A new period
The first months of this year have been a time of unrest and worry, but when I woke up this morning with a bloated stomach and cramps, and I motioned towards the toilet with the certainty that I would see red in my pants, all the distress of this stretch was instantly vanished: after a long-felt absence, my period was back.
I vividly remember the day I had my first period: it happened during the summer holiday, I was about twelve and sleeping over a friend, 30km away from home. Her parents were going to take us on a small trip the next day, but the trip would never happen. My morning visit to the bathroom revealed blood in my urine and a slimy substance between my legs that got me into a state of panic. For a few seconds, the shadow of a severe illness invaded my thoughts. My parents were immediately called to my rescue, and one hour later my mother appeared with a book about the body under her arm and my first pack of sanitary towels. Overnight, my body had changed without any warning signs.
Back at school, I learned that some of my friends had also had their first period over the summer. In a very subtle way, unspokenly, we felt united in our shared experience, one that was still painful and greatly unintelligible, but which imbued us with a mystified pride over our more developed bodies, as we perceived them. A line was drawn between those who remained “girls” and those of us who had become “women”.
Woman is that seemingly harmless construct by which naive little girls are charmed by and aspire to when growing up, completely unaware of the meaning that lies behind.
That sentence we hear everywhere after our first menstruation, “you are now a woman” is how, for centuries, society talked our gender into acquiescing to the whirlwind of achings and hormonal changes that our bodies would undergo from that moment on; suffering, therefore, became synonymous with the condition of being a woman. “You are now a woman” stands also as the argument to prompt us into a biological destiny of life-bearing, maybe not immediately, maybe not after having completed higher education, yet, eventually, we are expected to become a mother, and deemed a failure if we do not. The prerogative of choice is reserved to the other half of the population.
Shaped by this two-fold affirmation, we slowly learn the trap that is the female body. Menstruation hence becomes a monthly nightmare for most of us, pregnancy being its only escape, and even then, temporarily.
With such a prospect, the controversial relationship women have with their bodies should not come as a surprise. More than a decade has passed since my first menstruation and my perception of my body has been profoundly transformed. From that little girl afraid of bleeding to death, I had a bitter body-hating teenage phase in which I could not bear the injustice of biology towards the female sex. Amid this state of confusion and rage, some generalised —but false— beliefs result especially harmful, such as considering menstrual pain a punishment to women for allowing healthy mature ovules to die unfertilised. It would take yet a few more years for me to reconcile with my body and to accept menstruation as a natural and necessary process.
The old proverb that predicts that wisdom comes with time is even more true for one’s own body. It takes patience and self-indulgence to recognise and to understand the signals of the body. One of the most important learnings I have had to do was that an absence of menstruation was indicative of an underlying problem: be it stress or unhappiness, a failure in my natural hormonal cycle has always meant severe unrest in my mind. Sometimes life goes by in such a rush that we barely take a moment to look where we stand, but my body, by modifying its usual patterns, urges me to make some qualitative changes in my life.
Ever since I have understood this, having my period is a cause of joy and tranquility. In fact, I no longer look at the expected date in the calendar with fear and anguish, instead, I make sure to have a pack of tampons ready and some chamomile tea, and I go about like any other day.
Another magnific perk of menstruating no one talks about is the increased creativity one exhibits. During my premenstrual and menstrual days I am more sensitive to the external stimulus and find inspiration in almost every little thing. My writings, my drawings, every single act of creativity, as well as my personal comprehension of the world, is only possible through this deep connection between body and nature that my excited hormones fuel. This very text has been written under the influence of blood. Feelings and senses are exacerbated to take in more. I have no doubt most women would agree that sex is better during those days, too.
I wish as a child someone would have told me all of this, so that when the first drop of blood appeared, I could have appreciated its value with contentment rather than fear. Menstruation does not mean death, as some sectors of society still try to convince us of. On the contrary, it is a part of the cycle of life that our female bodies carry within and, as such, it is our birthright to relish this almost mystical power that Nature has endowed us with, to do and create with it whatever we, women, choose.
Woman in the making 