From fearing disgust to embodying unapologetic existence — how a toad helped me reclaim my voice.
I used to be terrified of toads.
Not in a cartoonish way — but in a deep, visceral, hard-to-explain kind of way.
When I was little, they would gather outside our front door, blocking the entrance to our home. I remember waiting for my dad to come and shoo them away so I could walk in. One time, he even punted one toward me like a joke, and I felt an intense, almost primal kind of fear — a betrayal, even.
They were slimy. Ugly. Disgusting.
At least, that’s what I thought.
But the truth is… they were just existing.
Disgust Is a Mirror
Fast forward to now — I noticed myself hesitating before posting something raw and honest on social media. Not because it wasn’t true, but because it was intense. Graphic. Maybe a little vulgar. I could already picture the look someone might give me: scrunched nose, squinting eyes, that subtle tilt of disgust.
That old fear came rushing back:
What if I disgust someone?
What if they look at me the way I used to look at toads?
And then it hit me:
The toads weren’t doing anything wrong.
They weren’t trying to be liked.
They weren’t apologizing for existing.
They weren’t phased by my fear or disgust.
They were just… there. Fully themselves.
I Saw Myself in the Toad
The toads were never the threat.
They were the mirror — showing me the part of myself I still flinched from.
I had internalized the fear of being “gross,” “too much,” or “unrefined.”
I worried that if I spoke boldly, emotionally, or in unfiltered language, people would see me the way I once saw them:
repulsive, untouchable, inhuman.
But the toads carried the exact medicine I needed:
Unapologetic existence.
They weren’t here to be liked.
They were here to hold the doorway — and in their presence, I had to decide whether I’d walk through or run away from my own reflection.
This Was My Toad Test
Just like the witch from Beauty and the Beast who arrived ragged and was turned away,
I realized that disgust is not an accurate measure of truth or worth.
It’s often a reflection of what someone hasn’t made peace with inside themselves.
I used to think that if someone recoiled from me, it meant I was wrong, bad, or shameful.
Now I know:
Their reaction doesn’t define my medicine.
The ones meant for my voice won’t be repelled by my rawness —
they’ll recognize themselves in it.
So I’m Done Contorting
I don’t exist to avoid being disgusting.
I exist to be true.
Even if it’s graphic.
Even if it makes people squirm.
Even if it reminds them of their own unloved parts.
That’s what the toads taught me.
🐸 I call this the day I passed the Toad Test.
And I’ll never forget it.
Because I no longer flinch when I’m faced with the fear of being “too much.”
I see now — the ones who flinch aren’t my failure.
They’re just not my initiates.
Nuanced Discernment 