There was a bug in our guest bathroom.

Not a metaphor. A literal bug.

I yelled to my wife, “Jen! There’s a bug in here!”

Her calm, unbothered reply from the other room? “I know. It’s been there for two days. I was waiting for you to get it.”

And just like that, the truth scuttled out into the open.

We had both seen it.

We had both chosen to ignore it.

We had both assumed the other one was the “designated bug person.”

This, my friends, was not a fluke. This was a full-on domestic standoff.

Now, here’s the kicker: I’m the daughter of an entomologist.

A bug scientist. A man who spent his life lovingly pinning insects to foam boards, giving them Latin names and telling me fascinating facts about thoraxes over dinner.

And yet, when confronted with a harmless (but highly judgmental) bug in my own bathroom?

I froze. I passed the responsibility like a hot potato with legs. I mentally reverted to the “not it” childhood game and hoped Jen would blink first.

She did not.

Growing up, my dad had a simple solution for any bug-related emergency I called him with: “Just jar it up and send it to me.”

It didn’t matter what kind of bug it was or what kind of problem I was even talking about. If it buzzed, crawled, clicked or creeped me out, he’d say it: “Jar it up and send it to me.”

At the time, I thought he meant the bug.

But now? I realize he meant more than that.

He meant: Face the weird thing. Contain it. Acknowledge it (perhaps with a long Latin designation). Then let someone help.

That advice? Applies to more than just beetles and moths.

I didn’t follow in my dad’s bug-loving footsteps. I didn’t get the gene that makes people excited about antennae and mandibles.

What I did inherit, though, was the idea that avoiding something doesn’t make it disappear. Sometimes love means being the one who says ‘fine, I’ll get it.’ Even if it’s gross. Even if you’d rather not. Even if you secretly hoped someone else would handle it.

That day in the bathroom, I finally grabbed the tissue and dealt with the bug.

Not because I wanted to. Not because I was brave. But because stepping on it barefoot in the middle of the night was a worse outcome. (And okay, maybe a little because I could hear my dad’s voice in my head saying,  “Just jar it up and send it to me.”)

We all have bugs in our metaphorical bathrooms. The small, annoying things we pretend not to see.

We walk past them.

We wait for someone else to deal with them.

We hope they magically disappear.

But eventually, if we want peace of mind or at least clean tile, we’ve got to face the bug.

Whether it’s a tough conversation, a delayed decision or a creeping bit of doubt you keep stepping around…

Maybe today’s the day.

Grab the tissue.

Jar it up.

Handle the thing.

Because sometimes bravery doesn’t come with fanfare.

Sometimes it comes with a shudder and a flush (or as we call them, a “burial at sea.”).