Bath Bombs

Chuck Tingle is a USA Today bestselling author, as well as a two time Hugo Award finalist and a Bram Stoker Award nominee. He is a mysterious force of energy behind sunglasses and a pink mask. He is also an anonymous author of romance, horror, and fantasy. Chuck was born in Home of Truth, Utah, and now lives in Los Angeles, California. Chuck writes to prove love is real, because love is the most important tool we have when resisting the endless cosmic void. Not everything people say about Chuck is true, but the important parts are.

Unchecked self-motivation can be a dangerous thing.

If there’s been one common theme throughout my life, it’s that I work too much, which is especially funny when you consider the fact that I’ve always been my own boss. There’s nobody else pushing me to hit that daily word quota, or finish that cover design, or upload that audiobook, but I feel the looming presence of someone over my shoulder just the same.

That someone is me—at least, it’s a version of myself—and my relationship with this shadow is a double-edged sword.

On one hand, I’m happy with where the discipline of this watchful silhouette has gotten me. Being able to support yourself through the arts is a nearly impossible task, and I have endless gratitude that I’ve found myself in this rare position.

The other hand, however, is a rough and calloused one.

The stress of this endless discipline has taken a toll on my body over the years. Some of my tension is from the non-stop working (which, as we’ve already covered, is barely “work” by any traditional definition), and some of it is from the masking I constantly do as an autistic person in a neurotypical world.

This has led to all kinds of chronic pain, muscles clenching up and organs misfiring in a number of ways. Life has been a constant parade between home and hospital, complete with ER visits and confounded specialist doctors.

Fortunately, a lot of these issues are now a thing of the past. What was once a relentless, irritating buzz in the back of my mind has slowly grown quieter and quieter, disappearing into peaceful silence.

It’s wild to think that something so horrible and completely overwhelming could be fixed with such simple changes.

On the work side of things, I allowed myself more freedom to live my truth. Through the expression that is Chuck Tingle, I’ve managed to carve out huge swaths of time when neurotypically masking is completely unnecessary. This has allowed my muscles to relax, and caused my pain to subside.

But the other side of that coin is my personal time, the moments that I’m not writing or touring or appearing as a podcast guest. Even in these flashes of relative peace and relaxation, it’s hard for me to not think about the next step in my art. I’m always dreaming, which is nice, but dreams turn into ideas, and ideas turn into plans, and plans turn into actions. The last thing I need when I’m relaxing is more action.

Fortunately, bath bombs have changed all this. It’s such a quaint solution that it seems almost silly, these tightly packed balls of minerals and salts and sometimes even flower petals going up against the looming monstrosity of chronic pain. It’s outrageously simple: you run a bath, you drop in your bath bomb, you soak. There’s a David vs. Goliath quality to it all, an almost mythical feeling.

While some bath bombs are named after a single, simple ingredient, like lavender, grapefruit, rose, or vanilla, others embrace whimsy with names like full moon, protection, or the queer agenda. I’ve enjoyed bath bombs embedded with crystals, or shaped like skulls. I have a few that look like giant moths, or in the spirit of my own erotica writing, a handful that are butts.

I enjoy every one of these scents and recipes, but more than the ingredients themselves, bath bombs have become a symbol. They are a way for me to designate the next hour or so as a time that is separate from everything else. My always churning brain finally has permission to slow down, not just because of some abstract instruction from my brain, but thanks to the real, physical process required to use them. You get into your warm tub, you drop in the packed minerals, you watch them froth and bubble and dissolve.

This is a ritual in the most basic sense of the word, a performance that unequivocally means one very important thing: it’s time to chill.

There’s also something meditative about the fact that this session is impermanent. The bath water will eventually cool, and after a single use your bath bomb is gone forever. Every bath bomb you acquire might feel like an object when it sits in the palm of your hand, but really what you’ve got yourself is an experience.

For as soothing as bath bombs are, they are also fleeting. They’re sandcastles built at low tide.

In a world where possession and ownership is so highly praised, I think it’s important to carve out space for these ephemeral moments—to literally bathe in them—because it guides us towards something very important: gratitude.

As much as a lack of permanence can be troubling, it’s also a place where appreciation thrives.

Of course, not everyone out there has a problem relaxing or being thankful, and while chronic pain is certainly more common than you might think, it’s not a universal experience. As nice as my grand, existential bath bomb praise is, the scope of my experience might be too much for some people.

In lieu of that, I’d like to offer up one more little thing to love about bath bombs.

If you find yourself traveling, whether flying across the world or taking a little day trip one town over, it’s common to find yourself checking out that “cute little shop” you’ve stumbled across while strolling the unfamiliar streets. You head inside and wander around, looking at the various wares. You think to yourself “this is a really nice local business, and I’d love to support them in some small way, but I don’t really need any of this stuff.”

I used to experience this feeling quite a bit, but ever since diving into the world of bath bombs, I’ve found myself with a wonderful solution. Gift shops are overflowing with the stuff, many of them one-of-a-kind creations from someone just down the road. It’s a cheap and easy way to remember your trip, support the community you’re visiting, and treat yourself.

It probably shouldn’t be surprising that I love bath bombs this much. After all, I am the author of Frothed: My Sentient Lesbian Bath Bomb Gets Me Off, but I feel like there’s a universal lesson here that goes beyond my personal taste.

We so often gift our time and energy to the world, but it’s important to remember that we can also gift some of that time and energy back to ourselves. Whether or not this little present physically manifests in the form of a bath bomb is up to you.

But if you’ve got an evening free, it couldn’t hurt.

Love Letters: Reasons to Be Alive is a yearlong essay series in which we acknowledge, celebrate, and examine the objects and experiences that keep us going, even through the hardest of times. The series is free to read, for everyone, forever.

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In the meantime, remember: Do what you can. Care for yourself and the people around you. Believe that the world can be better than it is now. Never give up.

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