Wednesday, 20 July 2016


It’s probably no coincidence that my final accident was also one of my most embarrassing.  It happened in public on holiday in Scarborough in the north of England when I was 11 years and 3 months old.
Aged 10, I was still not
completely free of poo accidents.

By this stage my accidents were few and far between, but I was still not completely clear of them.  One evening during that week long holiday my parents and I were on a walking tour of a beautiful park.  Around half way around I soiled myself.  I had been avoiding using public toilets for bowel movements during the holiday, thinking I could always wait until we returned to our chalet with its private facilities.  But my body had other ideas.  As always, I did not feel myself doing the deed but I felt the poo in my pants and knew that I’d had another accident.  Shortly afterwards the smell told my parents what I had done.

My mother was carrying no spare pants for me and, in any case, I was now a bit too old to be taken into the Ladies to be changed (my father is disabled and could not have changed me.)  There was also no way my mother was going to risk taking me behind a bush to try to clean me up.  I’m grateful for this, I think I would have died of humiliation if anyone had chanced upon me being changed and seen my bare pooey bottom.  There was nothing else for it, I had to walk the remainder of the tour in messy pants.

I did not enjoy the rest of the park one bit.  I was due to start secondary school in a few weeks time and I would soon be hitting puberty, but here I was in public, with lots of adults and younger children nearby, smelling of poo, walking around with my own waste sitting in my underwear, feeling like an unreliable toddler and waiting to be told off again when we returned to our chalet.  I don’t know what the others in the park thought of an 11 year old boy who had clearly messed his pants – no-one stayed near me long enough to express an opinion!

I hated being made to sit on the toilet
 after I had been cleaned up. (c)
Back at the chalet, my mother changed my pants.  It was always my mother who changed me, I can’t ever remember anyone else ever doing so.  If you are thinking that I should have been cleaning up my own messes long before this age, then you are probably right.  However, I don’t think I had it easy just because I didn’t have to change myself.  Standing lower half naked in front of my mother when I was less than two years away from being a teenager, being changed like I was a toddler and scolded at the same time was an embarrassing and unpleasant experience.

My mother often made me sit on the toilet to try to poo after she had finished cleaning me up, and she did so on this day, leaving me on my own while she took away my soiled clothes.  When I was younger I hated this, and always begged her to let me get off.  It always seemed like a punishment and I rarely produced anything as I had already done it all in my pants.

This time I sat there thinking.  This couldn’t go on.  I was 11, I was about to start ‘big’ school, I couldn’t keep having accidents like this.  What if the next one happened in the classroom at my new school?

Of course at the time I did not know this was going to be my final accident, indeed it was a long time afterwards before I knew for sure that my soiling problem was finally at an end.  It took a bad accident in public to make me resolve to complete the journey to becoming fully clean that I had begun several years before.  I never avoided public toilets again.

If you would like to read a post about the emotional aspects of helping a child with soiling problems, then try this post from the SuperMom Blues: Raising a Child with Encopresis.


  1. Oh boy can I relate here. Sitting on the potty forever. I was spanked and told to stay on the potty and poop like a big boy. Eric you are too old for messing your pants. Shaming me caused deep hurt that has destroyed my self worth even today that effects me. Then in awhile if I could not go my mom would get out the enema and put a few bulbs in me to make me go. I hated that and they were always traumatic events. I felt abused. Enemas were a strange sensation believe me. Always messy events with me crying like I was being killed. Then the total loss of control pooping for an hour non stop with tears rolling down my face.

    Also when I was younger and back in those days they did not have small child sized toilet seats I always felt like I was going to fall into the potty. I believe this was the main reason why I started going in my pants.

    1. I'm sorry you had to go through the trauma of enemas, Eric. I can clearly recall being shouted at for soiling and told that only babies dirty their pants. It did nothing for my self-esteem either, and I hated being made to sit on the toilet for ages when I'd messed my pants.