When most women talk about urinary incontinence, they’re referring to what happens after having a baby or once menopause hits. In many ways, it’s a badge women wear, signifying a time in their lives. But peeing your pants from laughing isn’t something a nine-year-old girl experiences on a regular basis, right? Wrong.
My history with this embarrassing disorder is a long one. When I was very young, it was a source of frustration for my parents, who didn’t understand why I was having so many problems after being toilet trained. I’m sure they tried their best to be patient with me, but my memories are of being punished for having yet another accident that appeared to be for no real reason.
Eventually, I was given a diagnosis and a prescription to reduce the frequency of my accidents, and I was told I would grow out of the problem. In the meantime, though, I lived with the accidents that happened regularly, and as I got older, went to high school, and became part of more complex social hierarchies, the shame of this secret of mine grew.
I truly hated myself at times. I felt like my body was betraying me, embarrassing me, causing me to hide who I was. I refused to share my secret with my friends, unless I found myself in a situation where I had no choice but to reveal it. I became a master at tying a sweater around my waist to hide my shameful accident or being the last person in the room to get up from her chair, so that no one would see me from behind.
As predicted, though, my disorder improved as I grew into adulthood. The accidents were less frequent, though I still had to be careful. It became easier to manage, because I could predict and prevent the scenarios that might lead to an accident.
Then, I had babies.
More specifically, I had my second baby, who was a whopping nine pounds, four ounces, in a three-hour natural labor with only 15 minutes of pushing. While my midwife was measuring him after I had given birth, she exclaimed in surprise when she measured his head circumference. It was the size of a three-month-old’s.
Needless to say, my troubles with urinary incontinence have returned. This time, however, I have found liberation in my challenge, because I know that I’m not alone. Mothers talk about peeing a little when they sneeze or laugh all the time. I’m part of an illustrious little club rather than suffering on my own. I don’t feel ashamed, because I know that there’s finally a measurable reason behind this problem: the fact that my body had to adapt to a large baby and the strain that came with the birth.
It’s not my fault. Logically, I know it was never my fault; my diagnosis at 10 years old confirmed that. Having no real understanding of why I was having accidents before then, however, had a profound impact on how I viewed my role in my accidents. Self-blame is hard to unlearn.
I can’t begin to express how that transformation in my point of view has positively affected my state of mind. I realize this problem is still an inconvenience, but it’s not one I’m afraid to admit to anymore. Sharing my experiences with fellow moms, laughing about them together, has transformed this part of me which used to be a source of so much shame, into something that just is. I am not my problem. And neither are you, if you’re part of the club.