Shaming women for getting a period causes even more inequality between the sexes.
For years, I slept on bloody sheets once every month, with ghostly white one covering the single window in my room every night. At first, I thought of it as something I had to do, simply because my mother said it was best for me.
I learned the hard way about cramps. Specifically, that they can be painful enough to make you puke.
I was first introduced to the notion of menstruation like any good Catholic girl usually is: half-naked, with the fear of God instilled in me.
It was a bitter-sweet experience, almost like eating the fruit of knowledge in the garden of Eden. I finally knew what the fuss was all about, but felt supremely guilty at the same time.
Being okay with your body, especially with your period, is really difficult. I still cringe just a little inside when I buy tampons or pads and the cashier is male.
My eyes landed on Richard’s. He glared at me like he knew my dirty little secret. I shifted back to the magazine, first to the left side, at the woman.
You have a personality—because you had to have a personality at some point.
As I got older, I began to hide my humping. Not that I was ashamed of what I had been doing, but I understood that my mother was trying hard to steer me away from this activity. I was proud to be sexual at school, but at home, I had to hide my identity.
This ordinary act of parenthood manifests as an extraordinary demonstration of a father’s love for his daughter.