u/NonDualToad

I know a lot of people like the Velcro / Lock ’n Roll style closures, but I just can’t stand them.

No matter how careful I am, I seem to end up with output on my hands or around the end of the bag. It also feels like too much fussing with toilet paper, sometimes multiple wipes, and I don’t want to deal with washing the closure area out every time. It just feels like a hassle to me.

I still prefer a Hollister clip. For me, it’s faster and cleaner.

What works best for me is telescoping the end of the pouch — basically turning the outlet slightly inside out when I empty it. With a clip, I rarely need toilet paper. After emptying, I turn the end back the right way, and I can even use the clip to gently scrape any remaining output back toward the bag before putting the clip back on.

I also use small black plumbing O-rings from Home Depot over the clip for extra security. I don’t feel as safe without them.

For me, the clip system is quick, simple, and efficient. I know everyone has their own system, but Velcro closures just never feel as clean or reliable to me.

Curious what others prefer — are you Team Velcro or Team Clip?

I’ve had a stoma for over 40 years.

For most of that time, I’ve been strong about it. I’ve managed it. I’ve dealt with blockages, prolapse, hospital visits, leaks, travel, planes, bathrooms, supplies, appliances, smell, skin issues, and all the practical realities that come with living this way.

I’ve had bags leak in terrible situations. I’ve had to clean up messes in places I never wanted to make a mess. I’ve had to think about bathrooms everywhere I go. I’ve had to deal with products that sometimes feel poorly made, unreliable, overpriced, or designed in a way that makes life harder than it needs to be.

And through all of that, I’ve usually framed it as:

“Well, at least I’m alive.”

“This saved my life.”

“I can handle it.”

“It’s just part of my life.”

All of that is true.

But I had a dream recently where I was dealing with my stoma in a bathroom, and a young kid saw me. I got upset at first because it felt private. Then he told me, very vulnerably, that his dad had a stoma too.

And in the dream, I said something I don’t know if I’ve ever really allowed myself to say in 40 years:

“I don’t like having it.”

And then I cried.

Not because I’m weak. Not because I can’t handle it. Not because I’m not grateful to be alive.

I cried because I realized I’ve been strong for so long that I never really gave myself permission to grieve the whole thing.

The daily management.

The embarrassment.

The body difference.

The messes.

The inconvenience.

The fear of being seen.

The exhaustion of always dealing with it.

I don’t like having it.

And somehow just saying that felt incredibly healing.

I can be grateful it helped me live and still not like having it.

Both can be true.

I’m sharing this because maybe someone else here has been “strong” for a long time too, and maybe they need permission to say the simple thing underneath all the coping:

This is hard.

I don’t like it.

And I’m still here.