Permitted Freedom: Teachers shouldn’t be allowed to restrict students from using the restroom during class

You’re stuck sitting in your sixth period English class, knee bouncing up and down at the speed of light because of the elephant-sized weight on your bladder — you need to pee, bad. Trying to meet the recommended gallon of water per day, you’ve stayed hydrated off your third water bottle, and Mother Nature is calling.

Across the aisle, your classmate’s face blushes as red as the blood trickling through her shorts. The seering cramps in her abdomen howl for an Aspirin from the nurse’s office — but she’ll have to give up one of her extra credit bathroom passes to leave, so she toughs it out.

In the back corner of the classroom, a student asks to get a drink of water and your teacher scribbles their signature onto the cardstock “extra credit bathroom passes” — it’s their last pass, and while their teacher will begrudgingly let them go, they won’t have another chance to receive extra credit until next semester.

The use of bathroom passes in high school screams a message of “I don’t trust you” from teachers to a group of students who, in the words of East’s educators, are practically adults. At this point in our lives, we know how and when to tend to ourselves, so let us.

The thought process behind bathroom passes contradicts itself. They’re meant to ease disruptions in class by keeping the amount of students coming in and out to a minimum while making sure students stay focused on the lecture. Though, when an emergency rises, physical discomfort will always take over the absorption of curriculum.

It shouldn’t always have to be an “emergency.” Taking a break shouldn’t be scrutinized, especially upon those who are more inclined to experience hyperactivity or restlessness. 

Imagine that the kid next to the girl whose period came early fidgets uncontrollably, counting down every millisecond until they can catch a break during the passing period from constant focus demanded by their teacher. Even a five minute break could clear their headspace and settle their anxieties — but they’ll have to decide if those few extra credit points are worth letting go.

The CDC says that 11 percent of American students between 4 and 17 years experience attention deficit disorder, which can cause restlessness and fidgeting. Even students without ADD or an anxiety disorder can experience distracting tics in class or simply just periods of mind fog. 

It’s much more sensible to take a three-minute break in the bathroom to refocus than to spend an hour-long class period in pain or discomfort for whatever reason. 

Strict bathroom policies make it clear that “my class is more important than your other classes.” This is apparent when they’ll ask us to use the restroom in another hour, or during passing period when we have five minutes to go from the basement to the English wing — a trek that seems as long as crossing the Atlantic.

Obviously, teachers are going to be biased toward the content they teach. However, the importance of a class is relative to a student’s interest, and this sentiment is also blatantly selfish to other teachers who teach subjects that are equally as important. We’re not going to prioritize our presence in a class that we’re aceing over a class that we’re failing. It’s not fair for a teacher to choose our needs for us.

If a teacher can’t pick and choose when a teenager needs to take care of their menstrual needs or when a person with stomach issues can’t focus past the pains inside them, then they can’t prohibit them from leaving class. 

Though it’s understandable that a few students are notorious for abusing their independence of choosing their breaks, it isn’t fair to the students with periods, health conditions, concentration issues, anxiety or just about anyone who justifiably needs a break from a seventh-period day to be grouped with the pot-stirrers.

When a teacher prohibits us from using the restroom or interrogates us on whether or not it’s an “emergency,” it can come across as nosy and accusatory, leading to a deescalated amount of trust in the authority figure, which loosens student-teacher bonds. 

We’re not asking to light up cocaine in the fifth floor bathroom. We’re not asking for a fifteen minute break on our phones. We’re asking for an ounce of trust that we’ve earned past the middle school level and a moment to breathe.