Mary R. • Alabama • 26
I was thirteen. Monday morning, P.E. Class. I went to the locker room bathroom and there it was. I thought I was dying. I told my friend in the stall beside me. She offered me a pad, but I didn’t take it. I was overwhelmed with emotion and panicked. I needed to leave. I checked out of school. My mom stayed at home at the time and I lived right behind the school, but she was out running an errand so I had to wait for what felt like years to get through to someone. She didn’t have her cell phone with her so I couldn’t get in touch with her (go figure). My grandfather, a crass WW2 veteran, had to pick me up. I made up some story to him about having a stomach ache. When I got home, my mom arrived at the same time. I went into the house and couldn’t hold it in any longer. I started to cry. I told her what happened. She hugged me, told me it was okay, and that I could do anything I wanted that day.
At the time, I was obsessed with Hilary Duff. After locking myself in my room and crying for a long time, I went into the living room and asked my mom, “Does Hilary Duff have a period?” She kindly told me, “Yes, baby. Even Hilary Duff has a period. It’ll be okay.”
For whatever reason, at that very moment I was okay. I realized that a period was not something to be ashamed of. Every woman has it. Until we realize that, we cannot truly embrace it for what it is.
Now, I love my period. Almost as much as my thirteen year old self loved Hilary Duff.
