There’s an almost innate shame that girls are made to feel when they have their periods. I’d like to be able to say that things are better now than they were when I was a kid, but I’m not sure they are. Having been a high school teacher for sixteen years, most days I’d get girls whispering to me, embarrassed that they needed to pop to the toilet, because they’d come on. And if other students heard them (sometimes girls as well as boys) there’d be whispering behind hands and giggling. It’s rubbish.
So, we get older, continue to endure the PMS, PPID, cramps, leaks… all of it for around forty years or so, then menopause hits. Thank goodness for that, right? Shame over! Oh. No. That’s worse, apparently. Now you can be accused of being “dried up” and any of the other delightful terms that fly about for women over child–bearing age. Ah the joys.
I popped into the supermarket the other day to pick up some tampons for my daughter. Not that long ago I’d have buried them under cereal and bananas… or anything else to ensure no one saw evidence that I had healthy functioning reproductive organs. How embarrassing! On this occasion, however, as a woman of a certain age, I took great pride in flashing the box around and had to restrain myself from shouting things like, “That’s right! I’m here for the Tampax! I need tampons! Heavy flow if you’ve got ’em! It’s all going on down there!”