Litmus Test

There she was, right back in her bed, soiling her pajamas.

Urine pooled in the cotton crotch of her leggings. Its warmth saturated the fabric, then made a free fall to the floor. Though she had gotten into university as a mature student, she could not think of a single way to excuse herself from the online exam to use the washroom. The pandemic had hit, and the novel computer program had overlooked any such protocol. So, there she sat, in the comfort of her own living room, positioned on the edge of her beautiful reading chair, trying not to soil its cushion.

Perhaps the residue of test anxiety from her youth still held the capacity to smear her intelligence. Or maybe the reason for her lapse in thinking had something to do with being observed and recorded by a stranger in another part of the world. Having experienced voyeuristic exploitation before, she sat and stared at the little green light next to the camera lens on her computer. During that moment, her entire world became small. Like she existed in a glass bottle under the scrutiny of an all-seeing eye.

Urine splatted against the floor, jolting her from her stupor. Ashamed of her behavior, she masked the sound by speaking the next multiple-choice question out loud, along with its answers, as if she were contemplating each one. In reality, not a single word registered in her mind.

She had gone back to school with the aspiration of becoming a psychotherapist. Until this point, her studies had taught her three distinct concepts. Number one: every time a human learns something new, a single neuron in their brain wires together with another, creating a network of cognition. She had envisioned this as a massive water park within her skull. Each neuron functioning like the individual piece of a water slide. She had attempted to construct a brand-new water park in her head. One she could eventually call a bachelor degree. But now it felt more like she would make a better mental patient than a therapist. Especially considering she was on the verge of failing the exam for abnormal psychology.  

The second concept she had learned explained memory recall. Why sensations triggered people into long forgotten memories, and sent them down water slides from the past. The feeling of warm urine had sent her down a water slide she would rather forget. One she rode until she was ten. Now, there she was, feeling like she was right back in her bed, soiling her pyjamas. This well-built cognitive framework made her mother’s voice reverberate in her head. “Why are you being so stupid? What were you thinking?” Phrases that pushed against her like the gushing water at the top of a water slide. Maybe the woman was right. What had she been thinking? Going back to school was clearly beyond her intellectual capabilities.

This brings us to the third concept she had learned: how to reframe her thinking and regulate her nervous system. The neuronal battle in her mind commenced. Instead of giving in to the impulse to give up, she fought the gushing wave and made her way back up the water slide. With each step, she selected answers and typed whatever concepts she could find rambling around in her brain. Thirty seconds remained.

She hovered the curser over the submission icon.

Click.

Done.

Then, getting sucked back into the flow of the water, she twisted and turned, splashing into the pool of urine at her feet. Steeped in shame, her head disappeared under the surface. The association between bedwetting and failure, so powerful that even as an adult, her mind still believed it.

For two weeks, she told herself she was not smart enough. That is until she received her grade. 84%. Next time, she would just wear an adult diaper.