PERIOD POWER

It was a warm spring day when I started bleeding for the first time. Fourteen years old, seated on the toilet, looking down at my underpants that were now stained by brick-red brown, my stomach dropped and I could feel my face start to burn. I called out to my mum, who immediately rushed upstairs in a worry, only to sigh as she entered the bathroom and took in the scene. “I got my period,” I told her and promptly burst into tears.

My reaction was overly dramatic, perhaps. But not uncommon, nor entirely surprising. The framework I had for understanding menstruation at that time was rooted in reproduction and fear. At school, there was nothing more mortifying than having your period. It was something to hide and the greatest shame if, God forbid, you showed any signs of being a “bleeder”. When one of my schoolmates emerged from class one day with a burgundy spot on the backside of her dress, we all spoke about it in hushed tones. We