Squeamish People of the World Unite!
Getting grossed-out doesn’t make you “fragile”…it makes you human.
So many of us with weak stomachs are often teased and mocked. In the eyes of those who seem to have intestines of steel, we’re melodramatic weenies. Our states of mind, they’d claim, need to become more resilient and impervious.
What I find so intriguing about “grotesque culture” is how truly individualistic it tends to be. The exact details of what grosses others out can vary greatly from one person to the next.
For example, my sister hates maggots and worms. My mom shudders around cats and snakes. One of my aunts is disgusted by birds. A former coworker of mine, at an elementary school where I used to be an aide, talked about how she would faint at the sight of blood; for that reason, she asked me to be the one who’d escort any bleeding students to the nurse’s office. Another time, I was at a plasma donation center where one of the donors was shrieking very loudly as they inserted the needle into her arm.
I feel sympathy, from the outside, in these cases. What’s harder to feel is direct empathy, since most of these entities don’t bother me. I’m not fazed by worms, maggots, or birds. The only thing that makes me paranoid about cats or snakes is the prospect of getting scratched or injected with venom — but such creatures, themselves, don’t repulse me.
My relationship with blood is a bit more interesting. If I see someone bleeding, it doesn’t make me queasy in the way experienced by my former coworker. On the other hand, I do recoil at the sight of my own blood. When I’m receiving a vaccination or having blood drawn, I need to look away; but the physical sensation of the needle itself won’t bother me. I just can’t bear to watch it pricking my skin.
In part, these quirks of mine could be attributed to my fear of sharp edges (also known as aichmophobia). I suppose the deeper reason for it is the paranoia that severing my flesh will lead to bacterial infections or sepsis. For this reason, I have a hard time using knives and handling other types of pointy or serrated surfaces.
Unlike my former coworker, if I happen to view somebody bleeding, I’m completely fine. I can observe people getting nosebleeds or epidermal gashes all day long…but don’t ask me to witness it spurting from my own body.
Interestingly enough, when I watch medical shows like The Good Doctor or The Resident, or disaster rescue shows like 911 or Station 19, I’m not fazed by seeing the actors covered in bloody makeup. I do, however, have to close my eyes tightly when the TV doctors begin cutting into the patients’ flesh with a scalpel. Or when they go fishing around for a tumor in an open cavity. Or when they are removing, and then reinserting, bodily organs into someone.
Basically, my eyes get squinched shut if something is happening on screen that I wouldn’t want to consciously feel my own body enduring. The blood, in and of itself, isn’t the issue for me.
It’s experiencing pain and trauma vicariously through the actors.
Back in December, baker Buddy Valastro (aka “the Cake Boss”) was on The Dr. Oz Show talking about when his right hand got impaled by a pinsetter at his home bowling alley. At one point, Valastro was apparently demonstrating for Dr. Oz how the impalement occurred by using a knife-like model device to simulate the accident on his own hand.
I had to close my eyes because I was so damn skittish about the mere possibility that I’d witness anything remotely resembling impalement. Meanwhile, my mom, who was sitting in the living room with me, had absolutely no problem watching it. In fact, she kept shouting through the TV at Dr. Oz, “Get that away from him!” — apparently terrified that Valastro was going to accidentally injure himself all over again during his handheld model demonstration. I just kept my eyes closed the entire time, fervently wishing for the segment to end.
My ex-boss, Lloyd, would always tell us about his past surgeries — IN GREAT DETAIL! Colonoscopies, prostate removal, cataract incisions, open-heart surgery. Nothing was off the table (or, should I say, off the operating table!) when it came to him oversharing. In general, Lloyd was somebody who had a terrible sense of personal boundaries; so, in hindsight, this shouldn’t surprise me.
Maybe my squeamishness about the idea of watching active medical procedures ties into my general disdain for looking at X-rays or anatomical diagrams? I get on “the what-if train” (as my therapist calls it), imagining all of these traumatic and painful experiences directly happening to my own body. Thus, even a passing glance at them sends goosebumps across my skin.
Med student Aylin Canlik blogged about how her phobia of blood has been a barrier when studying and training to become a physician. However, in her case, she has learned to manage that disgust through a combination of exposure therapy and positive reinforcement. Within the context of her desire to become a healer superseding her own sensory aversions, there is one key distinction. Canik’s self-care has been effective when overcoming her fears (her previous hemophobia) — not necessarily overcoming disgust itself.
In a 2011 piece for Salon, Mandy Von Deven delved into the psychology behind our fears. She started out by examining how her lifelong aversion to fruit-flavored soda pop is associated with her childhood memory of having vomited after ingesting it. Van Deven then conducted an interview with Purdue philosophy professor Daniel Kelly, who differentiated between how disgust can be innate versus social or moral.
Some fears would be considered nearly universal, such as meteors, pedophiles, or murder hornets. Likewise, there are some things that a vast majority of people would probably view as reasonably disgusting, such as runny noses or defecation. According to Kelly, there is nothing wrong with having innate objects of revulsion. Where we risk running into problems, on the other hand, is when we revile something based on value-judgment — and then use that as an excuse for harmful decision-making.
Kelly stipulates that physiology and emotional markers may cause us to retch (often visibly) when in the presence of something we find to be repugnant. It then might become engrained in our psychology, causing us a reflex of aversion. These reflexes could soon turn into a pattern, resulting in continuous disgust. At its core, says Kelly, disgust is rooted in risk-aversion and self-defense. Not only can we overcompensate to avoid danger or sensory overload, but, in the process, we also embrace cultural norms. A classic example of this tug-of-war is that found between omnivores and vegetarians or vegans.
In other words: disgust doesn’t necessarily translate to universal morality.
This is a rather empowering and refreshing way to look at it. Disgust has a negative connotation, and defining it as such doesn’t always provide a proper context.
As a gay man, I don’t feel disgusted toward lesbian sex or heterosexual sex. But I don’t go out of my way to gaze at female anatomy. If I see someone’s vagina, it doesn’t turn me on — it’s just like, “Meh…whatever.”
As somebody who dislikes the taste of olives, I won’t recoil in revulsion if I see an olive-lover chowing down on the Mediterranean fruit…but, because its flavor and texture make me gag, I just don’t want to imagine myself popping one into my own mouth (although, perhaps paradoxically, I love olive oil).
As a person who is ambivalent about sports, I don’t pass judgment on people who cheer for their favorite team. I just can’t relate to their intense level of excitement, at that moment.
So, if your philosophies on this are similar to mine: don’t feel shame about it. Why shouldn’t we view laissez-faire attitudes toward sex, food, or recreation as part of a positive, ratifying, grounded worldview?
Own your disgust. Refuse to apologize for it. We’re human beings. We get dazed, queasy, convulsive, and dizzy. The steel-stomached folks will just have to “stomach it” from us.
Thank you for reading.
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