I was in the 9th grade,
The first time I got my period.
I used to always hear about it from my friends.
Mama treated it as something normal.
She told me about it before I got it.
But I used to be embarrassed by it,
And didn’t want anyone at home to know when I had it,
Especially my brothers.
It made me very tired sometimes,
And they sometimes noticed.

I was the only girl in an office full of men.
Sometimes, I’d have to work for twelve hours straight.
I’d get so exhausted when I got my period that I’d sometimes faint.
It’s not reasonable for me to get exhausted every month,
So I devised a story about how there’s something wrong with my kidneys.

I love my dawra [cycle].
I call it dawra.
I don’t like using the word “period,”
Because it makes me feel as if I’m ashamed of it.
It’s one of those words we say in another language,
Because we’re too embarrassed of it.
I refer to it as my cycle because I’m not embarrassed by it.

When I was a kid,
Mommy would always tell me that God would only start judging me for my actions when I got my first period.
Before that,
My slate was clean,
Because in front of God,
I was still a baby: clean and innocent.
But when I got my first period,
That was it.
We’d be the same.
I’d be a woman.
Grown up and aware,
And accountable for all my actions,
Just like her.

I understood what a period was was,
But not very well.
Mama never talked to me about it.
When I got it for the first time,
I couldn’t tell her,
Because I could never talk to her about anything.

My parents have always been aware and informed, thank God.
One time, when I was younger, mama asked me to hand her some pads.
She wanted me to ask her what they were for.
“This is something all girls will need to use someday.
It’s a sign that they’re getting older and lovelier,” she replied simply.
womanhood, period, parents

I was having a hard time accepting the changes my body would go through.
I used to see how my mother dealt with her period,
And the blood terrified me.
I was afraid of getting it.
Most of my friends and cousins had gotten it.
I felt sorry for them when they told me the news.

I don’t really remember the details of the first day,
But I remember being afraid.
Afraid of growing up,
Of having to wear the hijab.
Of not being young anymore,
And the changes my body will go through.

I was in the sixth grade the first time I got it.
I went to the bathroom,
And discovered that I was bleeding.
I don’t remember if someone had talked to me about it before,
But I remember knowing that I wasn’t injured.
I told my mother and she was happy.
That’s how I knew it was a good thing.

I was very young,
About 8 years old,
When I found blood in my underwear.
I didn’t pay any attention to it,
Until my mother saw it and asked me.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Tell me if you find blood again,” she said.
She explained menstruation to me,
And explained what a hymen was.
She told me it resembles a wet napkin,
And that it could tear easily,
And that they’d kill me if I tore it.
This scared me,
And stopped me from doing anything.