Why Does Everyone Want Me to Look at Gross Things? 🤢

I recently had one of those moments where I realized there is absolutely no point in denying it anymore—I am squeamish. Not the dramatic, movie-scene kind of squeamish where I faint at the sight of blood or need someone to fan me with a magazine. No, I'm talking about the kind of squeamish where certain conversations make me want to plug my ears, close my eyes, and suddenly remember that I have somewhere else to be.

For me, one of those topics is toenails. Yes, toenails. I know they're a perfectly normal part of the human body, and yes, we all have them. That's not the issue. The issue begins when someone decides to tell me the life story of one of their toenails. They'll start innocently enough by saying something like, "You won't believe what happened to my big toe." Right about then, my brain quietly whispers, We're in danger. Before I know it, they're describing every detail, and then comes the sentence that strikes fear into my soul: "Want to see a picture?"

Absolutely not.

In fact, I don't even want to know that a picture exists. There are some things in life that simply do not need to be documented. Family vacations? Sure. Your adorable puppy? Absolutely. The world's most perfect slice of chocolate cake? Please send it immediately. But your toenail? Let's just let that memory live between you and your podiatrist.

What fascinates me is how completely normal this seems to the person showing the picture. They honestly expect me to be just as interested as they are. They'll unlock their phone with excitement, zoom in, and proudly announce, "Look at this!" Meanwhile, I'm backing away like they just pulled out a poisonous snake. They can't understand why I'm horrified, and I can't understand why they thought I wanted front-row seats to what appears to be a medical documentary.

And it's never just toenails, is it? People seem to have an entire collection of things they assume everyone else wants to see. They'll start talking about a weird rash, a mole they had removed, or a trip to the emergency room. Before you can even process what's happening, they're scrolling through photos saying, "It's kind of gross, but..." Let me stop you right there. If your sentence begins with the words it's kind of gross, you've already answered the question of whether I want to see it. The answer is no. It has always been no, and it will continue to be no.

I think squeamish people have incredibly active imaginations. We don't just hear the story—we accidentally create it in our minds. Every description paints a picture whether we want it to or not. That's why, when someone says, "I won't show you the picture," but then proceeds to explain every little detail, it really isn't much of an improvement. Congratulations! You've simply handed my imagination a paintbrush and told it to get to work.

The funny thing is, I don't consider myself overly sensitive. I can handle scary movies, suspense novels, and true crime documentaries without much trouble. But mention an ingrown toenail, and suddenly I need to reevaluate my entire day. It's amazing how specific our squeamish triggers can be. Some people can't handle blood. Others can't stand needles. There are those who break into a cold sweat at the mention of spiders, snakes, or dentists. We all have something that makes us instantly say, "Nope. I'm out."

I've also noticed that people who aren't squeamish find our reactions endlessly entertaining. They seem to take it as a personal challenge. The more you insist you don't want to see something, the more determined they become to convince you that "it's really not that bad." Can we all agree that this phrase has never, in the history of mankind, prepared anyone for what they're about to see? If someone tells me it's not that bad, I immediately assume it's about to ruin my lunch and possibly tomorrow's breakfast too.

As I've gotten older, I've become perfectly comfortable setting boundaries around my eyeballs. I don't feel guilty anymore about declining an invitation to inspect someone's latest medical adventure. I don't need visual evidence. I believe you. I trust you. If you tell me your toenail looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie, I'm going to accept your word without requesting supporting documentation. In fact, I prefer that approach.

Instead, let's normalize showing each other things that bring joy. Show me your blooming flowers. Show me the hummingbird that visited your feeder this morning. Show me the loaf of bread you baked or the beautiful sunset you captured on your evening walk. Show me your grandchildren covered in cookie dough or your dog sleeping upside down with all four paws in the air. Those are the kinds of pictures that deserve an audience.

Now I'm curious—am I the only one? Is there something that instantly makes you cringe, cover your eyes, or politely excuse yourself from the conversation? Maybe it's feet. Maybe it's eyeballs, broken bones, dentists, bugs, or snakes. Maybe it's something so oddly specific that your family teases you about it every chance they get. Whatever it is, I have a feeling we squeamish folks are in good company.

So, if you're one of us, welcome! We may not be brave enough to inspect mysterious rashes or admire heroic toenails that have "seen some things," but that's perfectly okay. We'll be the ones happily swapping pictures of puppies, flowers, vacation sunsets, and chocolate desserts instead. And honestly, I think our camera rolls are much prettier because of it.