The Period Stigma
via Priscilla du Preez on Unsplash
Trying to pretend it doesn’t exist can leave millions to suffer in silence out of guilt, shame and fear of judgement.
Whether illustrated, literal, conceptual or hypothetical, any depiction faintly resembling or depicting periods or period products are most often met with emotions ranging from avoidance, apathy, a lack of interest to downright disgust. Period stigma thrives not just in social situations, it is even prevalent in doctors offices. Being told one’s symptoms are normal can sometimes delay diagnosis and often end up in the patient needing intense clinical intervention. Feeling unheard, disregarded and apologizing for their symptoms makes the patient avoid or shun follow up treatments having a damaging impact on their recovery itself.
My first period arrived a little before a crucial dance recital when I was 14 years old. Mildly repulsed, majorly perturbed and slightly intrigued, I started collecting intel tuning into my mom’s words of caution and my friends time of the month rituals. We would routinely check each other’s uniform skirts lest they had been sullied. The dreaded virginal Monday white skirt uniform were a thing of a nightmare for anyone suffering from severe bleeding, as was the case with yours truly. Of course, I grew accustomed to sticking out like a sore thumb and being labeled a rebel for breaking the dress code and wearing the navy blue skirt instead. No amount of explaining or reasoning seemed to change the minds of other women in positions of authority, who in my opinion were all too accustomed altering how they expressed their discomfort during the dreaded days the monthly friend visited. And then, there were code words- friend, chums, time of the month- anything except period or menstruation. The predictable monthly visitor was a secret kept from everyone but your close girlfriends and your mom.
via Hannah Busing on Unsplash
Just as my new friend and I were growing accustomed to each other, we had many a teething problems. Long drawn bloody battles were fought, sacrifices of many garments were made, my diary continued to capture the drama in detail- but somehow this was best kept between the pages and I. My bloating body seemed to catch the attention of many aunties who thought my poor mother overcompensated being a career woman by feeding me fat and sugar all times of the day. And then, the coveted dance roles were passed along, the jibes became more real and somehow my lack of self control was the root cause of the evident disconnect between my charming face and not so charming body.
The journey moved along and somewhere between getting married, birthing two kids and a whole lot of fun diagnosis and misdiagnosis along the way, I realized this sort of discomfort could not be mine alone. There was camaraderie I was experiencing as I felt more connected to my mom stroking her lower back, cousin crawling into a fetal position in pain, friends who avoided going out but all continuing on with life as they knew it enduring the symptoms despite our bodies letting us down routinely. At work, fatigue during my monthly friends visits were of course an obvious sign of weakness and complaining about pain was greeted with eye rolls and sighs. Oh and God forbid you had to make a point or disagree with something- you would hear the hushed whispers of, “it must be that time of the month for her- she is emotional.”
This blood is without carnage, it is one that many times results in enduring gifts of life. It is our period. So go ahead - say it a few times, talk about it a whole lot and never feel alone.
