Shy bladder shame: what I'm working on after forty years

For almost forty years I’ve had shy bladder. For the first twenty or so it was a nuisance I planned around, nothing more.

That changed after I told my wife, close to twenty years ago. She’d never heard of it, and it took a lot of explaining before she believed me. A few months later I heard her laughing with a friend about a shared outdoor toilet at a campsite. I’ve felt worse about myself ever since.

Her family can go anywhere, anytime, and they head to the bathroom together in a pack. So when we planned a weekend away to see a play, I pictured the queue afterwards and said I’d take my own car and pee in peace at the hotel. She didn’t love that. I decided I won’t be pushed into misery to keep everyone comfortable. I didn’t choose this, and my comfort counts too.

What’s helping

I’ve been doing graduated exposure on my own, but a crowded bathroom with relatives beside me is far too big a step. It could undo months of work. So I’m practising a don’t-care attitude, and it’s slowly working. Last week I told my daughter about my paruresis and felt no shame saying it.

For the play, I’ll skip caffeine and keep my drinks sensible so I never get dehydrated. Anyone with kidney or heart trouble should ask a doctor first. I’ll try the toilets near the end of intermission, when the rush has thinned, and if I need somewhere else I’ll just say I prefer quiet.

My wife said I can just go at intermission. Honestly, you can explain until you’re blue and some people still won’t picture it. So I’ve stopped explaining. I’ll keep my plan to myself until it’s too late to argue with.

I may never fully beat the peeing part. The shame is what I really want gone, because it hurts more than the problem does.