I’m a Feminist Today Thanks to My Periods
The shame of bleeding and the rise of feminism.
When eleven-year-old me first saw drops of unholy, sinned blood in my underwear, I catastrophized and ran to my mother.
“No matter what happens to me, you should stay happy,” I said melodramatically, with teary eyes. “I think I’m going to die. There is blood in my underwear,” my voice quivered with emotions.
But Amma (that’s what I call my mother) didn’t panic like I expected. Instead she took me to her room to demonstrate how to properly place a sanitary pad, a thing I had only seen in television ads.
“This is called periods, and you’ll get it every month from now on. The bleeding will stop after seven days,” she said looking straight into my eyes. “I’ll get you a pack of sanitary pads tomorrow. Keep it in your cupboard.”
“Usually during these seven days women don’t light the lamp or enter the pooja room (a temple-like set up in the house), and shower everyday in the morning. Also, you shouldn’t go to any temple,” she added.
Meanwhile, I felt all kinds of shame. The female genitalia was a taboo in school, and since the period involved it, bleeding was embarrassing.
