Skip to main content

Poop




Imagine therapy exposing your psyche like a Sinatra tune—smooth, emotive, and occasionally accompanied by the unspeakable trumpet of a whoopee cushion. That's the vibe Sarah Jones strikes in her unexpectedly uproarious article “Why You Should Talk About Poop in Therapy.” At first glance, it’s the bathroom small talk nobody asked for, but stick around—this conversation is more enlightening than it smells.

Jones recounts the universal cringe: “Many of my clients laugh uncomfortably when I ask them about their ‘poop routine’… ‘What does poop have to do with my emotions or with therapy?’” Picture someone discovering their therapist as a digestive detective—it’s like Indiana Jones with a plunger.

But sink or flush, Jones dives into science over snicker: the gut-brain axis, starring the Enteric Nervous System—a neural brunch of over “100 million nerve cells” lining the intestines, chatting nonstop with your brain. Johns Hopkins even flips the script, suggesting GI irritation might actually cause anxiety and depression—not just follow them. Imagine your colon as the puppet master pulling emotional strings—cello included.

Let’s slap you with stats served on a platter no one asked for: 30–40% of folks wrestle with functional bowel issues, and IBS ranks second only to the common cold in forcing sick days—eviction notices from the office or classroom courtesy of your own colon. That’s some serious poop power.

Jones doesn’t just drop the bomb—she ushers in the cavalry: GI psychology. It's a therapy cocktail that blends biology, mood, stress, and salad with your shrink, GP, and nutritionist. Through “psychoeducation, teaching new skills, and working collaboratively,” clients can sometimes boot their gut angst out of the building entirely. Who knew therapy could literally clear your pipes?

And here’s the kicker: your toilet throne isn’t just ironic furniture. Talking about your bowel movements can be the difference between guessing what’s up and actually owning it. Jones is on a mission—her blog insists that if your gut’s throwing tantrums, maybe it’s time to explore that in therapy. It’s like holding weekly parliament with your posterior.

So next time you sit down to dialogue with your therapist, consider that your inner plumbing might have the juiciest scoop. Your colon could be auditioning for a supporting role in your emotional drama—so why wouldn't you talk about it? As Jones says, the link is “inextricably linked". That's not just a metaphor—it’s physiology with punchlines.

In short, chatting about poo in therapy isn’t gross—it’s gritty, real, and often the key to unlocking emotional mysteries. Let’s elevate the conversation—literally. And maybe next session you’ll sigh and say, “Doc, let’s talk about the performance in the porcelain opera.”

Read the full article here: https://thesibleygroupdc.com/why-you-should-talk-about-poop-in-therapy/


 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My Books

  My Books **Discover Worlds Beyond Your Imagination**   Step into the library of my mind—a place where stories run wild, characters come alive, and each book is a doorway to a different world. From the crackle of a freshly turned page to the glow of your favorite device, these tales are waiting for you to dive in.   Imagine holding a map that leads to laughter, heartbreak, mystery, or adventure. That’s what you’ll find here—books that whisper, shout, and sing. Each one is crafted with care, shaped by midnight musings and coffee-fueled mornings.   Amazon may be the bustling metropolis where most of you stop by, but these stories stretch far and wide—Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Kobo, and more. No matter where you like to read, there’s a seat waiting for you.   Ready to explore? Click “My Books” at the top or bottom of this page and see what’s waiting for you. Each book is a ticket. All you have to do is choose your destination.   My Books

Cocaine Cola and Recovery

  Buy Cocaine Cola  The first time I held a composition notebook in my hands at rehab, I felt like a soldier clutching a sword in a battle I wasn’t sure I could win. Recovery—from alcoholism, from myself—was not the hero’s journey I had romanticized in my more delusional moments. It was more like crawling through a swamp with a broken compass. And yet, somehow, amid the sweat-soaked nightmares and the relentless peeling back of layers I had spent years constructing, I found the spark to create. Let me start at the beginning—or rather, one of the beginnings. You see, alcoholism has a funny way of offering you new beginnings all the time, but they’re never the kind you want. I had just hit one of those new beginnings, a rock bottom that made me look at myself and think, “This can’t be it. This cannot be how the story ends.” The days leading up to rehab are a blur, like a badly edited montage of shame, regret, and staggering attempts at normalcy. But once I walked through those ...

The Memory Broker Is Available Now!

Buy The Memory Broker Some stories simmer. Others scream. The Memory Broker did both. This one didn’t knock politely at the door of my imagination. It kicked it clean off the hinges and dragged me into the neon-soaked underworld of a future I didn’t even know I had in me. I was in the middle of writing Wishes of a Mortal Man —a quieter, more grounded project—when the idea for The Memory Broker hit like a jolt from a cracked-out data node. I tried to ignore it. I really did. But some stories don’t wait their turn. This one came armed with chrome teeth and a bad attitude, whispering things like: “What if memory could be bought and sold? What if someone stole the wrong one?” So I listened. I shelved Wishes (temporarily, I promise), picked up a pen—yes, a real one, because this all started while I was in rehab, where laptops and phones are locked away like weapons—and started writing. By hand. On paper. With caffeine, insomnia, and raw nerve fueling every scribbled line. Eventually I f...