You know the saying, “If you can’t laugh, you’re crying”?
Well – this week – I’ve been laughing so hard I’m crying… mostly just to keep from breaking.

By day, I’m managing team dynamics, putting out corporate fires, dealing with month-end close, and obsessing over whether we’re going to hit our revenue targets, or if I’m going to be elbows-deep in variance reports.

But by night? This week, I’ve been roaming the aisles of Home Depot and Lowe’s like I work there, prepping for my real adventure: lying on my back (not how you’re thinking…) under the bathroom sink, wrestling with ancient plumbing that had more secrets than my divorce.

It all started when the much-anticipated plumber finally showed up to quote me for a few “small” jobs: connecting my new sinks, fixing some shower trims, and wrapping up loose ends. His price? $2,700.
Without materials.
For less than one day of work.

I nearly choked. Instead, I thanked him, handed over $300+ to have him install the shower trim in my newly tiled master bath and disconnect the tub for tile work, and then kindly showed him the door. Because if there’s one thing life has taught me lately, it’s this:
When the cost is too high, you roll up your sleeves and figure it out yourself.

So, I did what any strong, independent woman with Wi-Fi and a stubborn streak would do, enrolled in YouTube University.
There were late-night tutorials.
Multiple confused laps around the plumbing section.
FaceTime coaching from my sister and brother-in-law.
And several “deep-breath-and-just-do-it” moments.

What They Don’t Tell You About DIY Plumbing

Let me be clear: Nothing prepares you for removing 35-year-old bathroom pipes.
I was ready for dust. Maybe a little grime.
I wasn’t ready for what actually happened:

The second I loosened the pipe, a wave of ancient, foul-smelling water, a drain full of matted, moldy hair, and a cast of long-forgotten pipe-dwelling bugs came gushing out like it was auditioning for a horror film.

I gasped, gagged and did a panicked little dance of terror around the bathroom, flailing like someone had thrown a snake at me. Then I grabbed the nearest shoe and went full warrior mode on anything that moved.

But the worst part?
I couldn’t stop, that is me.
I had to finish the job. Because the thing about DIY plumbing, and life, is that once you start ripping out the old stuff, you’ve got to see it through. 

So, after regaining my composure (and disinfecting everything within a 10-foot radius), Fully gloved to the elbows, I went back in. I cleared out the filth and faced whatever came crawling out next. I’m still not totally convinced I don’t feel imaginary bugs crawling on me for hours after, but hey, trauma does weird things to a girl.

A Gross Metaphor for Life

In between dry heaving and cursing my life choices, I had a moment:
This. This is exactly what rebuilding a life feels like.

There are things, like those bug-infested pipes, that have been sitting hidden behind walls for decades. Out of sight, but definitely not harmless. And when you finally get brave enough to tear them out?
It’s messy.
It stinks.
Sometimes things crawl out that you weren’t ready to face.

Kind of like divorce.
Kind of like grief.
Kind of like trying to repair relationships that feel broken beyond recognition.

But here’s the thing: once the old, rotten mess is out—you get to replace it with something better. Stronger. Newer. Yours.

And as silly as it sounds, when I finally connected those new pipes, I felt proud.
Not just because I saved thousands of dollars, but because I proved something to myself:
I CAN do these things.

Why I spent years waiting for my ex to step up and do the hard stuff? I honestly don’t know. But now, I’ve realized: I don’t need someone else to be the fixer.
I am capable. I am resourceful. And I will figure it out, even if it involves bugs.

So, What Did This Week Teach Me?

After this beautiful, disgusting, character-building adventure, I can now confidently say:

• I will make the numbers work.
• I can lead a team of all men.
• I can pull 35-year-old plumbing out of the wall without running away. (Okay, maybe almost without running away.)
• I could probably be a plumber in another life.
• And most importantly, I can rebuild – one piece, one pipe, one breakthrough at a time.

So, if you find yourself knee-deep in a mess, emotional or otherwise, just remember:
It’s all part of the process.
And on the other side of the sludge?
Something stronger.
Something cleaner.
Something entirely yours.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve earned a long shower, a martini, and a break from things that slither.