Morgan W • Pennsylvania • 31
My parents separated for four years, starting when I was eight. At 11, I was at my dad’s house as it was his weekend. My mom would meet my dad at a CVS parking lot every other Friday afternoon to hand off my siblings and me. It was a halfway point.
On Saturday morning when I went to the bathroom, I noticed a brown discharge. I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored it. I certainly wasn’t going to talk to my dad about it.
The next day, returning to my mom’s house, it was definitely more of a red color when I went to the bathroom. I asked my mom for help and she got so excited, and insisted on following the Jewish ritual of slapping me, or in her case, giving me a gentle tap on the face. She treated it as rite of passage, but I just felt really unprepared. None of my friends had gotten theirs yet and the pads felt like diapers.
