Why we need to talk about periods.
I don’t remember why I had been in such a hurry. Why I had been so desperately squeezing through the throngs of fellow secondary school students. I do however remember the relief at finding a gap in the crowded corridor. But that relief was brief. A large circle of space had been created, like the gap left by cookie cutters in a mound of dough. I shoved to the edge of the space, curious to see what it was everyone was so repelled by. Perhaps someone had spilled their drink, had dropped their food. Perhaps a quaking first year had thrown up, peed even. But it wasn’t any of those things. Looking back on the memory I think I would have preferred if a kid had shat his pants. That would have been less upsetting.
One single item lay on the floor at the centre of the empty space.
A pad.
Not even a used one. A clean brand new pad, that looked as if it had opened slightly from the fall. I watched as my peers pointed, laughed, jeered, grimaced. Watched as the boys gagged, one hand over their mouth, the other holding their nose. Watched as the girls bowed their heads, faces flushed, distancing themselves from the product. Watched as one boy was pushed into the circle by his friends, watched them laugh and jeer as he desperately avoided touching the pad. They acted as if it was a beacon of disease, and by coming into contact with it, they too would begin gushing blood. Whatever I had been in such a hurry for mustn't have been too important because I stayed at the forbidden spot, quietly observing the reactions of the crowd. I felt angry and upset. I felt gross and embarrassed. I felt ashamed. Much like the girls who had tried to distance themselves from the situation, I felt ashamed of my body, we felt ashamed of ourselves.
But why must we feel ashamed?
In primary school we are made to sit through two ‘talks’. One about sex. One about periods. Sex was something I had known about. Whispers of the act had plagued the school yard for years. Periods however, I heard about for the very first time when my mum mentioned them to me the night before the talk. A brief discussion, and one that had led me to believe that I would get my period once and that would be it. A beautiful idea, one that I desperately wanted to be true.
I think I almost fell off my seat when it was made known to me that this period was in fact periods, and that I would be having them every month for around forty years. I must have zoned out from there on out, because I went home with quite the horrifying belief. My eleven year old self had been convinced that I was soon going to be peeing out the corpses of my dead babies who weren’t saved by sperm.
Quite the thought.
Periods weren’t brought up again, and this misunderstanding wasn’t cleared up for several months. Imagine. And damn was I confused when I realised those sanitary pad advertisements that played on the tv weren't actually shoe insoles. Crazy.
To say I wasn’t terrified of getting my period would very much be a lie. To have such life changing information dumped on top of you eleven years into your life, can be quite the experience.
But why mustn't we discuss periods with our children?
Menstruation has been demonised and misunderstood for centuries, and as much as we try to move away from such mindsets, the stigma remains. Between menstrual and lunar cycle synchronisation, a menstruating individual's ability to kill crops and dry up lands, and the link between menopause and witchcraft, myths in relation to menstruating bodies have plagued us for centuries. Though few still believe such theories, this sense of wrongness and disgust continues to warp how periods are viewed by some.
Interviewees discussed with me reactions they’ve been met with in relation to openly speaking about their periods in front of family members. One individual described how their father had used the term “gross” in regards to them discussing their menstruation in front of him, another interviewee had been told that such talk made others “uncomfortable” and made them feel “ill”. One person informed me that they avoided discussing such topics in front of non menstruating family members in fear of receiving such backlash.
Why is it when someone is bleeding and in pain others rush to help, to sympathise, to care for them, and yet when it comes to menstruation others turn away, and we are left to feel ashamed.
But why must we feel ashamed?
The inspiration for this article stemmed from a poster I had spotted while drying my hands in one of the arts block bathrooms. The poster was addressing the amount of waste produced by once off sanitary products, and the environmental damage they caused. About a week later I came across that same poster, however in the meantime someone had written on it “It’s hard enough having a vagina without the added shame”. If I could have ripped the framed poster off the wall and brought it home I would have. Like lots of people, I do my best to reduce my carbon footprint, I make sure to recycle properly, purchase mainly second hand clothing, and use public transport. However I am a user of once off sanitary products, and the poster had filled me with aching guilt.
I discussed with others the topic of reusable sanitary products, and the practicalities of using such methods. Menstrual cups were one of the solutions advertised on the poster for reducing waste, however many interviewees expressed concerns in relation to the product. Menstrual cups require the user to find one that fits accordingly, and one individual stated that “you need to try multiple versions to get the right one, so it can be an investment”. Others who had begun using menstrual cups stopped due to “terrible cramps whenever I use it”, and due to fears that “the suction can prolapse your cervix”. Menstrual cups can also be impractical for extremely heavy bleeders. Users are supposed to wash out their cups before reinserting after emptying them. However if you are in a public bathroom either in college or at work, this can be incredibly difficult. Another product suggested by the poster was “period-proof” underwear. I myself have looked into such in the past and was met with companies charging €30 and €40 for them. Unless you have quite a light bleed, it's unlikely the pants alone will be sufficient. Interviewees informed me that they “wouldn't just wear the pants on their own… I'd wear them in combination with a pad or tampon”, and that the pants are “still not very effective”.
So what exactly are we expected to do? How are we supposed to make environmentally friendly changes until we are given affordable and practical options? How dare they present us with criticism and judgement, when they fail to offer a solution.
Periods need to be talked about. Not just when we turn eleven, but from the get go. Periods shouldn’t be hidden from children, why should they be? When we hide something it becomes bad, it becomes frightening, it becomes something that needs to be hidden. If it's discussed openly, and without the attachments of shame and secrecy, the whole process of menstruation goes from being this gross act to being what it actually is, a natural process that allows the continuation of the human race.
Why must I feel ashamed for my body preparing to bring life into this world, why must we be ostracised for birthing the next generation. Menstruating is hard enough by itself, it brings pain, heightened emotions, discomfort, fatigue, anxiety. Why must shame be added to this?
It is not us who deserve this shame. We are not the ones who have done wrong. It is those who make our struggles even harder, who refuse to speak up for our problems, who make us bury our concerns. They are the ones worthy of this backlash, this mortification. Not us.
Shame on me? No. Shame on you.
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