Toddlers, Potty Training, and the Merciful Love of God

Lea McCarthy learns an important spiritual lesson from a potty-training fiasco. 

This month, I finally tackled a task that I have been dreading: potty training. Our toddler is not quite two, but the summer is perfect for lots of bare-bottom days and with a little one on the way at Christmastime, it seemed the ideal time to get it over with. So I finally took the plunge and set a date. 

In Which I Lose My Sanity Over Piddles 

The goal on day one, according to the potty-training gurus, is to watch your child like a hawk and whisk her calmly to the potty every time she starts to go. Your attentiveness will be rewarded by at least one drop of moisture in the potty. By mid-afternoon I had plenty of puddles and drops outside the pot, but none whatsoever in it.  

I began to worry. It must be my technique — I must not be trying hard enough or watching her as closely as I should. By early evening, I had neurotically decided that my entire worth as a mother was dependent upon getting that one piddly little drop in the potty. You mothers who have been through this experience before can imagine what that did to my anxiety, which was of course picked up on by my daughter.  

It was only after many whiskings-away to the potty that we finally got that drop of liquid gold in the correct place, to my great rejoicing! Now we would see some major improvement, I was sure. 

But to my chagrin, the following days didn’t go well either. I gave the toddler a case of nerves by staring at her all day (so much for my ninja skills) and got irked at all the puddles on the floor. I worried about going to Sunday Mass that weekend, imagining all the worst-case scenarios happening in the two-hour timespan.  

So I planned. I brought the little potty in the back of the car, and during the homily I marched herself out to her new throne room and sat with her reading books and playing with her to get her to laugh and relax. I even provided a blanket for privacy. She had a great time but didn’t go at all, and I returned to Mass flustered and upset that my plan had failed.  

When we came home, a power struggle ensued that escalated to her yowling at me and me saying a naughty word! I handed her off to my husband and stormed outside to weed furiously and channel my frustration into something other than what I wanted to do: break things. 

Forgive Us Our Trespasses 

As I savagely ripped out weeds, I calmed down enough to realize something. This was potty training, not life or death — and yet here I was, completely losing my peace! I was falling into the same traps I am prone to in the spiritual life: perfectionism, control, and believing falsely that sanctity all depends on my performance, not God’s grace. Potty training was just a convenient medium for these insecurities to re-emerge under a different form.  

How many of us relate to feeling guilty about letting the mind wander during prayer and repeating a decade or a psalm in order to “do it right”? Have you ever read about the saints and felt disheartened that you weren’t where you were supposed to be on the holiness scale, if there is such a thing?  

It’s so easy to fall into measuring our worth by what we can do for others or for God: making a meal for someone who just had a baby, going to daily Mass, committing to Lectio Divina, or helping someone move in. It’s much harder to give God permission to love us as His beloved daughters when we feel we are messy and unlovable. God is not a lawyer looming poised and ready to catalogue our failings and disprove any sub-par efforts. He is an encouraging, merciful Father Who takes time to gently teach us how to walk with Him and has infinite patience with our mistakes.  

That day of potty training, I saw a reflection of His love in my husband’s approach with our daughter. Rather than demanding immediate excellence, he sat with her in the bathroom and dimmed the lights, played soothing music, and provided a safe haven for her to calm down in and feel like she was loved — even if she didn’t go potty. 

 When I came back inside, my attitude had changed for the better. During the following days, I was more relaxed, didn’t let all the laundry and puddles faze me so much, and focused on her small successes instead of the failures. Turns out, feeling cherished in spite of failings and knowing one is loved does wonders both for potty-training success and in growing closer to God!  

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Copyright 2025 Lea McCarthy
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