Hello, dear readers. Today, I want to share a deeply personal story with you. This is not just about my journey as Crinkle Cat, the author, but also about my journey into embracing incontinence as a part of my life.
Growing up, I always felt a certain comfort in diapers. It was a feeling of security, of being cared for, and of letting go. As I got older, I realized that this feeling was not something I wanted to give up. I began to explore the world of adult baby/diaper lovers (ABDL) and babyfurs, finding a community that understood and accepted me.
My first experiences with incontinence date back to my childhood. I remember wetting the bed twice, both times driven by anxiety from the relentless bullying I faced at school. The fear of confronting my bullies the next day would manifest physically, leading to these accidents. But what struck me was the feeling that followed — it wasn’t embarrassment or shame. Instead, there was a sense of comfort and peace. The act of letting go, of surrendering control, brought a warmth and tranquility that was almost therapeutic. Anxiety often means holding onto emotions tightly, and the release provided unexpected relief in more ways than one.
This early experience shaped my perspective on incontinence. It wasn’t something I ran away from, even though many do. For a while, I felt I had to shy away from it because I never wanted to be that guy — the babyfur who leaked or soiled his diaper in public, causing discomfort for those around me. But life had other plans.
My mother insisted I eat breakfast every morning before school: cereal, toast, and orange juice. Nothing about breakfast was out of the ordinary. But I remember my stomach feeling uncomfortable. As long as I didn’t move around too much, I could manage it. But when I took physical education classes, my symptoms would quickly manifest.
When I was a freshman in high school, I dealt with a P.E. teacher who was borderline abusive to his students. He imagined himself to be a drill sergeant, believing that his tough-love approach would whip his rambunctious students into shape. He thought that one day, we would thank him for instilling discipline in us. But his methods were far from constructive. He would get physical with students, sometimes pushing them from behind while they were running their laps or around campus as a way to “motivate” them to run faster. He’d berate students for being slow, his voice echoing across the field, drawing unwanted attention from other classes.
His behavior created an atmosphere of fear and anxiety. Students would dread P.E. classes, knowing that they would face his wrath if they didn’t meet his expectations. I remember the knot in my stomach tightening every time I had to change into my P.E. uniform, knowing that the next hour would be a test of endurance, both physically and mentally.
One day, the teacher made us run four laps around the school track, which was the rough equivalent to a mile. That day, my stomach was upset after eating breakfast. I was overweight at the time, and I huffed and puffed on the track with most of the students. But the more I ran, the more uncomfortable I felt in my stomach. The cramps became unbearable, and I knew I couldn’t keep going. After about two laps, I stopped running, bent over with my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and ease the pain.
The teacher walked over to me, his shadow looming large on the ground. Instead of asking me, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he accused me of being disobedient. He barked, “You’re not tired, you’re just lazy! You won’t get anywhere in life with that attitude.” I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me, their stares burning into my back. I didn’t want to be a wuss and tell him, “My stomach is bothering me.” I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to me.
Instead of giving him an explanation, I quickly dashed to a nearby portapotty. But it was too late. I messed my shorts, the load spreading uncomfortably. Cleanup was a hassle, and I was sure students would make fun of me when they realized what happened. I could already hear the whispers and laughter in my head. But I discarded my soiled underwear, wiped myself thoroughly, and returned to the class. My P.E. shorts were miraculously dry, so no one suspected anything.
As I walked back to the track, I felt a strange sense of relief. The anxiety that had been building up inside of me had disappeared. I felt lighter, both physically and mentally. It was as if the accident had released the tension that had been coiled tightly within me. This experience, though uncomfortable at the time, reinforced my understanding that embracing incontinence was not something to be ashamed of but rather a part of who I was. It was a turning point that led me to accept and manage my condition responsibly.
Recently, just before I turned 40, I woke up to find that I had wet the bed. But this time, it was different. This time, I was wearing a diaper. And unlike the feelings of embarrassment or shame that some might expect, I felt none of that. In fact, wearing diapers has become something I prefer — a choice that brings me comfort, security, and a deep sense of affirmation that doesn’t always appeal to me sexually.
That night, as I slept, my body naturally released, and by the time I woke up, I could feel the warmth. Judging by how warm I actually was when I woke up, I presume I likely wet about an hour prior. The sensation of my diaper swelling with wetness was strangely soothing. It was a physical reminder of the peace that comes with letting go, with surrendering control. There was no panic, no rush to clean up or hide what had happened. Instead, there was a calm acceptance, a knowing that this was a part of who I am. If only I was awake during the time I wet uncontrollably.
For years, I have dealt with bowel incontinence, which can be uncomfortable and challenging at times. Managing it has been a decades-long effort o trial and error, of learning to listen to my body and understand its needs. But recently, I’ve crossed a new threshold — I’ve begun to experience urinary incontinence as well. I expected this transition to be difficult, to be a struggle of relearning and readjusting. But to my surprise, the process has been smooth, smoother than I ever anticipated.
Relinquishing that control, accepting that this is my new normal, has act. It’s a testament to how far I’ve come in my journey of self-acceptance and understanding. The fears I once had — of accidents, of discomfort, of judgment — have faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in my ability to manage and adapt.
This year, when I attended BabyfurCon, I was surrounded by others who proudly wore their condition and lifestyle like a badge of honor. Being in that environment, seeing others embrace their true selves so openly, made me feel more whole as a person. It was a reminder that I am not alone, that there is a community of people who understand and accept me.
In that space, wearing a diaper was not something to be hidden or whispered about. It was a visible, tangible part of our identities, a symbol of our shared experiences and understandings. And in that acceptance, I found a deeper sense of peace, of belonging. It was a powerful reminder that embracing incontinence is not just about managing a condition, but about embracing a part of my identity, about choosing to live authentically and unapologetically. Engaging in diaper exhibitionism, for instance, is part of that.
That experience has stayed with me, a touchstone of sorts, a reminder of the power of acceptance and community. It has reinforced my commitment to embracing incontinence, to choosing comfort and security over embarrassment or shame.
Embracing incontinence was not an easy journey. It took time, understanding, and a lot of self-reflection. I had to navigate through societal norms, personal doubts, and practical challenges. But with each step, I found that I was increasingly comfortable with being in my own skin,
My stories are a reflection of this world, a world where embracing incontinence is not a hindrance but a choice, a lifestyle that is borne from being unable to make certain choices. I did not choose to have Irritable Bowel Syndrome, but that is a condition I live with. But that condition left me with a viable choice to essentially let go of everything else that I didn’t necessarily have to hold onto. And I pass my personal philosophy onto my work. I produce tales of love, acceptance, and self-discovery. They are about characters who embrace their true selves, who find happiness in diapers, who choose embracing incontinence as a part of their lives.
So, if you’re out there, struggling with your feelings, struggling with acceptance, know that you’re not alone. Know that there are others like you, others who have chosen embracing incontinence as a part of their lives. Know that it’s okay to embrace who you are, to accept yourself fully and completely.
And if you ever need a story to resonate with, a character to relate to, you know where to find me. Until then, stay crinkly, my friends.