Bedwetting is typically linked to young children, but for me, it continued into adulthood. This is my story—a narrative of obstacles, cultural beliefs, and the struggle to restore my self-esteem.

I am the youngest of fifteen children born to my mother, who is married for the second time. In our culture, her failure to have a male kid sparked suspicions of witchcraft and charges of curses on her. There were many problems in our house, but my mother focused on my recurrent bedwetting.

At the age of ten, she sought help from a traditional healer, convinced that this issue went beyond mere biology. After a month of drinking nightly potions, my bedwetting did not cease, but really increased. Even taking midday naps became embarrassing as I tried to control my bladder.

The physician eventually concluded that my ailment was caused by a curse. He advised my mother to move me away from our community to break the spell. Desperate for a solution, my mother sold her pregnant goat. She used the money to fund my journey to the city to live with her brother.

Life in my uncle’s house was no easier. After wetting the bed my first night there, I endured punishment and was made to sleep on the floor. My aunt, frustrated with my condition, tried waking me during the night, but the pattern of soaked bedding continued. Her frustration grew into a shocking solution. She tied a weak, live snake around my waist as I slept to “scare” the bedwetting away. Terrified, I ran away to avoid such a fate.

Homeless and alone, I spent a night in a public park, only to wake up wet again. Exhausted, I ventured to a small shop for water the next day. There, the shopkeeper pointed out that I had bloodstains on my dress. Initially, I panicked, fearing my mother’s old warnings about male “touch.” Only later, hindsight brought clarity. I understood this marked the beginning of my menstruation. It was not an act of harm.

This path showed me the awful combination of cultural beliefs. Misdiagnosed illnesses and societal stigmas often exacerbate already tough situations. My bedwetting was finally diagnosed as a medical condition that is treated with proper treatment. The journey to healing was long and difficult. It gave me a new purpose: to advocate for compassion and understanding about such misunderstood disorders.

For anybody dealing with bedwetting at any age, remember to get help. Breaking the silence is a step toward empowerment and healing. You are not alone, and your experience, like mine, needs to be heard openly.