Tale of My Mortifying Menarche
It’s 2020 and the stigma surrounding periods has still not become history. Even today so many women and young girls are so ashamed even say the word ‘period’ in public, let alone discuss it.
Contrary to the common opinion which says that women are more open about such talk if they grow up in home with women; this wasn’t the case for us. In our home there are six women: me included we are five sisters and our mom. But mind you, in our home talk about menstruation is also hushed.
I got my periods when I was only ten years of age. Pretty early, no? At that time I was that small kid who had barely started making sense of the world and who was in no way ready to face an ugly monster which puberty is. Most desi moms don’t even bother with period education until you have had your first bleed. In the December of 2010, ten years from now, I woke up one to have a very cold morning welcome me. It was the time of our winter vacations, the two week holidays we got from school in the end of December. I was in grade fifth at that time. My mother asked me to go and get a shower. Happily I went to bathe in soothing warm water. There to my horror I found out that my panties were all red. There was blood all over my bony legs. I got extremely afraid with my heart pounding so hard in my small chest that I thought it would rupture my chest and come out. As I said I had no knowledge about periods I was completely oblivious to what next step to take. Well I could have called my mother and explained to her what had happened but I was afraid of her reaction. I thought she’d hold me responsible for this ‘evil’ that had come upon me. Then I did the thing my tiny brain could comprehend. I thought if I removed my clothes and threw them away no one will get to know what had happened. And that would be my one dirty secret. And I did that.
The trouble began when my mother found out the clothes with in next ten minutes ( how good you’d expect a kid traumatized by seeing so much blood for the first time in her life and that too on her legs would be good at hiding something hastily). When my mother found out she got extremely angry. She was so infuriated at the fact that I had not called her in the first place. Little did she know that it was the same reaction that she was exhibiting then had made me so afraid of talking to her.
I was on the verge of crying. But there’s thing about our home: you are not supposed to cry in front of anyone unless you are at a funeral. So I held back my tears as long as mama was with me. The sole period education I received was : take this ( this had no name) place it in your panties ( how?) And I’ll tell you when to remove. Oh and of course I was told not to talk to anyone what had happened to me.
By this point I think you can tell how miserable I felt. There is no arguing to the fact that attaining puberty is one of those things that turns your world upside down. And the least you can expect is compassion and love. No I’m not saying that i should have been picked up and given princess treatment but it would have been nice (and not traumatizing) to have someone to talk to, and who would tell me that what was happening to me was normal and things would be fine. I got none.
When my mom had made it very clear to me that me bleeding was one of the most shameful things to ever have had happened to me and her anger had made it obvious that I had led down, I heard her talking to my aunt about this whole episode. My maternal aunt is married to my paternal uncle ( a little complicated, I know). And they live next door.
Later in the day when I met my aunt and her daughter, she joked something about periods and I felt a strong sense of betrayal. My mother, after telling me not to disclose about this dirty ‘thing’ that had happened to me, had herself told her sister about it. How was that supposed to be fair now ?
In the afternoon when my sister asked me to play with her and our little cousin, mama shooed her away and told me that now that I am a woman I should not engage in such childish acts and especially not on ‘these’ days. I couldn’t have been more upset and angry over what was happening to me. After some time my mother asked me to change the sanitary pads. And that’s how it went for rest of my bleeding days.
The thing is I didn’t know that menstruation were cyclic. I simply believed that they happened only once in a lifetime and somehow I was past mine. The next time when I bled it came to me as a shock. And I told my mother. She gave me pads to use. But these pads were different from the ones I had used last time. Of course I dared not ask anything. The most I knew was that you don’t ask anything about periods. Period. Well, these pads were thicker and I clearly remember that they had a white membrane like stuff over the inner pink pad. And they were not even sticky enough. This may sound absurd but I did not know which side would be the front and which side was the adhesive back side. I tried reading the instructions, but again to no use. As you might have made a guess I put the sanitary pad upside down and spent next 6 hours without knowing what a blunder I had made. I need not to mention the horrors of those 6 hours.
It has taken me years and years to emerge out of the deep trenches of self loathing, hate, guilt and shame that my periods bestowed upon me every month. And I won’t say the process was easy. It was anything but easy. But one thing that bothers me is that this is not just my story. It’s the story of so many young girls who land into the world of puberty with nothing but the burden of shame on their shoulders, the burden that only keeps growing.
I only wish that my parents were more open about the whole concept of puberty. My mother had did her best. The only problem is that she didn’t know that her best proved to be immensely damaging for me. Our mothers unknowingly inherit us the shame they themselves have had to carry for years until they internalize it and it becomes a part of their being.
Puberty was not kind to me. Though kind is an oversimplification of what it had been to me. It made me believe that I was simply not deserving of any love and care.
I am glad that am past that stage. Let’s normalize the talk about periods so no other girl has to go through similar experiences.
