First Glimpse of Blood

I was in the 9th grade when I got my period for the first time.
I knew a little bit about it from my cousins and friends,
Who would talk about how they struggled with it,
But I was still very surprised when I saw the blood,
And I ran to tell my mother.

Speaking of mama.
She’s the shyest person you’ll ever meet.
She’s a mother to more than one child,
But she’s still a very shy person.
She was very uncomfortable when she was telling me how to use a pad.
Unlike most girls,
I personally told my father that I got my period,
And that I’m no longer a little girl.
But my mother still thought I was a little naive girl.
My sisters and I aren’t embarrassed to share these things with our father.
We’re comfortable talking to him about anything.

Most people around me make fun of the fact that my father gives me painkiller shots for my period cramps every month.
“How are you okay with everyone in the house knowing that you’re on your period?” they ask me.
I don’t understand what’s wrong with that.
Why is it considered to be something shameful that we should hide?
Isn’t the pain enough?
I hate my period more and more with every passing month.
I’m not objecting to God’s wisdom,
Or blessing—as some would say.
But because of the pain,
And the hormonal changes that accompany it,
And make me feel unstable,
I often wish I’d never get it again.

x
Warning The stories on our story archive could contain potentially sensitive and/or triggering material. If a story causes you discomfort or pain, please remember to breathe and check in with yourself before continuing or stop reading completely if necessary.