Today someone said the same thing to me again, with a barely concealed smile and that particular tone that mixes superiority with contempt: Youre just washing other peoples bodies.
It isnt the first time Ive heard it, and it probably wont be the last. In the past I kept quiet, looked away, because I saw no point in arguing. This time, however, I decided not to stay silent.
Yes, I clean. But those who use the word as a sneer only see the surface. They dont understand what lies beneath, because what I do is far more than simply washing.
I touch old age with tenderness, with the carefulness one uses when handling something fragile and defenseless. I feed those who can no longer lift a spoon. I comb hair, trim nails, help with dressing. Sometimes I simply sit beside someone in quiet when their pain is not in the body but in the soul. I listen to stories that nobody else finds interesting, yet for them those tales are an entire world, memories that warm their final years.
I look after people who once lifted others, raised children, built houses, healed wounds, taught lessons and now they themselves need support. In these daily, routine actions there is no humiliation, only dignity. Not weakness, but honour.
This is not dirty work. It is about humanity. About patience, about love, about the ability to remain a decent human being when others turn their eyes away. Because when a person is powerless, when they depend on someone for everything, true kindness is put to the test.
When someone says it with disdain, I think: they simply have never stood in the shoes of those who need help. They believe strength lies in money, in a career, in status. But it does not. Real strength is staying close to anothers frailty, not turning away, not reviling, not belittling.
I could not work in a place where I had to pretend, flatter, or deceive for profit. Yet it is often those very jobs that earn respect, while ours is undervalued, as if we were beneath everyone else.
I know that isnt true. In our quiet there is dignity. In our hands there is warmth that returns a sense of self to a person. In our work there is a heart that never tires of compassion.
A day will come when those who scorn us can no longer lift themselves. Perhaps then they will realise: my job isnt about washing bodies. Its about restoring humanity, about a touch that heals, about warmth that reminds you: you are still alive, you matter, you have not been forgotten.
Yes, I tend to other peoples loved ones. I do it with respect, tenderness and pride. Because someday it might be me who needs care. Or it might be them. And then, I hope, there will be someone beside me who does the same with love, without contempt, without fear, simply as a decent person should.
