By Carolyn West
I was 13 and wondering why my cousin who was six months younger than me had already gotten her period. While I was completely terrified of it, I still wondered what was wrong with me for not having it. While I was technically prepared, I knew WHAT was going to happen and I had a box of supplies under my bathroom sink, I was utterly unprepared emotionally. For anything.
At 13 I was still flat as a board. Not even tiny buds where breasts would grow. The only hair on my body was that at the top of my head. I was short for my age, the smallest one in all my classes since kindergarten. I was the only daughter in a house with brothers and a mother who didn’t share very much. I was alone.
The day it happened was like any other. I went to the bathroom and saw some blood. I knew what it was and I wasn’t thrilled about it. I screamed for my mother. She came and took out the little box that was under the sink. She asked me if I needed her help. I said no. End of conversation. Ever. That was the first and last time I ever spoke with my mother about my period.
That night I was scheduled to work at a local theater where I volunteered to be an usher. It was one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life. I felt like I was wearing a big diaper and everyone would be able to tell I was bleeding. I was hot and sweaty and miserable. I wanted to cry. And more, I just wanted to go home.
I never even saw a tampon up close until I was in college. My mother never wore them and since we never talked about anything, no one ever told me wearing them was a possibility for me. When I finally went away to college I was so envious of the other girls who had them. Again, I was terrified. I bought myself a box and sat in the bathroom reading the instructions. Took a few tries, but I figured it out and never looked back.
As the mother to three daughters, I am determined they won’t have the same experiences I had. I want my kids to have a mother who they can talk to. I want my kids to have options. I want my kids to feel no shame, no embarrassment.
When my cousin got her period for the first time, she was staying with my grandmother. The story is my grandmother slapped her on the face. Not out of anger, but out of an old tradition that when a girl gets her period you should slap some color into her face… or something like that. Needless to say, I was really happy I wasn’t staying with my grandmother when it happened to me. But… I always felt there should be some kind of ritual. A celebration of becoming a woman. Something to mark the occasion when your whole life takes on new purpose.
With my daughters, I want to embrace this new time of their lives. I want to celebrate with other women and show them they aren’t alone, that they have nothing to fear. I hope when the time comes, I can do my daughters justice. They won’t be alone.
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