Rob Nunnery On How The Worst Moments Make the Best Stories

I was at a coffee shop when my ostomy bag exploded.

The two-piece connection came undone. My bag was full. It went everywhere.

I stood in that bathroom in complete panic. Trying to clean myself. Trying to clean the floor. Trying to figure out how I was going to walk out of there into a public space and hope nobody saw me.

I'm 40 years old. I shouldn't be worried about controlling my bodily fluids in public.

That's the reality of living with an ostomy.

Ella's Bag Exploded Too

When I talked to Ella on my podcast, she told me about the time her ostomy bag fell off in the middle of her classroom.

She was jump roping. Elementary school. The bag just plopped down in front of everyone.

She also told me about the time she had a prolapsed stoma at school. Her small intestine was sticking out further than it should. Her mom had to come ask the teachers for sugar so they could pour it on the stoma to get it back in.

The teachers offered granola bars.

They were trying to help. They just didn't know what to do with a kid whose intestine was hanging out of her stomach.

Ella spent 45 minutes sometimes managing a prolapse. Once it took six hours.

She was in elementary school.

Something Happens When You Share the Worst Parts

When Ella told me about her bag falling off, I told her about mine exploding. When she described the panic, I knew exactly what she meant.

You can tell these stories to people who love you. They'll say "that's awful" or "I'm so sorry." They mean it. Their support matters.

But when you tell someone who has lived it, something different happens.

You feel less alone.

Research backs this up. Seven out of 10 people with chronic illness experience shame related to their condition on a daily or weekly basis. People report feeling embarrassed, odd, responsible for their illness. Some even feel dirty.

Brené Brown says shame gets its power from being unspeakable. When you name it and speak to it, you cut it off at the knees.

That's what happened in my conversation with Ella. We named the mortifying moments. We spoke them out loud. And they lost some of their power.

The Isolation Is Real

I didn't meet anyone with an ostomy until I was 39 years old and got one myself.

Ella had never talked to anyone with an ostomy before our conversation.

Even if you have people supporting you, they're not dealing with the body changes. They're not carrying the mental load of managing it. They're not living with the insecurity that comes with wondering if your bag is going to fail in public.

Their role is huge. Their support matters deeply.

But they're not living it the way you're living it.

That's why talking to someone who shares the experience feels different. You don't have to explain. You don't have to justify. You don't have to soften it.

They already know.

I Judged People at an Ostomy Conference

I went to an ostomy conference once. People were at the pool wearing their bags.

My first thought was judgment.

I caught myself doing it and I felt ashamed. These people are heroes. They didn't choose this. I didn't choose this.

The fact that I, someone with an ostomy, felt stigma toward other people with ostomies tells you how deep this goes.

If I'm still carrying that shame, imagine how people without ostomies see us.

It shows how big the battle is to de-stigmatize something that already feels isolating.

Looking back, I admire those people. They were living their lives. They weren't hiding.

I'm still working on getting there myself.

Self-Advocacy Starts Young

Ella spent hours in the ER once. Doctors kept changing plans. She was crying and confused.

A nurse told her "good job advocating for yourself."

She learned self-advocacy in elementary school because she had to.

I didn't understand that when I first got sick. I thought you go to the doctor and they do everything in their power to make you better.

I didn't realize you have to fight to get them to take your symptoms seriously. You have to push them to look at different angles.

It's sad that you have to do that.

That's why self-education matters. The more you understand your body, the better equipped you are to advocate for yourself.

Research shows that storytelling creates patient agency. People who share their illness narratives in online support spaces gain authority in constructing their own health journey.

Ella figured that out before most adults do.

The Worst Moments Become the Most Useful

After my bag exploded at the coffee shop, I switched from a two-piece to a one-piece system.

That failure taught me something. It changed how I manage my ostomy.

Ella's bag falling off in class taught her to check her adhesive more carefully.

These mortifying moments become the stories that help other people avoid the same mistakes.

Studies show that reflective storytelling about meaningful experiences can improve health, reduce symptoms, ease emotional discomfort, and deepen connections with others.

One patient in a study said: "It was good to tell my story. By that, I sorted out things also for myself."

Sharing trauma isn't just helpful for other people. It's therapeutic for you.

Why I Started the Podcast

Talking to other people with ostomies makes me feel less alone.

These conversations are therapeutic for me. If I can record them and share other people's stories, why wouldn't I?

I don't have everything figured out. I'm still dealing with insecurity. I'm still figuring out how to be okay with this.

But I know what it feels like to be isolated. I know what it's like to think you're the only person dealing with something this humiliating.

If sharing my worst moments helps one person feel less alone, that's worth it.

And here's the gift: when I share my story, I feel less alone too.

Ella's Ostomy Is Reversed. Mine Might Be Permanent.

Ella had her ostomy for 18 months. Then she got it reversed.

I'm happy for her. I can't imagine dealing with an ostomy in elementary school and then getting to live without it again.

But she's still dealing with constipation and build-up. She's still managing symptoms.

I hope going through the ostomy at such a young age showed her she could do it again if she had to. She'd be better equipped the second time.

For me, having a bag gives me a better life than not having one.

The thought of going to the bathroom through my bottom is terrifying. The pain was so bad I can't experience that again.

Going through my bag with no pain? I'll do that all day, every day.

The Stories That Connect Us

The panic. The cleanup. The mortification.

These are the moments we don't want to talk about.

But they're also the moments that make someone else say "me too."

Research shows that vulnerability helps us connect more with others and overcome the destructive burden of shame. Speaking with others going through similar experiences relieves stress and anxiety and creates a shared narrative to decrease isolation.

The worst moments of chronic illness can become the most useful if you're willing to share them.

I didn't want an ostomy. I fought it for months. I was scared of what it meant. I'm still figuring some of that out.

But I'm not keeping the hard parts to myself anymore.

If it helps one person manage their journey a little easier, that's why we're here.

To share our experiences in hopes that someone else feels a little less alone.

And when we do that, we get the gift of feeling less alone ourselves.