I got my period when I was in 9th grade.
I felt that something strange and confusing was happening to my body;
Something I couldn’t control.
I was sitting in the living room that had a bifold door,
So it was never fully closed.
I tried to gesture to my mother to come help me,
But she was busy.

I got my period when I was 10.
I was living in Saudi Arabia at the time,
And where I lived it was mandatory to wear the niqab,
So I always wore it when I went out.
womanhood, period, hijab

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 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.

They separated us.
Girls in one class,
And boys in another.
I thought it was better,
So that we’d be more comfortable,
And be able to ask questions freely.
But after explaining the upper part,
Ms. Amina said,
“That’s it.
You’ll read this lesson alone anyway.”

School, Period

Because of my curiosity,
I asked mama for one too.
“That’s for big girls only,” she’d say in an upset and serious tone.
My curiosity compelled me to wear the hijab like them,
Just so I could be a grown up woman like them.
But still she ignored me.
I kept secretly watching them,

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.

Why is it wrong for people to know?
Why is it something to be ashamed of?
Why do we use euphemisms such as “I got you-know-what,”
Or “Did you get it?”
Or “Has it shown up?”
Why am I not allowed to go to church when I’m on my period?

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.

Were women just created for pleasure?
It doesn’t matter what we wear, how we look, or what we say.
Answering back means you’re playing hard to get.
I recently found out that people in our society think married women are easy.