Let Yourself Get Skunked

The Great Teacher of Boundaries

A few weeks ago, I helped save a skunk who was trapped inside an outdoor bathroom. My role was less savior, more “noticer.” I, the guest at my friend’s house, was supposed to use said outdoor bathroom, but upon attempting to enter, I couldn’t open the door more than a few inches. An upended mountain of tools was strewn across the door’s pathway. Inside, I heard the shuffling, then silence, of something. I closed the door and abandoned the mission; peed outside on a bush and went to sleep.

The next morning, accompanied by the courage of sunlight, I pushed the door open a few more inches. Beyond the fallen tools, next to the strewn about trashcan, I saw a plastic bag…quivering. Further eye straining revealed a majestic swath of black and white, too magnificent to be contained or confined to a plastic bag. The tail, the royal plumage, of a skunk.

In my work in outdoor education, I’ve come to learn there are, in fact, 4 native skunk species in Arizona: the hooded, striped, spotted and hog-nosed (the species of this particular creature, I believe). My friends were not terribly surprised; this would be their 6th skunk they had caught and released in the season. They had left the bathroom door open a little too long, and as we all know, if you give a skunk an opening, they’ll take it.

Skunks are perhaps the most notorious boundary setters. Usually, they’ll give the curious sniffer an opportunity to run away before they show their skills. The spotted skunk in AZ actually throws its body forward in a handstand (on tiny paws!) to alert the predator: back up, now! The actual spray from skunks, that musky mist, shoots out from a nipple attached to a well-developed anal gland. That nipple gets ready, aims, and fires a direct shot when the boundary is not respected.

My own nipples have also done some incredible things this year. They learned, through trial and error, to shoot not musk but milk, milk that perfectly provides the antibodies my baby needs, into her tiny, suckling mouth. And yet, after almost a year of breastfeeding, this weekend my daughter showed she is tired of me directing the show. She tried to yank my shirt down so she could get some milk herself. Perhaps it’s time I took a boundary lesson.

Each day this past year has felt like I’m attempting to do a hand stand but I’m not nearly as lithe, balanced or capable as the spotted skunk. I teeter with the weight of it all: how to be the most present mother, partner, friend, team member, daughter, dog mama, home lover I can be. At times, I think I’ve nailed it. And then, I’m crashing down, finding myself stuck in a plastic bag in the proverbial bathroom of life. I quiver my black and white tail, both wanting and not wanting to be found.

In 2024, I want to invite a little more boundary into my world. Inner Compass Learning, my small business I’ve been running workshops and tutoring though for the last 3 years, is all about reorienting through nature and creativity toward deeper connection. And so, each Monday, I’ve decided to share a nature-themed learning that is reorienting my own inner compass.

Skunks are week 1, guides and reminders: make time to protect ourselves, our true essence, from those and that which distracts us— for the skunk, the nosy dogs, the human threats, the sudden sounds. For me, the mental patterns of worry, the overcommitment, the filling my days with time for everyone else but myself.

Writing brings me joy. So, I’ll commit to that, for now. After all, I have flossed my teeth every night now for 4 months in a row, so who’s to say I can’t try actually sticking to a writing routine? I look forward to you reading, commenting, sharing along the journey. May you enjoy the essence of skunk, without being skunked, this new year.