking quick baths, sometimes just washing up with a washcloth and lots of soap and water. (My dad and I jokingly called this method a “whore bath” due to the quick nature of the action.) I started to overthink this too and not standing under the running shower water on a daily basis made me feel even crazier than the hyperventilating I was doing behind the shower curtains. Why can’t I just be normal? I want to be normal so badly. & so I tried different ways to make my showering experience more therapeutic and less frightening. I bought waterproof LED lights that stuck to the shower walls and changed colors with the press of the remote buttons. That didn’t work for long, because I tried to give one of them to my dad when he was in hospice the day before he passed, and seeing them back in my apartment broke me apart. I trashed those lights with quickness. Then, I went back into taking baths, making little progress.

Candles had always been a relaxation tool that I’ve loved to use for years now, but I didn’t think about showering with candles on and the lights off at the time, because I felt like it would take up too much time to set up. (And, until this day, sometimes it does.) What helped me turn this simple ritual into daily therapy sessions filled with peace, however, was the bath my partner at the time ran for me in his bathtub of his home. He lit some candles for me and threw bubblebath soap against the running water, to which I enjoyed on my own and found peace for the first time in months. I was so grateful for this moment, because I captured the feeling, the visual of the beautifully serene scene, and I closed my eyes tightly so that I would never forget it. The first shower I took in my home thereafter consisted of this pleasant memory, which allowed me to breathe more deeply when I felt a slight panic attack coming on, and I eventually turned a once 30-second scare-session into a 3 minute refreshing shower.

From that moment on, I began to turn the lights off and light one to two candles in my apartment bathroom every time I go to shower. My showers got longer, lasting five, ten, or even fifteen minutes like they used to.I evens started to wash & condition my hair again, and shave my legs when necessary. (Shaving can be hard to do in the dark with one candle lit, so don't be surprised if you ever see me in person with tiny hairy patches on my shins.) Sometimes I play music I can sing along to, other times I play instrumentals or beats to keep my mind clear. Most of the time, I just like to hear nothing but the pattering of the lukewarm water hit the shower floor and gently kiss the back of my neck and shoulders, where I feel the most pain and tension these days. Before, I had to keep half the shower curtain open to actually see the candle and not feel closed in like I used to when the attacks started. Now, I keep the curtain fully closed to avoid letting water hit the bathroom floor, and smile at the translucent view of the candlelight reflection hugging the shower curtain.

I do this every day now.

I am thankful for that bath-tub memory.

I am thankful for the person who loved me enough to set it up for me.

I am thankful for candles.

For water.

Music.

Love.

This is my peace.