It’s Like Pulling Teeth

I had a molar pulled this week. Way in the back. And honestly? I wasn’t prepared for how much it would bring up — pain, yes, but mostly shame. It’s wild how long I avoided dealing with it. Ignored it. Minimized it. Maybe I was in my head too much. Maybe I just needed a distraction. I kept thinking if I didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it would go away.

It reminded me a lot of how I used to deal with my drinking.

I pretended it wasn’t happening.

With alcohol, I waited decades.

With the tooth, just days.

Still, the avoidance felt eerily familiar.

What struck me most was how the (seemingly 12-year-old) dentist and the (on brand arrogant) surgeon tried so hard to save the tooth. Even though it was cracked. I’d had a root canal a year ago, then a crown. (On the tooth — not my head, to be clear.)

That tooth had caused so much pain. I basically wanted it gone. But when it finally came out — I cried. I knew it was the final answer, and still, the grief came.

It reminded me of something else — friendship.

You hang on as long as you can. You try to save it, even when you know it’s been cracked at the root. Even when deep down, you already know it’s time to let go. But still, you try everything else first.