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I was at my first high school dance. I felt the trickle and raced to the bathroom. I screamed several times in that stall, but nobody seemed to think there was anything wrong or they just ignored me. Eventually, I texted my friend who brought me a tampon.
I figured out how to get it in and went back to the dance. Then, the boy I had a crush on asked me to dance. He kissed me. So yes, I had my first period, first kiss, and first slow dance all in the same day!
I was in Italy, living with my aunt when I got it. We had just had discussions about my growing body at the dinner table that night. I was mortified. Then she bought me female condoms because, "you have a boyfriend, and one thing could lead to another..." She also insisted on me using pads. I hated her for making it so awkward.
I was so happy when I moved to France to live with my older sister. She let me use tampons, unlike my aunt. And we discussed my growing body in private, NOT at the dinner table.
I was sitting in my 6th grade class feeling like death was crawling up my back. Sweat rested above my lip, my heart beat danced across my chest and cramps festered in my belly. Did I eat something bad for lunch? There was this looming urge to vomit but an unsettling fatigue wouldn’t allow me to stand up.
Nearing the end of the class I carried my failing body to the bathroom where I was met with what felt like the biggest tragedy my 12 year old consciousness had ever witnessed. It was my period! What I thought would look like a red dot was more like a small valley of berries, black berries that is. I was mortified to the point that I started to vomit uncontrollably.
Afterward, I sat staring at my new body for nearly 20 minutes without a soul coming to check on me. I knew I had to get back to class because no one was coming to rescue me. So I pulled up my integrity along with my soiled underwear stuffed with a cloud of toilet tissue and headed back to learning.
All of the lessons that I had been taught, none of them prepared me for this phase of growing up. From that day on I was never the same. It took me 18 years to be diagnosed with endometriosis and adenomyosis. Last year at the age of 31, I had a hysterectomy.
