Author: Anonymous

In all of my being on earth, my own mortality has never been more real than the moment of my first sneeze-pee. Before I could even comprehend the imminent degeneration of life, a second sneeze confirmed that I was doomed. Luckily, there wasn’t a lot of heavy traffic as I was driving south on I-35 towards Norman, Oklahoma to play poker. I heavily reconsidered my attendance that night – only being wavered by the fact that I was wearing black stretchy pants and a long jacket … and had plenty of leftover fast-food napkins shoved between the seats of my car – so probably nobody would even notice, right?

I sent out a group chat text to the ladies at the dental office (because I had previously worked at a dental office for the better part of a decade), and announced the departure of my youth. I was met with open arms as they heckled and consoled at the same time – I wasn’t young anymore.

Grocery stores, pharmacies, and your neighborhood markets carry adult diapers for folks who can’t handle their bladders. Some women resort to wearing more discrete super-absorbent pads for the rest of their lives. How in the world was I going to be able to prevent hard laughs and coughs and sneezes (oh my)? How did I allow myself to get to this point in life? Why were my lady parts failing me?


I had become a near-and-dear representative of the unpopular trend of asexuality. Asexuality is a sexual orientation characterized by lack of attraction towards any gender. I had become so disinterested in finding a romantic partner on the basis that I couldn’t allow myself to become lazy and unmotivated on my path to success – and intimacy resulted in careless days full of cuddles and distractions.

In the process of swearing off sex until I had finally made it big, I had neglected my own body. I focussed on work, family, poker, research, growing a small business, starting up another new business, and adding insurmountable stress and debt into my life. By the time I got home, I would take my dog out, have an unhealthy late night snack while I stood in the kitchen eating over the sink, turn into a zombie by scrolling through my phone, then pass out.

My lady parts weren’t failing me – I was failing them.

Rusty. Dilapidated. Run-down. I had become that bitter middle-aged woman. I had given up on loving myself in the process of swearing off love from others. I had an image to maintain in the male-dominated world of poker as being “unattainable” (not trying to seem like a big deal), but in a world full of people who will impress, chase, court and woo you – then at the first sign of resistance, move on to the next easy target and forsake a friendship altogether – I would rather be alone.

So alone me felted herself on the poker table ….. as in I was knocked out of the tournament – and just in time! I hightailed it to the nearest adult novelty store. I could not let my pelvic floor down without trying. I figured after a few sessions of extreme tense body workouts, I may be able to put off adult diapers for a little while longer.

I hadn’t slept that good in a long time.

Trust me when I say – I still have to pay attention to my body. This hustle life is no joke. In the fastness of building an empire and keeping up with fads, demands, bills, colleagues and peers, I still often misplace the thoughts of “me.” Why do we let ourselves fall by the wayside and into the gutters of neglect? I’m certain I would be more happy and energetic if I paid more attention to what my body needs.

This is my first blog post ever. As I sat and stared at the screen, realizing that once things go onto the internet, they’re there forever – and that my dad may read this someday – I couldn’t not be true to my oversharing self: I solved my incontinence with Double-A meditation and had a long hard look at myself … as in I executed a proactive self-assessment. I’m not good at accountability – I cheat myself more than anyone else ever has. Let’s see if this self-realization of “it’s-all-downhill-from-here” can kick this old girl into gear.

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