When I was 11/12 years old I was so excited to begin my period. My mom was proud, my friends were proud, the whole world seemed to be proud. At the very moment that I first began to bleed my excitement was based on the fact that this meant that soon I would be a grown-up.
Being a grown up meant having a pretty bag given to me by my mom in which I could keep pads or tampons.
Being a grown up meant buying kotex, lillets or any other tampon or pad brand.
Being a grown up meant reading the little pamphlet that illustrates how to put in a tampon, trying to put in a tampon the way the pamphlet says and realising that whoever wrote it obviously did not have a vagina.
Being a grown up at that age meant having a monthly secret. Like a real lady.
Soon though, I began to hate my period. Bleeding, for me, meant pain, intense cramps, vomiting, dealing with leaking and learning that pads were invented to make me unhappy. As time passed I learnt about pain killers, nuerofen, because pinado is a waste of time.
Later in life I learnt about slow release magnesium, wow. No more cramps. No more monthly medicine just to cope with my natural body.
Now +- 180 periods down the line, I have come to a new, more profound conclusion.
My period is incredible, frightening and amazing.
It makes me do things that I would never do, like eat a giant bag of nick nacks alone in one sitting.Open a family sized Cadbury resealable chocolate and never reseal it.
Open a family sized Cadbury resealable chocolate and never reseal it.
Things like sit on the couch all day with a hot water bottle unashamedly watching series.
My period. The giver of life. The taker of life. My freedom. My honesty. My flesh.
The giver of life.
The taker of life. My freedom. My honesty. My flesh.
My freedom. My honesty. My flesh.
My honesty. My flesh.
My period punishes me for disobeying my body.
When I drink and eat unhealthy things that my eyes and mind tell me I want, my period chastises me, shouts at me from the inside. I am not a religious person, but when I disobey my body, my period lets me know all about it. Beating at me from the inside, reminding me that chocolate, wine, cake, cocktails and any other baked goods are not things that my body needs. I fear it, pray to it and ask for forgiveness when I have done things to offend or dishonour it.
My period measures time and gives me logical explanations for illogical behaviour. I am
I am no longer on the pill or any other type of contraception, not because I want to fall pregnant, but because I want sexual freedom. My period lets me know when it is safe to have sex and not have to worry too much about babies. My bodies
My period lets me know when it is safe to have sex and not have to worry too much about babies. My body tells me too when it is not safe. When everything is screaming yes, I know that I have to avoid sex like one avoids a bad smell.
-Please bare in mind that I have been with the same partner for almost 4 years and we have both tested negative for HIV/AIDS and any other STDs that could harm. –
I have come to understand that even though my period is mine, it is also connected to every other woman in the world who has a period and any man who shares the space where it resides.
The period is feared.
It is respected.
Its power is one to be learned about, celebrated and shared.
The period is sex and pain.
Hell and heaven.
It has become clear to me that my period, the periods of all women and the men who might be lucky enough to share them, are comparable with, equal to, representative of, or even are, GOD.
Yes, I said it.
Imagine it for a while, think about blood.
That which creates and takes away.
I have come to conclude that GOD lies in the womb of a bleeding woman.
Period is GOD. Period.