How My Primitive Brain Sabotaged Potty Training

There’s your primitive brain and there’s your evolved brain. They’re both there to help you—but let’s be honest, they can both seriously mess you up sometimes, too.

Let me tell you a story. A humbling, hilarious, and 100% true story about how my primitive brain hijacked one of my early parenting moments… during potty training.

The Super Duper Pooper Debacle

When I was a young mom, I was obsessed—like, irrationally obsessed—with making sure my first kid learned how to use the potty on schedule. I was convinced that if she didn’t, it meant something was deeply wrong. With her. With me. With the entire trajectory of her life.

So I did what any perfectionist first-time parent does: I bought all the things. A potty training kit with videos, sticker charts, motivational songs, plastic trophies—everything short of a marching band.

And when she finally went for the first time? I lost my mind.

I played the video. I gave her a sticker. I took a picture. I called both grandmothers. I probably should’ve called the local paper.

It was a celebration of epic proportions.

And then… she didn’t poop again for three days.

Three. Days.

I had officially traumatized my child with a potty party.

So… Why Did I Do That?

Here’s the thing: It wasn’t because I’m a bad mom. It was because my primitive brain was running the show.

That part of the brain only cares about survival—and it’s a bit of a drama queen. It told me, “If your kid doesn’t use the potty, she’s not developing properly. You’ve created defective offspring. You’re failing your duties to the species. This is an EMERGENCY.”

That’s a lot of pressure to put on a toddler’s digestive system.

My evolved brain—the one that knows kids learn at their own pace, that milestones aren’t moral judgments, and that poop shouldn’t be panic-inducing—wasn’t in charge that day. Betsy (yes, I’ve named my primitive brain Betsy) was driving the bus. And she was driving it straight into Crazytown.

The Good News?

I chilled out. With subsequent kids, there was a lot less hoopla, a lot more trusting. I realized that my kids—and myself—do a lot better when I parent from a place of calm curiosity, not caveman-level fear.

And guess what? Potty training went way more smoothly. No trauma. No sticker-induced constipation. Just normal, messy, human progress.

Final Thought

We’ve all got a little Betsy in our brains. She means well, but sometimes she’s just too much. The trick is learning to notice when she’s getting in the way—and gently handing the reins back to the part of you that knows better.

And if you ever find yourself spiraling over potty training (or anything else), just remember: your kid’s probably going to be just fine.

Mine’s 30 now. And let me tell you—she’s crushing the whole bathroom thing.

You’ve got this.

—Katie