Sian C • Hull, England • 27
I remember the day I started my period as clear as day – it’s not a day that’s easy to forget. It was a Tuesday in May 2004 and I was 12 years old. That day, I had a very mild headache and stomach ache, but being the kind of kid that would jump at any chance to take the day off school I decided to play it up to my Mum and she sent to my Nana’s for the day. During a particularly dramatic, toothless episode of Jeremy Kyle that morning, my Auntie turned up to go food shopping with my Nana. I decided to skip the shopping, absorbed in the drama unfolding on the TV. Whilst they were out, I popped to the loo and…
Oh my god. I was dying. Blood. Blood everywhere. Through my knickers. Through my trackies.
When I finally pulled myself back together and realised that I wasn’t dying, I had just started my period. I quickly stuffed my knickers with tissue, cleaned up the crime scene. And thought back to my Nana’s cream leather sofa that I had been sat on. Shit.
Blood everywhere. How had I been so oblivious!? Weren’t periods supposed to hurt? Surely I would feel this amount of blood leaving my body!?
Once the area was clean, and I’d calmed down a little, I decided to sit cross legged on the floor with one foot underneath my bum. Strategically placed to soak up any blood that wanted to make an appearance. Lovely.
When my Nana and Auntie arrived back home, I didn’t say a word about it or move a muscle until my Dad picked me up at 4pm – a whole 6 hours later. They must have thought I was a nutter, sitting on the floor all day. In the car on the way home, I sat at a very unnatural angle trying to make sure none of my blood soaked clothes (they were black so it didn’t really show up unless you looked closely) touched the seats.
Instead of telling my Mum as I walked through the door, I ran upstair,s got changed and cleaned myself up as best I could. After spending a few minutes plucking up the courage to go back downstairs, I finally presented my Mum with my bloody sock. I told her that I think my sock needs washing, and she had an immediate panic about what injuries my poor foot could have. After looking at my feet and seeing no blood or injuries, she asked me what happened and I told her I had been sitting on it.
The look of confusion lasted only a few seconds. As realisation set in, she gave me a smile and told me to follow her. She showed me everything I would need, and how to use them. My Mum was honestly brilliant. Luckily, she had previously told me about periods and I had learned enough from school to not need any further explaining. But she made sure I knew I could talk to her about them, openly and honestly. Always asking me questions throughout my first bleed, and checking in on how I was and supplying me with endless amounts of chocolate. It made me question why on earth I didn’t just tell my Nana that day and ring my Mum straight away.
But then, for a whole day afterwards my sister flat out refused to look at me. She’s not a fan of change, and thought I would be completely different now I was a ‘becoming a young woman’. When my Dad found out, he briefly said “So you’re a young woman now then”, did a short awkward laugh and then walked away.
Then I remembered why I hadn’t said anything straight away.
Not that I’m criticising my sister or Dad’s reaction – my sister was 11 at the time and still learning about periods and my Dad was… well my Dad. Who likes discussing bloody vaginas with their Dad? I bet you cringed there, didn’t you? My sister and I became very comfortable talking about our periods with each other, our mum and even our friends, never viewing them as a shameful thing. In fact, oftentimes it would become an unspoken competition between us about who could reveal the most ‘gross’ information about their current period. We held nothing back.
Which is how it should be. Periods should be spoken about, and people should feel comfortable talking about them.
