If you’ve been following me for any time at all, you already know that sometimes I can be a little tongue-in-cheek about the role bathrooms play in the lives of people with disabilities. I talk about turning radius, handrails, whether or not I can reach the soap dispenser, and on occasion the Olympic-level effort and planning sessions required just to pee in public with dignity intact.
And although those things are definitely sticking points related to a successful accessible adventure, the truth is bathrooms and bodily functions (or lack thereof) also play a huge role in my daily life as a wheelchair-using human.
Let’s take Mother’s Day for example.
The only thing on my agenda was sleeping in until my body decided it was ready to participate in society again. No major obligations. Just coffee, quiet, and a day with my paint pens spread out like tiny acts of self-care.
And so… I slept in. Check.
I got up, sent messages to the special mama humans in my life, and settled down with coffee in my new favorite mug.
Everything was going according to plan until it absolutely wasn’t.
I needed the bathroom urgently but it was currently occupied by my husband who was trying to finish a shower and transfer safely back into his own wheelchair without injury.
Since timing is apparently a comedian, you already know where this is going.
The best-laid Mother’s Day plans now included a shower and an extra load of laundry. The most annoying part, I had literally just finished washing everything in the hamper an hour earlier.
So while Hubs went to get dressed, I went in to clean up and start over.
In that moment, I had two choices: I could get really mad, cry as I sometimes do and still have to clean up the mess, or I could take a deep breath, let out one dramatic exhausted sigh, and remind myself that… everybody poops.
Except, for some of us, it’s… a whole production.
Bathroom logistics and bodily fluids play a critical role in everyday life for both Hubs and me, and for many others living day-to-day with various medical conditions. There isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t discuss timing and access —how long we’ll be somewhere, whether there’s an accessible bathroom, or if the accessible bathroom is truly accessible and not just a regular stall with a grab bar slapped on the wall.
When I ask, “Can I pee there?” the question is carrying far more emotional baggage than most people realize.
For years I worried constantly about accidents. I panicked about them. I avoided places because of them. I missed opportunities and didn’t take chances because the fear of the unexpected felt bigger than the experience itself.
In fact, as I sit here writing this, It would probably be easier to list the adventures where I haven’t had some sort of bathroom issue. There’s almost always a, “this one time…” story attached to the memory.
I can remember being school-aged and having to call a parent to bring me a change of clothes at least once a week because of a bathroom incident.
Over the years I’ve learned that between accidents, accessible bathrooms, and loading yet another pile of laundry— If I waited until everything felt predictable, safe, and perfectly under control before living my life, I wouldn’t live much of one at all.
So I go anyway.
I adventure anyway.
I drink the coffee, pack the extra clothes, ask the awkward questions, and leave the house anyway.
Disabled life is filled with challenges people don’t see. The energy expenditure spent simply managing the basics of daily living is enormous. Cerebral Palsy and spinal cord injuries both impact how a person navigates bathroom functions, transfers, timing, and independence.
But I refuse to let fear of the unexpected become the thing that keeps me from experiencing joy, connection, creativity, and beautiful adventures.
Even the messy ones.