Czytaj książkę: «Period»

‘Women have been trained to speak softly and carry a lipstick. Those days are over.’

Bella Abzug better known as ‘Battling Bella’, lawyer, activist and a leader of the US Women’s Movement

I loathe my period. Really, I do. I cannot wait for the day it buggers off. For good. But shall I tell you what I loathe even more? Not being able to talk about it. Freely, funnily and honestly. Without women and men wrinkling their noses in disgust as if I’d just pulled my tampon out, swung it in their face and offered it as an hors d’oeuvre.

Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful to my period too. A functioning menstrual cycle is, after all, one half of the reason we are all here in the first place and able to procreate, should we wish to. I may loathe the physical experience of my period but that doesn’t mean I can’t and won’t fight for the right to converse about it without fear of embarrassed sniggers.

Periods really do lay serious claim to the label ‘final taboo’. But why, in the twenty-first century, are they still seen as disgusting and something a woman should endure peacefully, without fuss? This is despite most other ‘off-limits topics’ losing their stigmas and coming into the light, helpfully driven by Generation Overshare. But the sight or sound of blood in pants? Don’t be daft.

Most women don’t even want to talk about them with each other – because there is a deeply rooted idea they are a silent cross to bear, are vile and don’t merit anything more than a passing mention.

From their very first bleed, this occurrence in women’s pants has been treated by most people around them (female and male) as something to be quietly experienced and hidden away. Periods still have a whiff of Victorian England about them; a stiff upper lip is expected when it comes to what’s really going on down below. And women have become so adroit at sparing men’s blushes and shaming each other that they have either wittingly or unwittingly denied themselves the chance to talk about their periods, becoming weirdly active participants in the great global hush-up.

Yet, through my journalism and extremely painful personal experience over the last five years, it slowly started to dawn on me that, although on the surface there is a reticence to discuss periods, there’s actually a shy hunger to do so underneath, which, when prodded, gives way to some of the most extraordinary tales.

Periods have literally followed me around my whole life. I found myself to be one of the few schoolgirls happy to chat about the red stuff – a taboo I continued to enjoy breaking as I headed into adulthood – much to the chagrin and bemusement of those around me. Little did I know I would become the first person in the UK to announce they were menstruating on live television news; that my undiagnosed period condition – endometriosis – would nearly cost me my chance at motherhood; and that I would be secretly shooting up hormones ahead of one of the biggest political interviews of my career. I hope that on these pages I can bring these narratives together, make some sense of them, and crucially offer some hope, solace and wisdom to women about their periods – served up with a healthy dollop of humour and honesty.

The silence and public attitudes towards periods hold women back – often without us realising it.

Unlike pregnancy and childbirth, periods, the only other bodily process reserved exclusively for women, present no ostensible upside for the male species. Men get nada out of our periods (except, you know, the future of mankind secured).

Plus, if we can’t bring ourselves to think our periods merit anything more than a passing lame joke or occasional grumble, it doesn’t require a huge leap of imagination to figure out how many men feel about them, if they consider them at all. Horrified. Appalled. Almost insulted. Even the most enlightened man would probably prefer for women to deal with them without breathing a word. And can you blame them? Most of us do everything we can to hide the horror in our knickers, even struggling to talk about periods amongst ourselves.

Men are never going to be the ones leading the charge to stop periods being treated as gross, difficult events. It’s down to us women to proudly step out of the shadows and not give two hoots about what men think. It’s not going to be easy, and women have to get used to not being everyone’s cup of tea. We must ignore the men – and women – who would rather we stayed quiet and ‘ladylike’ about our periods.

Women censoring themselves from talking about their periods is the final hangover from a time which demanded that we should be seen and not heard; always happy and never complaining; pure and never sullied. It’s ludicrous that women remain slightly horrified by something so natural. These women are actively impeding their own ascent to equality with men, for whom nothing is off limits. Yes, women living in Western countries have equality enshrined in the law and yet, we still aren’t fully equal. No longer are we confined to a special biblical red tent; we’re in your boardrooms, your armoured tanks and we’re even running a few countries. But we still aren’t equal to men in terms of power, public office and, most damagingly, the way we are perceived.

By allowing periods to remain a taboo, women are imprisoning themselves. Even more worryingly, it’s contagious. Girls (and boys) already suffer with low self-esteem and that’s only getting worse in the social media era. When it comes to simple bodily functions, the least we can do is remove a stigma that has damaging consequences on half of the world’s population. Many women already judge themselves to be less than men or suffer with imposter syndrome. If we then conceal something that happens one week of every month (often longer) we are unconsciously turning our periods into a form of disability, as well as failing to confront negative myths and damaging how we view ourselves.

The bogus presumptions about menstruating women are tragically still not confined to the history books – namely that we are weak, dirty, unhinged, less than and just different. At the heart of this lingering stigma is the idea that we are unequal to our male counterparts. Women then ingest these views and appropriate them as our own, inflicting wounds on ourselves and other women around us. And by keeping periods unmentionable, women become unwitting accomplices in perpetuating these myths.

No more I tell thee, dear reader.

Period shame has been stubbornly hanging around since the beginning of womankind and it’s about bloody time for change.

Because if there’s one thing we do know, it’s that a period waits for no woman, so let’s finally allow the period pride to flow.

To be clear, I am not saying women feeling better and bolder about their periods is a secret key to unlocking the door to full equality – if only. It won’t stop at least two women a week dying at the hands of a man in the UK, or suddenly catapult a woman into the White House (as the incumbent, and not the wife who picks out new china and curtains). I’m not naive; nor do I wish to overplay one element of our lives.

But the way periods stubbornly remain taboo, along with all other things we hide with shame and fear, is highly symptomatic of how women have been indoctrinated to believe that a perfectly natural bodily function is totally abnormal. It is this attitude, which too many women, men, religious figures and tampon companies propagate, that ensures we remain ashamed of one of the fundamental signs of womanhood at all ages and stages of life.

Women fear being seen as weak in the workplace, so say nothing about menstruation and any issues they might be having, tacitly reinforcing a view that we are less capable during our time of the month.

Schoolgirls in Britain are missing out on their education because their families cannot afford to buy tampons or pads. Period shame stops them asking for help or admitting why they are skipping school. The same is true of fully grown women who can’t afford pads. They stay in their homes, imprisoned by the fear of someone noticing they are unwillingly leaking through their makeshift sanitary pad (sometimes it’s a sock, other times, loo roll). Nobody knows so nobody helps. A totally unnecessary cycle of period poverty remains unbroken and wreaks havoc. In the UK, the world’s fifth largest economy. Right now.

If we don’t start talking openly about these issues, these perceptions will go unchallenged for yet another generation. Periods should be as natural and as unremarkable as waking up with a headache or needing to pee. And until they are, women and girls will remain relegated – different and unequal within our very selves.

Simply put, periods shouldn’t be seen as a source of shame. Instead a period should be seen as a sign of health, potential fecundity, strength and general bad-assery.

Don’t be revolted, lead the revolt – preferably with a grin on your face and a tampon tucked proudly behind your ear.

There’s nothing else for it. You didn’t realise it and neither did I until recently – but we need a period crusade. For our health, our happiness, and because this bizarre taboo is holding women back.

This book, and the stories within it, is for all women, and not just for the minority who are already comfortable shouting about every part of their existence. But it’s also for men who want to understand what’s really going on in the lives of the women and girls they care about.

My aim is to normalise every aspect of periods, to mention the unmentionable and help you notice things you’ve never considered before. And crucially, to make you laugh along the way. Women, it turns out, can be extremely funny about blood. Periods can be a subject worthy of mirth. Who’d have thought it?

I spotted my personal favourite comment on menstruation upon an e-card, which read: ‘Why periods? Why can’t Mother Nature just text me and be like, “Whaddup, girl? You ain’t pregnant. Have a great week. Talk to ya next month.”’

Ultimately, I’d love to instil within you, my wise, merry readers, a sense of period pride, perspective and some flipping normalcy around menstruation. Because unless we change the way we talk about periods, this silence and shame is here to stay.

So, as my Eastern European pal used to sardonically say each month: the Red Army has arrived.

But the big question is: are you with me?