Six

On Thursday I had the opportunity to contribute to a book panel at the beautiful Manhattan children's bookstore, Books of Wonder, in order to promote THE WORLD DIVIDED BY PIPER (which releases officially today!)

I've long joked that if a middle grade contemporary author is given enough chances to publish, she'll eventually write her "period manifesto," and, although this book is also about a lot of other things, this is mine. I was inspired to write it because, years ago, I read a piece about a girl who had been put on puberty blockers to delay precocious puberty and who, together with her mother, was deciding when to stop them. The idea of agency at the beginning of puberty intrigued me.

But, TBH, I also wrote it because I’ve had a lifelong complicated relationship with my own period.

At the event on Thursday, I read a passage out loud in which our protagonist, Piper, is stumblingly advocating for her friend who needs some accomodations because she had just gotten her first period.

Also on Thursday, I had just gotten my own (approximately) 398th period. In honor of Piper, a math whiz, I've done some calculations. Thursday would have marked about my 795th day of debilitating cramps, and my 137th hormonal migraine–complete with brain fog, dizziness, and double vision.

So…I did what I always do: ignored it. Pretended nothing was wrong. Through the brain fog, I attempted to follow the other author's readings and the conversation that followed. Despite cramps, I fought to stay upright in my seat. With double vision, I read aloud to a room full of friends and strangers. But then I read this line: "If periods are natural and normal, like Mom keeps saying, why are they impossible to talk about, even when you really need to?"

The irony of my behavior finally hit me. Jeez! I'd be an awful role model for my characters. How could I write a book about period stigma and still treating my own life-interrupting period like it's a gross thing, best ignored?

Somehow, I hadn't realized before that, as a person adjacent to a middle life crisis, I've actually been feeling more period stigma recently. I was an early menstruator and so I rarely discussed my period with friends for the first few years, despite the fact that my own cycle was life-interrupting pretty much right away. (For example, I was in fifth grade when I fainted in the bathroom due to my period and was subsequently sent back to class...but that's another story.) Back then, my friends all wanted their periods. It felt shameful to talk about how this thing that other people were yearning for was absolutely torturing me.

For most of the years between 5th grade and 21st grade (aka now) it's been a little easier to explain my period days because the girls or women around me also had reasons to talk about their own periods. In high school we talked about who was synched up with us, and who had emergency tampons stored in their lockers. In our twenties, we whispered in agony over late periods and shared birth control tips. In our thirties, we whispered hopefully over those late periods and shared fertility tips.

But it feels like I'm the only one of my contemporaries who is still marking her life out in a twenty-eight-day pattern. It's not that I want to talk about periods all the time. It's not that I find them fascinating. It's that for two to three days each month, I feel not as smart, not as capable, not as healthy, and, dang, it would be easier if I could stop pretending that I'm the same person as usual on those days.

But period problems–and period-stigma problems–both feel so juvenile. I feel like I'm supposed to have this figured out by now. I'm supposed to be put together. And I realize suddenly that I've been assuming that the reason periods have left the conversation is because I'm the only one still struggling with mine. I'm assuming that the women around me don't need to talk about cycles because they've entered into a blasé relationship with their own uteri. I'm assuming that the women who once also had life-interrupting periods have been helped by one of the many solutions that failed for me.

…But maybe that's not true. Maybe some of my contemporaries are faking their way through the worst days. Maybe a lot of us are.

I don't know why I'm unconsciously should-ing so hard on myself over this problem. I don't want to be controlled by my endocrine system any more than Piper does. I have tried everything from hormonal birth control to acupuncture to meditation to pain killers to stop my uterus from periodically taking over my brain, and it just has not worked. The only thing that actually helps is asking the people around me to lower their expectations of me for a few days. But I rarely do that. It's just too embarrassing.

In other words, even in my forties, period stigma is a problem. And I'm perpetuating it.

Somehow, my expectations are higher for a group of fictional twelve-year-olds than they are for myself.

So, there you have it: the non-fiction version of my period manifesto. If you happen to see me in 22 days (or 46 days or 74 days) and I seem a little bit off to you....feel free to ask me about it because, you know, I probably won't say anything. :-)  

What I’m recommending…

This.

I don’t want to be, like, some supplement girlie, and I know I just said nothing ever worked, but I started taking Maca root at the advice of an endocrinologist, and it actually has taken the edge off my hormonal migraines and shortened the number of days I feel the worst PMDD symptoms.

What I’m looking for…

My reading has really slowed down, but I’m still trying to read my way around the world. Give me recommendations for books with a strong, authentic sense of place!