This one was sent to me by my friend Rachel who wrote the piece Tuesday’s Underpants for my Best Blog Series Ever: Periods.

The second link came courtesy of my friend Rachelle, she of Magpie Girl fame and current tender of the Flock. It’s a list of what people in other countries call their periods, though right now I like “Rebooting the Ovarian Operating System.”

If you didn’t catch it the first time around, I urge you to check out posts from the blog series. And if you have some more funny or interesting links about periods, leave the info in the comments!

And please do check out my Q&A with Elissa Stein, author of “Flow: The Cultural Story of Menstruation.” Or check her out on The View.

Arts and Crafts Week at Panty Camp is a post from: Living Sexuality

Elissa Stein is on a mission to change that. Her new book is FLOW: A Cultural Story of Menstruation and it is chock-full of info on all things menstrual – including some disturbing advertisements from the 1940s in which Lysol was touted as a “gentle” yet effective douche. (Ouch!)

Elissa kindly answers a few of my questions:

What made you want to write this book? What do you think it offers that other books on menstruation don’t?

The first glimmers of FLOW came about 15 years ago, when my period stopped and I was too terrified/ashamed to tell anyone. It took a year before I finally went to a doctor who, after everything looked ok, handed me a pack of birth control pills and told me we had to jump start my hormones. No exploration as to why it stopped (anorexia), just a chemical quick fix. I was angry, frustrated, disheartened both by there not being anywhere to go for information and that the subject was so difficult for me to talk about. I wanted to create something that would take away the stigma I’d grown up with.  

There are some great books out there, but FLOW is the only one that tells the visual story. In this society, where we get so much information from media and advertising, seeing what shapes our feelings and thoughts is a vital part of the whole.

Can I ask you about your own “first period” story? Were you prepared for it, or were you surprised and terrified? How do you think that first experience shaped your ideas about periods?

I didn’t get my first period until I was 14, years after the trauma of learning about it from that fifth grade film. I don’t remember discovering that it had started or how I dealt in the moment. I do remember begging my mother not to tell anyone. So, when my father announced at dinner, “I heard you started menstruating today,” as calmly as if discussing the weather, I was beyond mortified. I ran, sobbing, to my room and swore I’d never speak to anyone again. For the rest of my life. Obviously, that didn’t last.

As the mother of a tween daughter, how are you approaching the issue of menstruation with her? What do you think girls of this generation have going for them that earlier generations did not? What is not working in their favor?

Having worked on FLOW for three long years, menstruation is a matter of fact topic of conversation at my house. Both my daughter and my soon-to-be 9-year-old son are well versed in products options, how the system works, what PMS can look like, and how to make tampon rockets.

While on one hand, it’s heartening that so much information is available now compared to when I was growing up, the message of shame and secrecy is still being hawked. Plus, the rise of menstrual suppression advertising creates a whole new dilemma. The message that periods are an inconvenience that can be solved by popping a pill is being sold to girls on television, in magazines. Chemically altering natural cycles isn’t something to be taken lightly, but upbeat ads minimize side effects and potential long-term effects.

FLOW touches on some of the sad history regarding the way that women and their bodies have been maligned by religion, tradition and advertising. Unfortunately, I think we carry this history with us, even when we don’t want to and even though we know better than to believe it. Nevertheless, the myths and misunderstandings of the past seem to worm their way into the present. How do we move forward? How do we leave behind what isn’t true or helpful, and still embrace some sense of the sacred femininity that our ancestors seemed to understand — a connectedness to the rhythms of life that we don’t seem to notice.

At this point we’re generally so cut off from nature, from intuition, from what’s going on inside, it’s sometimes hard to see a way out of the prison that’s been built for us. One of the reasons FLOW is in the world is to start conversations, to get people thinking, and by talking and exploring, to start chipping away at those age old walls that have been built up.

We live in a unique time in history. Walk down the “Feminine Care” aisle at Target and there are a ton of options for pads and tampons. We also have a lot of choices when it comes to birth control. Yet most of us are woefully under-educated about what our choices mean for our hormone balance, our fertility, and the environment. Besides reading FLOW (which everyone should do!), what else can we do to become more informed?

So much of our education about menstruation and birth control comes from manufacturers, who have a vested interest selling us their products as well as their stories of convenience, of secrecy, of shame. This sounds ridiculous, but people shouldn’t believe everything they see in TV, print or online ads. People need to scratch the surface. Research. Read. Ask questions.

Ok, I’ll share my most embarrassing period story if you share yours. I was a teenager, maybe 16 or 17, and a boyfriend was over to my house visiting. We were in the living room watching TV when my dog drags in this bloody mess in his mouth. I knew instantly it was my pad from the bathroom trash and I hurriedly tried to grab it out of his mouth. I ended up chasing him around the house and trying to tackle him. They guy had no idea what was going on, and was like “Oh my God, what is that? What is wrong with your dog? Is he bleeding?” I think by the end of it, the guy realized why I was so embarrassed and we both tried to pretend it didn’t happen. Awkward!

Worst ever? Had to be eighth grade, woodworking class.  I went to the bathroom and discovered my period had started and there was a huge reddish brown stain across the butt of my white carpenter pants. Total mortification. Panicking, I told my friend Paul I must have sat in puddle of wood stain. He very thoughtfully lent me his flannel shirt to tie around my waist for the rest of the day. I spent three more classes terrified people would figure out what was really going on.

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Want more?

Listen to Elissa Stein and Susan Kim, authors of FLOW speaking with Dr. Oz on Oprah Radio.

Watch Elissa talk FLOW on The View on Tuesday, March 9.

Follow @ElissaStein on twitter

Q&A With Elissa Stein, Author of FLOW is a post from: Living Sexuality

I asked him to write a bit about his experience, and he kindly obliged — even in the midst of his midterms. Thanks Monte for sharing your story here…

Before I really go into anything, I suppose I ought to point out the obvious: this is all based on my own experiences and of a few others I know, and I clearly don’t speak for all transmen, or even most, since I only know a handful other than myself.  As far as background information, I am twenty years old, have had my top surgery in July of this year.  However, I have not been on testosterone long, having had surgery first, and I, for now at least, still get my period.

I suppose I ought to start with my original view on them, which was heavily influenced by two main things.  One being that my first encounter with even the barest shred of the idea was as a bored third-grader who, having plowed through the Lord of the Rings trilogy was looking for light reading and unknowingly began reading Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret.  This, of course led to the inevitable awkward conversation with my mother, which was more informative than many of the ones I’m sure that my friends received, but for me, was baffling, partially because I was unsure as to why it was so important for me to know.

My confusion mostly stemmed from a sort of myth I had generated for myself as a child, in which I had become convinced that the reason I didn’t feel right was because I was actually a boy who had, in some freak mix-up, been altered by the doctors into a girl without my parents’ knowledge.  Looking back on that, it was rather irrational, but I suppose I could attribute that to my age.  Even after I’d kind of grown out of that belief, I was still rather hopeful that surely when I hit puberty I’d show up as I really was.  As a result, actually getting my period was a sort of epiphany moment for me.  A bad one, but one nonetheless; as it pretty much hit home that this was it, this was the body I was stuck with.

Early on, I just dealt with it much like anyone else, I suppose.  It was uncomfortable and it bothered me, but not much else.  As I got older, however, I became more and more resentful of it until it became more of a monthly slap in the face than anything else.  As a result, I think over the years, I formulated the belief that other people must surely be resentful of theirs as well, though not for the same reasons.  I’m not sure that this will change after mine stops, or whether I’m so set in my ways in that respect that it will be difficult if not impossible to do so.

Sincerely,
Monte

“A Monthly Slap in the Face” is a post from: Living Sexuality

As I wrap up the series today, I think it’s important to point out that these blog contributions were mainly from an American (and therefore relatively privileged) point of view. Millions of girls and women do not have the luxury of birth control pills, pads, or tampons. They use rags, bark or mud to collect their menstrual flow and miss many days of school and work each year.

Suzanah Raffield tells this story:

I met Neema in April on a scouting trip in Tanzania. I work with an amazingly agile south Alabama church that asked me to take them on an international journey. Once I met Neema, and the village where she ministers, I knew we had our destination.

I already knew that the overwhelming majority of women in the area lived on less than $1 per day and that sanitary napkins were a luxury item that most women could not afford. Neema told me that women in the village didn’t wear panties. Without panties, how would a standard 21st century sanitary napkin be of use to them? There was no garbage pick up in the village. Sustainability was key.

I returned home with a plan and the women of Elba got busy crafting re-usable sanitary napkins. We decided to call them Kidete Couture, which, in my opinion, is the hip name they deserve. 200 were made and enthusiastically transported to Tanzania by our group that visited this past summer.

The items were distributed one afternoon. Listening through an interpreter, we heard Neema explain the couture. The women’s applause needed no translation. I was overwhelmed by their gratitude.

Sitting with the women in the village, Neema told us that it is often the big issues groups attempt to tackle. She was thankful for large gifts, but she said, “Sometimes it is the little things that make a huge difference.” (emphasis mine)

Thomas Friedman (he of The World is Flat fame), in a New York Times piece from 2007, says:

For decades, the world has asked: How do we free Africa from its yoke of poverty, disease and misgovernance? In asking Kenyans that question, I’ve been struck at the simple, common-sense solutions they offer. Four in particular stand out: transparency, telephones, Tergat and Kotex.

And in an article for The Huffington Post called “When a Period Ends More Than a Sentence” authors Elizabeth Scharpf and Rachel Kauder Nalebuff note:

Despite the fact that half the world menstruates, most people overlook the serious repercussions of a lack of affordable sanitary supplies in developing countries. The reason? Most people don’t know that it is a problem.

In the US, sanitary pads first became widespread in 1921, tampons in 1936. As a result girls and women had the opportunity to fully participate in school, sports, and the workforce. These products equaled freedom.

But in developing countries, periods continue to be a serious handicap. According to UNICEF, ten percent of school-age African girls miss school because of a lack of access to affordable sanitary products. In Rwanda, it’s much worse. According to on-the-ground research by Sustainable Health Enterprises (SHE), half the girls are missing school due to menstruation and the main reason given is that sanitary pads are too expensive. For women, 24% miss work–up to 45 days per year–for the same reason. This not only limits girls’ educational and women’s professional achievement, but leads to a significant economic loss for nations.

There are also serious health repercussions of not having pads. In Asia, many women still use rags; less fortunate ones use newspapers, banana leaves, even sand or ash. While rags were common before the pad was invented, the problem in developing countries is that often women don’t have access to clean water to wash them. And the taboo of menstruation means that many women cannot hang their rags to dry in the open. So, instead, they hide them in dark, damp places where no one will find them. As one might imagine, infections are rampant.

The first step is to destigmatize menstruation. Bringing periods into the open won’t be easy. The taboo of menstruation is embedded in our religions, culture, and history. The Quran declares that menstruating women “are a hurt and a pollution.” Indian women are exiled from their own homes. Orthodox Jewish women are forbidden to have sex. French housewives can’t make mayonnaise. In ancient Rome, Pliny the Elder wrote that contact with menstrual blood “turns new wine sour, crops touched by it become barren, grafts die, …, the edge of steel and the gleam of ivory are dulled.” Today, Pliny seems ridiculous, but discrimination and ignorance remain.

Because every 28 days, a girl’s life should not have to stop

On the Rag, and Out of School is a post from: Living Sexuality

I got my period in my sister’s bed.

I don’t think I knew how to admit it, but I was terrified. Of everything. Growing up. Being responsible for my body’s changing. Myself changing. Being responsible in general. Keeping pads in my locker. How the hell to hide a tampon in your backpack? And spotting. Shit. Because that’s how it starts. With a spot. Usually a pretty big one in the belly of your underwear. Beet red and dry. Or fresh apple red if you’re lucky to catch it as it comes on. My mother was a big advocate of not wearing panties to bed. To give ourselves time to “air out.” Like leaving the car windows down in the driveway on a cool night. Like hanging the clothes on the line. So I didn’t catch my spot in my panties, but it happened in a swath of brick red across the back of my yellow and gray paint-splattered sleeping pants. In my sister’s bed. I found it in the morning. That was the first day of my yearlong cycle. Throughout the next two years of middle school, I only got my period two more times. I’m pretty sure I hated my period into oblivion.

I wished it to go away immediately. I wanted to cry. I hated standing up. Feeling the rush of blood fall out of me. Hated that gravity. It was too much of a confession, an admission, for me. I didn’t tell anyone. I buried those blighted pajama pants in the bottom of the trash with the heel of my shoe. They were every ugly thing about my body and what my body could spontaneously produce. The unpredictability I was damned to. The awful, true secret of bleeding for me was like the reality of finding out the mythical mentally retarded brother my family kept hidden in a room at home, that no one talked about, was actually real. Which is horrible to say, to imagine, to fear. But when you are young and fearful and ashamed you tend to think shameful things.

I was embarrassed. I was juvenile. Every hour, every minute of my period I was prompted by fist-clenching phobias and potential mortifications that I denied myself the adequate comforts of general feminine hygiene. I refused to change my pad or tampon anywhere but the privacy of my bathroom at home. Even though I was terrified of circulating urban legends about the girls who got TSS, I would knowingly wear my tampon for ten to twelve hours, hence my period anxiety snow-balling into near preteen hysteria, but my virginal reputation in tact. I felt trapped by something I could not articulate. I could not risk the chance that my period would be witnessed by another party and that I’d have to tell the truth about something I was trying desperately to keep to myself. Maybe I had a problem with honesty. Or maybe I was just completely unable to express this part of myself. Both made me feel guilty.

I was afraid everyone could see my pad at school. I was afraid it made me walk funny. So I tried to not walk funny, which probably made me walk funny. It may be a bit perverse to admit, but I looked at the inverted “V” in girl’s jeans to try to detect the puffy bulge of the maxi-pad. For some reason it was important to know who was bleeding and when. For ammunition, maybe. Middle school is rough. I needed my survival strategies. I was gullible and a reliable punching bag for the relentless teasing of my peers, and I had little visible guile and that was widely taken advantage of, so I relied on such humiliation tactics as calling girls out on “riding the cotton pony” as my avenging tactics. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it would hurt them as much as it would hurt me. Which is why I was so extremely thankful that my period did not come again the next month, or the next. I could defend myself honestly when accosted by the sword-slashing period-having insinuations. I could wear my white Esprits with confidence. Until I was called Jello-butt. Then I didn’t wear white pants anymore.

No one should wear white pants anyway.

Poor Trish Powers.* She hated her period too. And everyone witnessed it. Out on the playground in fifth grade a spackling of rust colored spots developed on her white linen culottes while she was sitting down watching the boys play basketball. When the recess bell rang, we could all see that it wasn’t dirt, although that was her excuse. “I was sitting on a log!!!” Oh boy. Did. She. Scream. The way people scream when they are bereft of excuses and have only the volume of a voice to intensify a defense. The tinge of red inarguably came from a formidable, hatred place. Why else would she have to go home for the rest of the afternoon? I don’t think there is such a thing as a surprise orthodontist appointment, although I have often wished for them.

I don’t remember ever specifically calling any girl out for “riding the pony,” but the point is I thought about it. I thought about it venomously. And maybe I was the girl who pointed out Trish’s speckles to the prepubescent congregation alongside the school wall. I think I secretly hated her. No, no. I know. It was myself I hated, but she was an easy target. She dressed too old for her age. Wore adult jewelry. She wouldn’t pop the sweaty whiteheads the dotted her flat forehead. Her mom smoked and her clothes smelled like the couch in her living room. She wasn’t a poor kid, a weirdo home-schooler or Christian kid, but the cool girls ridiculed her all the time. Girls are bastards. I feared them, and had to learn how to be feared to gain respect. It wasn’t a game, but I needed to make sense of my desperate need to belong. But that’s not my point. My point is that the period was something easy to ridicule. Ridicule others for. Ridicule ourselves. My best friend, Ana Beth King,** once wore a pad smeared with lipstick as a bowtie to a school dance. She had more confidence than many girls our age, and she began the rebellions against her body with comical protests that I had neither the courage nor the imagination to muster. At summer camp I was shown how to humiliate the tampon itself. Girls would steal tampons out of other girls’ suitcases, color the tips with lipstick, dip them in water so they’d expand into soft, cotton wings, and hang them from the cabin eaves like bloody, white bats. Or they’d whip bloated tampons around like helicopter blades and fling them into other girl’s faces, or the fire, or the trees.

Feminine protection was not something to take seriously, and it was important to show other girls, and most importantly the boys, that we did not suffer protecting ourselves or protecting our bodies genuinely. Maybe that’s taking it too far. But the evidence is there simply in the marketing of feminine hygiene products. How much money has been spent by marketing agencies trying to develop new ways of disguising the smell of our bodies with awful baby powder perfumes. And they package the products in pastel colors, to be easy on the eyes, I suppose. And they are always trying to make each individual item as small as possible so as not to reveal its foreseeable and grotesque future. There has never been any pride in toting a bagful of saddle-sized pads. Gross.

I was so proud of not having my period every month and not having to face the shame the rest of my female classmates had to face every month. I started experimenting with boys at an early age, and not bleeding like the other girls was a major selling point. Until high school and sex. Or should I say high school and the fear of pregnancy. And college and the fear of pregnancy. And my twenties and the fear of pregnancy. It has actually taken me twenty years of bleeding to begin to take my body and its reproduction possibilities seriously and to shirk the shame becoming a woman brought me. From unprotected sex to over-dosing on over the counter birth control, I have been trying to rid my body of this act of bleeding, and I have lived in denial of my body’s thoughtless purpose. Thoughtless in that my body does not care how I feel about the fact that it bleeds. Its bleeding or not bleeding is its only way to communicate to me what is happening inside my body, and that is a respectable communication. True, how we feel has a large impact on how our bodies work, and sure it is possible that the depression I experienced in my formative years put direct stress on my reproduction system. But God, the years I have spent not listening, refusing to listen, denying what I hear. I am lucky I am as healthy as I am. I wish I would have listened earlier. Maybe I would have been happier if my body was working properly. Maybe that is what my body was trying to tell me.

*  Name change for obvious reasons.
** No need for name change.

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Stacy Feder is my sister, and I am better for it. She lives, works and writes in Portland OR –  which is great because it’s a favorite place to visit, but also bad because it’s just so darn far away.

Guest Post: No One Should Wear White Pants Anyway is a post from: Living Sexuality

Now, I just need a reason to go to Toronto so I can stop and see them and their store! It sounds so nurturing — I think more cities need to have a sacred space like this for women to gather, share, and grow.

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Q. Let’s start with the name, are you really sisters? And how did your work together develop?

Yep – we’re flesh and blood sisters nearly six years apart in age. Our work together developed because I had breastfeeding problems after being put back on hormonal contraceptives when my daughter was a few months old. I put two and two together and figured out that the progesterone in the pill I was taking was causing my milk to come out too quickly and my daughter was choking on the milk. My sister passed on information about the Justisse Method of Fertility Management that she had picked up at a women’s studies conference out west. I started using fertility awareness and got hooked. I enrolled in a private training program through Justisse to become a fertility awareness instructor myself. My sister graduated from women’s studies and was trying to figure out what to do next. She was inspired by the store Venus Envy in Halifax and had a strong background in retail. I wanted to get my practice going teaching women about their menstrual cycles. We birthed the idea for this store (based on Anita Diamant’s novel, The Red Tent) in the fall of 2006. By August 2007 we had opened our doors!

Q. Your website says that you are a “pro-woman, pro-sex Toronto boutique and wellness centre”– can you tell me what you mean by “pro-woman” and “pro-sex”?

By “pro-woman” we mean that we stock toys designed for women’s pleasure, that are safe for use (we only stock phthalate-free toys, paraben-free lubricants, etc.), and erotica that is written or produced with women’s pleasure and dignity in mind. Women often report that our store doesn’t have the shameful, sleezy feel of many other stores that stock adult toys and that they feel good knowing we have chosen products that take into consideration the health, ethical and environmental concerns of women. The same goes for our menstrual products, which focus on supporting organic, reusable, and woman-owned businesses. Our store is really about embracing our womanhood and not letting society commodify our bodies or make them shameful. By “pro-sex” we mean that we feel sexual freedom is essential to women’s freedom. We believe in a woman’s right to pleasure, desire, and to safe and effective contraceptive choices.

Q. You work with women to help them improve the relationship they have with their bodies. What do find are the biggest issues women have about their bodies, especially as it relates to menstruation?

Women are taught from a young age to be ashamed of their menstruating bodies and distrustful of their reproductive capacity. As a result, products like the Diva Cup or reusable menstrual pads often elicit a negative reaction because women are not taught to be comfortable touching, seeing or washing their own menses. We hope to change this by getting young women off to a good start – honouring menstruation as a rite of passage, talking about the importance of honouring our bodies and the earth through our choices. We once had a father come in and buy organic reusable pads for his young daughter. He said he wanted to get her “off on the right foot” with regards to her body and the environment. We hope to start seeing more and more of that.

Q. Has anything surprised you about your journey to birth Red Tent Sisters?

Lots of things. Mostly we have been overwhelmed by how much positive support and validation we have had for the concept of this business and how desperately it is needed.

Q. Toronto seems like a progressive city. What has the reaction to your centre been like? Have you had opposition to your cause?

Very little opposition. Occasionally we hear snide comments on the street from passersby. But for the most part we have been really supported by our community, by Toronto at large, by the media and by bloggers. We have been featured in the Toronto Star twice without us doing anything to elicit the spotlight. I think that says a lot, not just about how unique our store is, but about the fact people need and want information about these topics.

Q. I see you offer an array of classes. Which is your most popular? Which is your favorite to teach?

Probably the Fertility Yoga class, the Rock His World workshop, our Baby Sign Language classes and my Natural Contraception workshop are our most popular. I love teaching the Natural Contraception workshop. It is a really good feeling to support women to come off of hormonal contraception and offer them a reliable alternative, especially in the face of the medical community who rarely validate women’s concerns about the health effects and side effects of these drugs.

Q. What is it about Red Tent Sisters that makes you unique? What kind of experience can women expect to have there?

What makes us unique is that we are about supporting the reproductive and sexual health of women across the life spectrum. While there are other pro-woman, pro-sex stores, they rarely address the other facets of womanhood at the same time. Whether you are a young girl getting your first reusable cloth panty liner, a mother purchasing a pool for a natural birth, or a post-menopausal woman buying your first sex toy, you can expect to be made to feel comfortable and honoured in our space. We love talking to women and are passionate about our work, and I think it shows.

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Red Tent Sisters is an independent, pro-woman, pro-sex Toronto boutique and wellness centre run by two sisters – Amy and Kim – passionate about women’s sexual and reproductive health.

Q&A with Red Tent Sisters is a post from: Living Sexuality

Living in India made me understand that a white minority of the world has spent centuries conning us into thinking a white skin makes people superior, even though the only thing it really does is make them more subject to ultraviolet rays and wrinkles.

Reading Freud made me just as skeptical about penis envy. The power of giving birth makes “womb envy” more logical and an organ as external and unprotected as the penis makes men very vulnerable indeed.

But listening recently to a woman describe the unexpected arrival of her menstrual period (a red stain had spread on her dress as she argued heatedly on the public stage) still made me cringe with embarrassment. That is, until she explained that, when finally informed in whispers of the obvious event, she had said to the all-male audience, “and you should be proud to have a menstruating woman on your stage. It’s probably the first real thing that has happened to this group in years!”

Laughter. Relief. She had turned a negative into a positive. Somehow her story merged with India and Freud to make me finally understand the power of positive thinking. Whatever a “superior” group has will be used to justify its superiority, and whatever an “inferior” group has will be used to justify its plight. Black men were given poorly paid jobs because they were said to be “stronger” than white men, while all the women were relegated to poorly paid jobs because they were said to be “weaker”. As the little boy said when he asked if he wanted to be a lawyer like his mother, “Oh no, that’s women’s work.” Logic has nothing to do with oppression.

So what would happen if suddenly, magically, men could menstruate and women could not?

Clearly, menstruation would become an enviable, boast-worthy, masculine event:

Men would brag about how long and how much. Young boys would talk about it as the envied beginning of manhood. Gifts, religious ceremonies, family dinners, and stag parties would mark the day.

To prevent monthly work loss among the powerful, Congress would fund a National Institute of Dysmenorrhea. Doctors would research little about heart attacks, from which men were hormonally protected, but everything about cramps. Sanity supplies would be federally funded and free. Of course, some men would still pay for the prestige of such commercial brands as Paul Newman Tampons, Muhammad Ali Rope-a-Dope Pads, John Wayne Maxi Pads, and Joe Namath Jock Shields – “For Those Light Bachelor Days.”

Statistical surveys would show that men did better at sports and won more Olympic medals during their periods.

Generals, right-wing politicians, and religious fundamentalists would cite menstruation (“men-struation”) as proof that only men could serve God and country in combat (“You have to give blood to take blood”), occupy high political office (“Can women be properly fierce without a monthly cycle governed by the planet Mars?”), be priests, ministers, God Himself (“He gave this blood for our sins”), or rabbis (“Without a monthly purge of impurities, women are unclean”).

Male liberals or radicals, however, would insist that women are equal, just different: and that way a woman could join their ranks if only she were willing to recognise the primacy of menstrual rights (“Everything else is a single issue”) or self-inflict a major wound every month (“You must give blood for the revolution”).

Street guys would invent slang (“He’s a three-pad man”) and “give fives” on the corner with some exchange like, “Man, you lookin’ good!” “Yeah, man, I’m on the rag!”

TV shows would treat the subject openly. (Happy Days: Richie and Potsie try to convince Fonzie that he is still “The Fonz” though he has missed two periods in a row. Hill Street Blues: The whole precinct hits the same cycle.) So would newspapers. (SUMMER SHARK SCARE THREATENS MENSTRUATING MEN. JUDGE SITES MONTHLIES IN PARDONING RAPIST.) And so would movies. (Newman and Redford in Blood Brothers!)

Men would convince women that sex was more pleasurable at “that time of the month.” Lesbians would be said to fear blood and therefore life itself, though all they needed was a good menstruating man.

Medical schools would limit women’s entry (“they might faint at the sight of blood”).

Of course, intellectuals would offer the most moral and logical arguments. Without that biological gift for measuring the cycles of the moon and planets, how could a woman master any discipline that demanded a sense of time, space, mathematics – or the ability to measure anything at all? In philosophy and religion, how could women compensate for missing the rhythm of the universe? Or for their lack of symbolic death and resurrection every month?

Liberal males in every field would try to be kind. The fact that “these people” have no gift for measuring life, the liberals would explain, should be punishment enough.

And how would women be trained to react? One can imagine right-wing women agreeing to all these arguments with a staunch and smiling masochism. (Phyllis Shlafley: “The ERA would force housewives to wound themselves every month.” Marabel Morgan: “Your husband’s blood is as sacred as that of Jesus – and so sexy too!”)

Reformers and Queen Bees would adjust their lives to the cycles of the men around them. Feminists would explain endlessly that men, too, needed to be liberated from the false idea of Martian aggressiveness, just as women needed to escape the bonds of menses-envy. Radical feminists would add that the oppression of the non-menstrual was the pattern for all other oppressions. (“Vampires were our first freedom fighters!”) Cultural feminists would exalt a female bloodless imagery in art and literature. Socialist feminists would insist that once capitalism and imperialism were overthrown, women could menstruate, too. (“If women aren’t yet menstruating in Russia,” they would explain, “it’s only because true socialism can’t exist within capitalist encirclement.”)

In short, we would discover, as we should already guess, that logic is in the eye of the logician. (For instance, here’s an idea for theorists and logicians: If women are supposed to be less rational and more emotional at the beginning of our menstrual cycle when the female hormone is at its lowest level, then why isn’t it logical to say, that in those few days, women behave the most like the way men behave all month long? I leave further improvisation up to you.)

The truth is that, if men could menstruate, the power justifications would go on and on.

If we let them.

If Men Could Menstruate is a post from: Living Sexuality

I can imagine that of all the products stars are asked to endorse – shoes, watches, cars – tampons are not high on the list of enviable deals. So I am impressed that Serena has aligned herself with Tampax, especially considering that in 1995 the Women’s Tennis Association turned down a $10 Million offer by Tampax because of fears of becoming a laughing stock.

I think this story is hopeful, and it’s not because I think athletes should be getting paid millions of dollars to pose next to shoes, watches, cars, or tampons. But I do think that we may be moving away from the notion that our periods are something to be embarrassed about.

Considering half of the world’s population experiences menstruation on a monthly basis for half of their lifetimes, why is it still awkward to talk about?

Good on you, Serena! You can “set” an example that will “serve” us all well.
(sorry, you can groan now…)

What do you think?

Serena Slams Mother Nature is a post from: Living Sexuality

It makes sense that putting chemicals so close to our bodies is bound to have detrimental consequences, especially for women who have sensitive skin. But before I could convincingly suggest it to my clients, I wanted to make the switch to reusable organic cotton pads myself. I know the idea of ‘re-using’ pads can seem off-putting, so I thought I should try it first, and I wanted to make sure the quality and design were going to appeal to women.

I bought a ‘starter pack’ from a seller on Etsy, which included a panty liner, a regular flow pad, a heavy flow pad, and an overnight pad. I have been really pleased with how comfortable and well-made the pads are. And it’s fun to pick out cute and colorful fabrics!

The ones pictured here are by tamarack.

If you think that pads or tampons may be irritating your skin, or if you want to save money and reduce waste, then I invite you to consider trying out cloth pads. You may even find that you really prefer them.

Anyone have other sources of where to get good chemical-free menstrual products?

Aunt Flo’s Craft Show is a post from: Living Sexuality

I’m not a doctor, sexologist, or therapist – but I am a mom with a good head on her shoulders and a little bit of experience under my belt, so here are some tips from the trenches.

1. Read Up: My children have been reading The Care and Keeping of You for a couple of years now. From skin care to how to use a tampon, this book from American Girl covers all the puberty basics in a practical, well-illustrated manner. Older girls might like Body Drama, which is definitely geared at teens (not tweens) and opts for photos of real, live bodies over cartoon sketches.
2. Demonstrate. Nothing helps calm “but what if it leaks” fears like a little science experiment. Around age 8 or 9 I showed my girls how to unwrap a pad and tampon, and how easily they could absorb a few tablespoons of water. Then we filled a glass up part-way to see just how much the various kinds of liners, pads and tampons could hold. Knowledge is power. (And peace of mind.)
3. Create a Comfort Kit. In a non-transparent toiletry bag pack: a liner/pad/tampon, a change of underwear, and one dose of ibuprofen (at your discretion—and make sure your child’s school doesn’t have a no-meds policy). Also handy: a safety pin for a busted bra strap or zipper, breath mints or a tooth brush, and a tube of concealer. (Oh the things that horrify us in Jr. High!) Pop this kit into your daughter’s backpack for some peace of mind.
4. Back Up Plan. Show your daughter how to make an emergency pad by wrapping toilet paper around her underwear. (There’s even a photo of this in Body Drama.) It’s also helpful to brainstorm who you might ask for help (a teacher, a friend’s mom, a friend’s big sister, etc.) And don’t forget to demonstrate the old “sweater tied around the waist” trick, just in case.
5. Know the Lingo. I know it’s important to teach your children the actual biological terms for things, and we’ve been using the real words since our kids could talk. (Nothing makes for a nice a dinner with the conservative in-laws like a three-year-old using the word “vagina” – but I digress…) As much as real-terms are important, it does lighten the mood a little if you sprinkle in a few funny terms. Teaching your kids “menstrual cycle” and “Aunt Flo” keeps things from being too squeamishly serious, and preps your kids for the playground terminology they are bound to run into.
6. Become a Spin Doctor. Most of the news out there about your period is not good. It’s messy, it hurts, and it opens up the door to pregnancy. (Scary!) At least try to put a good spin on it. I explained to my daughters that yes, it’s kind of a pain, but your period is also a sign of your body’s power. I mean, boys can’t make a whole person! True, this kind of moon-cycle power talk only garnered me an eye-roll, but at least it’s knocking around inside their brains and may become a helpful guide as they get older. Also, in the midst of the “No fair! Boys don’t have to deal with this!” rant, I did introduce the embarrassing concept of unwanted erections in the middle of math class. It didn’t exactly level the playing field, but it did seem to make things a little more even.
7. Check Your Baggage. True, your mother might not have handled these things well. (Mine got mad at me when I miscalculated dates and ruined my favorite white Gap saddleback jeans.) But you are not your mother. This doesn’t have to be isolating or lonely for your daughter. You are there for her. You’ll figure it out together. Let her know you are her patient partner in this learning curve.
8. Remember the Range. One of the hardest things about first periods is you never know when they are going to happen. (About six months after the breasts are mostly developed, seems to be the general rule of thumb.) It’s no fun to be the first one in your class to get your period, and it’s no fun to be the last. Girls who get their periods “early” may not feel ready for the responsibility. Girls who are anxiously waiting their turn may feel stuck in “little girl” status. Try to be compassionate, and explain the age-range thing…again.
9. Respect Her Wishes. You may want to erect a red tent and give your daughter a maiden party, but she may prefer some privacy. Prior to the big event, talk about what she would like to do to mark this event in her life. Some girls may want a low-key week with some extra time to rest, read, and curl up with Mom. While others may be game for the big sister-clan ritual. Most will NOT want Dad to know…so Mom, don’t blow it by letting the cat out of the bag. Ask your daughter if she wants you to talk to Dad, sister, etc.; if she wants to do it herself; or if she’d rather just keep it private.
10. Strategize. Once the first period gets here, there are a lot of little details to figure out. Here are some things to help strategize: How to get your pad from a purse to pocket without the whole class seeing. What to do if there isn’t a little disposal trash can in the bathroom stalls at school. How to rinse out stains on panties and where to hang them so your brother doesn’t bug you. How to keep track of your cycle on a calendar. What to do if you can’t quite manage a tampon, but you still have swimming lessons. (We’re still working on that one.)

What is your advice for first period prep and management? What do you wish you had known? What’s the best technique you employed with your daughters? Do tell in the comments below.

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Rachelle Mee-Chapman is a soulcare specialist, writer, and mother(ish) to several. Based in Seattle, she’s now living the expat life in Copenhagen, Denmark. You can find her at Magpie Girl, friend her at Facebook, or follow her on Twitter.

Guest Post: Magpie Girl’s Guide to First Period Prep is a post from: Living Sexuality