I was 19 the first time I went to the dentist. He was old and only saw one patient at a time. I was terrified. My mom was with me.
Since then, I’ve gone back to one a few times. A root canal. Some fillings. Wisdom teeth removal. Cleanings.
Shame has accompanied me on every visit, including the one I made last week. Shame that my teeth aren’t perfect. Shame of the lack of childhood dental care that has created problems for me now. I’m ashamed of that part of my story.
“What we’re seeing now is a problem that we usually see in patients that are five or six years old, but we’re able to catch it early with them,” he told me.
I wanted to justify it. Do I get a free pass because I missed the early years of dental care and appointments?
I wanted to explain it. When I was a kid, my family didn’t believe in going to the dentist.
I wanted him to know I didn’t choose this part of my story. This isn’t my fault.
And that’s when my smiling and nodding at the man was a mask to hide my aha-moment.
I am not to blame. Someone else is.
This is the shame. This is the bottom line. This is not my fault.
He was saying something about fillings, a crown…
My soul was saying something about letting go of past choices made for me. You can’t blame anyone forever. This is the point when the decision becomes yours. I asked myself, “How long are you going to pass that responsibility onto someone else?”
I spent four hours at the dentist that day taking care of business.
I felt empowered.
Sure, I got cavities filled, but my story got some work done too.
I’m 30 years old. It’s time to take control of that crevice of my story.
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