Dirt Can Make You Happy
Dirt Can Make You Happy
And here’s what I keep telling myself: dirt washes off. It always has. Some messes you simply have to get your hands into, because the only way to a smooth road is straight across the jagged part first. And those sharp grey rocks? Give them a little time, and a whole lot of going back and forth, and they smooth right down. The road gets walkable again. It always does.
“Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” — Joshua 1:9
Hope you get to spend a little time digging in the dirt today, too. It might ruin your clothes — but it will always wash off your skin. Time to walk out over the jagged rocks, knowing that with time, the road turns smooth again.
Deep breath. Hooah! (That’s the Army yell for I can DO this.)
With much love,
Steffanie
A caring note: I’m a wellness educator and a mom sharing my life and my experience — not a doctor, and none of this is medical advice. The habits I mention (clay soaks, my T-Zone, sunshine and lemon water) are simply part of my own routine; please don’t take any clay or supplement internally without checking with a qualified professional first, especially for children. Do what’s right for your own family, and talk with your doctor about your individual needs.
On healthy soil, muddy kids, and the hard mess I’ve been too afraid to clean up
I grew up in a small town in Central Utah — population three hundred, give or take a few. Every couple of years the county would come lay down a fresh coat of tar and scatter it with sharp little grey rocks, and for a while that road was absolute misery on bare feet. But slowly — car by car, tractor by tractor — all that everyday traffic pressed those jagged rocks down into the tar until the whole thing went smooth. Perfect for walking barefoot. I’ve been thinking about those roads all morning. Hold that thought — I’ll come back to it.
My very best friend lived clear at the other end of town (all four blocks of it), and the two of us would walk those country roads back and forth for hours, talking about everything and nothing. In a place like we grew up, getting dirty wasn’t a risk — it was a certainty. My siblings and I took turns weeding an enormous garden every single day, and I can still feel it: pulling a carrot straight up out of the ground, wiping it off on my jeans, and eating it right there, dirt and all.
If I’d just kept eating the way I did in that small country town, I don’t think I ever would’ve gotten so sick in college. But there I was, a dance major, somehow convinced I could run a body on apple juice, ramen noodles, and graham crackers. I’m honestly amazed I held out as long as I did. Oh, the wisdom I’ve earned since then.
Because years later, when I was truly desperate — losing my strength, my sight in one eye, my ability to walk, tearing through every book I could get my hands on looking for a way back to health — I kept bumping into the same humble little truth: the tiny living things in good, healthy soil are a gift to the human body, right alongside real, raw, organic food. Turns out the dirt on that carrot was never the enemy. It may have been part of the cure.
So when my friend Julia sent me an article called “Dirt Can Make You Happy,” I just about cheered out loud. Yes. YES. Dirt can make you happy! The sweet mamas who panic over a little grime are, with the very best of intentions, robbing their kids of something good. Let them dig, friend. Let them build those little immune systems right there in the mud. (And take the pictures — muddy-kid photos are absolutely priceless.) We are not a dirt-fearing family around here. We even keep good clay from the Utah earth on hand for a nice long soak in the tub now and then. A little dirt has never once scared us.
Which brings me back to those roads. Because today, there is a different kind of dirt sitting in front of me — the kind that doesn’t rinse off in the bath. The kind I’ve been too heartsick to touch for almost three years.
When my husband and his business partner split their company, it broke something in me that I’m not sure has fully healed. That man was like a father to us. I loved him — we both did, we both still do. Watching the two of them go their separate ways didn’t feel like a business decision; it felt like divorcing our own dad. Enough said.
And so, for years, I simply… couldn’t. Couldn’t bring myself to send the invoice for what that company still owed us. My husband has gently asked me to take care of it more times than I can count, and every single time, the mere thought of it turned my stomach so hard I felt like I might be sick. But the papers are signed now. We’re selling the company, and I can’t in good conscience leave this mess on the doorstep of the new owners. It’s mine to clean up. Today.
Some messes you can’t tidy from a safe distance. You have to kneel down, get your hands right into them, and trust that dirt always washes off. So. Time to be a big girl. Time to get my hands dirty. Time to make a mess — and maybe, and this is the part that guts me, to risk a relationship with someone we love dearly. I can feel the old knot starting up in my stomach just typing the words. So I’m going to head downstairs and shake it out on the T-Zone for a few minutes (no time for the sauna today), pour myself a great big glass of lemon water that’s been drinking up the morning sun, and take my deep breath.
I grew up in a small town in Central Utah — population three hundred, give or take a few. Every couple of years the county would come lay down a fresh coat of tar and scatter it with sharp little grey rocks, and for a while that road was absolute misery on bare feet. But slowly — car by car, tractor by tractor — all that everyday traffic pressed those jagged rocks down into the tar until the whole thing went smooth. Perfect for walking barefoot. I’ve been thinking about those roads all morning. Hold that thought — I’ll come back to it.
My very best friend lived clear at the other end of town (all four blocks of it), and the two of us would walk those country roads back and forth for hours, talking about everything and nothing. In a place like we grew up, getting dirty wasn’t a risk — it was a certainty. My siblings and I took turns weeding an enormous garden every single day, and I can still feel it: pulling a carrot straight up out of the ground, wiping it off on my jeans, and eating it right there, dirt and all.
If I’d just kept eating the way I did in that small country town, I don’t think I ever would’ve gotten so sick in college. But there I was, a dance major, somehow convinced I could run a body on apple juice, ramen noodles, and graham crackers. I’m honestly amazed I held out as long as I did. Oh, the wisdom I’ve earned since then.
Because years later, when I was truly desperate — losing my strength, my sight in one eye, my ability to walk, tearing through every book I could get my hands on looking for a way back to health — I kept bumping into the same humble little truth: the tiny living things in good, healthy soil are a gift to the human body, right alongside real, raw, organic food. Turns out the dirt on that carrot was never the enemy. It may have been part of the cure.
So when my friend Julia sent me an article called “Dirt Can Make You Happy,” I just about cheered out loud. Yes. YES. Dirt can make you happy! The sweet mamas who panic over a little grime are, with the very best of intentions, robbing their kids of something good. Let them dig, friend. Let them build those little immune systems right there in the mud. (And take the pictures — muddy-kid photos are absolutely priceless.) We are not a dirt-fearing family around here. We even keep good clay from the Utah earth on hand for a nice long soak in the tub now and then. A little dirt has never once scared us.
Which brings me back to those roads. Because today, there is a different kind of dirt sitting in front of me — the kind that doesn’t rinse off in the bath. The kind I’ve been too heartsick to touch for almost three years.
When my husband and his business partner split their company, it broke something in me that I’m not sure has fully healed. That man was like a father to us. I loved him — we both did, we both still do. Watching the two of them go their separate ways didn’t feel like a business decision; it felt like divorcing our own dad. Enough said.
And so, for years, I simply… couldn’t. Couldn’t bring myself to send the invoice for what that company still owed us. My husband has gently asked me to take care of it more times than I can count, and every single time, the mere thought of it turned my stomach so hard I felt like I might be sick. But the papers are signed now. We’re selling the company, and I can’t in good conscience leave this mess on the doorstep of the new owners. It’s mine to clean up. Today.
Some messes you can’t tidy from a safe distance. You have to kneel down, get your hands right into them, and trust that dirt always washes off. So. Time to be a big girl. Time to get my hands dirty. Time to make a mess — and maybe, and this is the part that guts me, to risk a relationship with someone we love dearly. I can feel the old knot starting up in my stomach just typing the words. So I’m going to head downstairs and shake it out on the T-Zone for a few minutes (no time for the sauna today), pour myself a great big glass of lemon water that’s been drinking up the morning sun, and take my deep breath.
And here’s what I keep telling myself: dirt washes off. It always has. Some messes you simply have to get your hands into, because the only way to a smooth road is straight across the jagged part first. And those sharp grey rocks? Give them a little time, and a whole lot of going back and forth, and they smooth right down. The road gets walkable again. It always does.
“Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” — Joshua 1:9
Hope you get to spend a little time digging in the dirt today, too. It might ruin your clothes — but it will always wash off your skin. Time to walk out over the jagged rocks, knowing that with time, the road turns smooth again.
Deep breath. Hooah! (That’s the Army yell for I can DO this.)
With much love,
Steffanie
A caring note: I’m a wellness educator and a mom sharing my life and my experience — not a doctor, and none of this is medical advice. The habits I mention (clay soaks, my T-Zone, sunshine and lemon water) are simply part of my own routine; please don’t take any clay or supplement internally without checking with a qualified professional first, especially for children. Do what’s right for your own family, and talk with your doctor about your individual needs.
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