When I first started my period I was responsible for buying my own pads. Since I wasn’t old enough to drive I’d walk to a local liquor store called Super Stop, which happens to also sell “sanitary napkins.” My heart sank when I noticed two men hanging my dad’s age out at the check out counter reeking of booze and flirting with the cashier. I don’t know their names so I’ll call the guys Jerk and Dumb A** Jerk. I wandering around the tiny store, hoping they would leave, but I could tell they weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. So, I walked up to the counter with my big box of Maxi pads. The pads were so big back then that the box was about as tall as I was (or at least that’s how I remember it). Dumb A** Jerk looked at the big box of pads and then looked me up and down and said, “smells like fish in here!” All three of them (female cashier included) busted out laughing as I fumbled for my cash.
This is where I bought my pads. The “more” in “liquor and more” included menstrual pads.
I felt shame and intense anger at a time when I should have celebrated the sacredness and power of being a woman. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize the sacredness of my cycle until my mid-twenties. To this day, I believe the shame and anger contributed to my intense mood swings and menstrual cramps. Obviously, we can’t control the ignorance of others, but we can help young women feel empowered and positive about menstruation. This is one of the reasons why I do what I do.
Imagine being a skinny 16-year-old girl carrying this big box of pads home from the liquor store. If that wasn’t enough, a neighborhood boy would entertain himself by throwing rocks at me as I walked home.
image is actually to scale-1985.
Menarche (the first occurrence of menstruation) The Liquor/Maxi Pad store incident, however, wasn’t my first menstrual memory. The very first day I started my period I felt an immense amount of shame and dread. My mom never prepared me for menarche, but luckily my friends filled me in. Friends: “It really sucks!” “You can never wear white pants again” “You can get pregnant” “It hurts” “The pad makes you look like you crapped your pants”. ME: “What the heck, I’m going to bleed from down there?!” Friends: “Yep, EVERY frickin’ month, for the REST OF YOUR PATHETIC LIFE!”
As I sat in my room rehearsing how to tell my mom that I started my period, I felt a tremendous amount of anxiety-like I did something wrong. I rehearsed for hours, how I was going to tell my mom that I started my period. When I finally told her, her exact words were “Shit, the pads are under the sink.” That was it, no congratulations, no how do you feel, no hug, no explanation of why I was bleeding. Her reaction confirmed to me that periods were something to be dreaded.
I knew how to use the pads (I read the box many times), but I still asked her how to use them. I think I was looking for some kind of connection with her. In an irritated voice she spat out, “the directions are on the box!” We never mentioned pads or menstruation again. I was on my own AND responsible for buying my own pads after that (I started working at a young age). I’m not angry at my mom, I only have love and compassion for her, may she rest in peace. I can’t imagine what her experience as a young woman was like. She was obviously uncomfortable regarding the subject. I think she actually felt bad right after snapping at me and I suspect to make up for it she told my brothers to be nice and hang out with me because I wasn’t feeling well. My little brother was a ninja warrior and Rambo wannabe (see below) who slipped death threats under my door. He also made throwing stars out of sheet metal and ducktape, so I was surprised when he came into my room unarmed that day just hangout. I gave him my Halloween candy to keep him from turning on me.
Luckily I had my little brother to keep me company during this difficult time.
It gets better…My 20’s. Back in the ’90s, I worked as a server in a bar, my cycle naturally synced up with my female coworkers. The male bartender got squeamish if he overheard us mention our periods (he’s a Vietnam Vet, by the way, yet period talk made him queasy). Anyway, we loved him to pieces (we really did), so naturally, we tried to break him of his fear. One of our favorite tactics was to catch him (literally catch him) alone in the break room and form a circle around him by holding hands. Once we had him trapped in our “moon circle” we’d proceed to talk about our periods. …the quality and color of flow, clots, cramps, normal stuff. We then gently swayed back and forth chanting, “Freddy, You’re drowning in the red sea! You’re drowning in the red sea!” …until he finally escaped red-faced and sweating. Good times, good times.
My 30’s After we matured a bit, we left the bartender alone and graduated to period parties. We’d gather together during the New Moon, drink red wine, write crappy angry poetry and have some sort of letting go ritual. We didn’t sacrifice any chickens or anything, but we made beautiful altars with flowers and candles. We also wrote down what we needed to release (anger, gluten, boyfriends, whatever) and then we’d burn the paper in the fire. The next step was to write down our intentions on beautiful gold paper to put on our altars at home and read every night until the next moon.
Teaching women about uterine positions and uterine and ovarian ligaments using a uterine costume AKA the Ute Suit.
My 40’s In my 40’s I became an educator of the Arvigo Techniques of Maya Abdominal Therapy® and taught women to connect and care for their wombs in group classes. Now at 50 years old, I teach women all over the world how to care for and connect to their wombs through my online Womb Care Course.
My red prayer box. Sweet intentions are sealed behind the ornate heart as two love birds nest under the blessings of the full moon.
It’s interesting to look back on the evolution of my connection to menstruation and my womb. As time went on and my attitude changed, my PMS and cramps decreased and eventually ceased altogether with the addition of cleaning up my diet and doing uterine massage (also acts of self-love and self-acceptance). I wonder what my early periods would have been like if it were commonplace to recognize menstruation as a rite of passage and a sacred honored time rather than being viewed as something to be dreaded and embarrassed by. Change starts here ladies (and men)! Let’s be there for our little sisters, nieces, daughters, and friends.
Do you have a personal menstruation story you’d like to share? Positive or not, I’d love to hear your story. By telling our stories, we begin to heal and help others heal as well.
I love this post 🙂
I wish I had been with you in the bar – that sounds like awesome fun!
I also wish I had a women’s circle to share all my stories with. I recently wrote an article that I have submitted to an online magazine about healing my uterus of heavy bleeding. I so wish we could change the dialog around periods and the feelings of shame we all seem to share just for being women.
Loved this article. Thanks for writing it.
Oh, thank you, Caitlin. I would love to read you article when it’s published.
Hi Barbara!
I loved this article. I have always been so angry around period time (why? Society?) & have been trying to change my attitude around it, & your article really put it all together for me. I only wish i lived near you so I could come in for sessions! (I live in NYC). You’re on my list if I ever (hopefully) get out to the West Coast 😉❤