As activists seek to break the taboo surrounding menstruation, Rowenna Davis explains why her attitude towards her period has changed. How do you view yours?
by Rowenna Davis
guardian.co.uk, Friday 2 October 2009
The average woman uses 11,400 tampons in her lifetime. Photograph: Sarah Lee
I never wanted my period. I wasn't one of those girls who kept checking their knickers for the first bloody specs of womanhood. Me? I was too busy measuring my breasts. At my school boobs were "buff"; periods were nasty.
I mean, what kind of evolutionary purpose can it serve to make 50% of the population go into cramps and leak blood 12 times a year? Surely there's been some mistake. There must be a neater way of doing things. As far as I could see, the only advantage this monthly deluge could possibly serve was getting me out of my school's spider-ridden swimming pool every four weeks.
It wasn't until university that things began to change. The women I met there didn't seem to think periods were something to be silent about. Periods weren't nasty - they were badges of honour. One friend told me how she liked to have sex on her period - if the guy couldn't handle it, she'd dump him. It was a good test, she said.
Another woman told me that her mum had her making art sculptures out of sanitary products from the age of five (apparently if you leave them in water they open up, then you can glue their amazing coral shapes to coloured card). Periods went from being something unnatural, private and dirty to something public and celebrated and sassy. Menstruating wasn't my problem; it was other people's. After all, if you can't deal with periods, you can't deal with women.
Then I was introduced to Moon Cups. A Moon Cup, for those who don't know, is a small, all-natural rubber funnel that women fold up and insert into themselves during their period. Once inside, it literally forms a cup to catch the menstrual juices. When I first heard of it I thought it sounded Literally. Bloody. Terrifying. Not least because after you've used it you're supposed to put it in a pan and boil it up to sterilize it. I couldn't imagine explaining that to the guys who shared my student kitchen.
But the Moon Cup users at my university weren't the weird ones; they were the cool ones. Using a Moon Cup meant you were on the right side of the environment movement (as Kira Cochrane points out today, the average woman uses 11,400 tampons in her lifetime, whereas a Moon Cup can be reused for several years). They were a campaign for health (no toxic shock syndrome, no wad of festering blood between your legs). And they were feminist – a product for women who were prepared to ignore convention, and do what felt better for them.
Then I started reading. Books like The Red Tent by Anita Diamant explained how women in ancient Jewish times used to disappear every month to a sacred space where they would talk, share their stories and eat the sweetest foods. The Vagina Monologues, with their emphasis on uncensored womanhood, helped too. More recently, books like Charlotte Roche's Wetlands have dared to condemn a culture that makes women feel like biohazards for experiencing natural bodily processes.
I might not have wanted my first period, but these days I can't wait for the next one - really! Like the women in The Red Tent, I use it as a time to slow down, rest and check in with myself. 'What's happened in this last chapter of my life?' I ask myself. 'What is my body telling me?' If I've had a bad month where I've been suppressing tension or working too hard, my period is much heavier and more painful. It's a sign that I haven't been listening to my needs.
I don't call it pre-menstrual tension, either - that term allows most of society to dismiss anything you say as irrational once a month. I believe in something called PMS: pre-menstrual sensitivity. Once every month I do get more attuned to my feelings - my senses are heightened through a change in hormones, and my dreams are more vivid. But this isn't about shutting down reason; it's about tuning in to intuition. I'm not moody; I'm reflective.
My period's not dirty - it's sacred. What's yours?
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