I threw it out there casually, I think just to see their faces; unsure if they would accept me, the real me.
“I wet my bed until I was 13..
..and sometimes when I was 14 and 15 too.”
I capped the silence with, “I am potty-trained now, don’t worry…” just to be safe and clear and a little comedy always helps.
I said goodbye and realized how BIG this part of my story is.
I missed out on one hundred sleepovers because I didn’t want to worry about wetting the bed.
I had adult diapers in my closet and friends were curious.
The sleepovers I did attend, I fought sleep like the plague. I frantically emptied my bladder time and time again before anxioulsy dosing off hours after my friends.
I had accidents at multiple friends houses and felt shame and would often call my parents to rescue me before my friends woke up.
I remember my mattress drying in the sun when I got home from school. Soiled sheets and jammies in a ball in the laundry room, again.
A protective “crunch wrap” piece of plastic covered my mattress.
The shame, it was unreal. I pushed it down and down and barely spoke of it because I just wanted it to go away.
Fast forward 15 years and HE IS GOOD, of course. He uses this story and that shame I felt to help me understand. To feel compassion and empathy and keep me loving and humble and accepting.
I picked Reese up from the gym and the babysitter had her wet undies in a bag and Reese flew around the corner with a long dress on and her big o beautiful smile.
I snuggled her tight.
“Mama, I peed in my pants on accident!”
“O baby girl, that’s alright, thats alright.”
I rubbed her back and felt more love than ever before.