Are you there, menopause? It’s me, Monique.
OPINION: To put it plainly, I am tired of being antagonized and bullied by my period.
Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
I remember being 12 and wishing my period would start.
So many of my friends had already gotten their periods. Two of my cousins had started theirs around the age of 10, and here I was with a chest full of overdeveloped breasts (a whole other story, let me tell you) and no reason to put a feminine hygiene product in my underwear. I was so desperate for it to happen.
Like many girls my age, I had read Judy Blume’s “Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret.”
My mother had bought me a copy of the book, and I had read it so many times the binding was creased and many of the pages were bent at the corner from me using the dog-ear method to save my place. I had practically memorized the book.
I’d done the “We must! We must!” chants in the bathroom mirror, whispering the words so no one would hear me. It apparently worked because somewhere between sixth and seventh grade, I all of a sudden had more “bust” than I knew what to do with.
Where was the magical chant for the period?
When my period finally did show up, it was during the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I remember waking up to that telltale spot in my underwear.
My parents had just split up, and my mother had moved out of the house. My father had custody of us kids, and the idea of having to explain to him that I needed pads was too mortifying to consider, so I decided to call my mother instead.
The only problem was my dad was on the phone. I stood in the doorway of his bedroom pleading with him to get off so I could use it.
“I have something really important to talk to mommy about,” I said.
He told me he would let me know when he was done with his call, and maybe 30 minutes later, he showed up in my bedroom doorway holding a box of Kotex.
“Is this what you wanted to talk to mommy about?” he asked.
I snatched the box out of his hand and ran in the bathroom embarrassed. I managed to get the pad on in what I figured was the right way. These were the days before pads had wings, and an “ultra-thin” pad was never heard of, so I went about my day with this huge ass lump in my panties that I hoped was catching all the blood.
It was all very anticlimactic. The thing I had wished for came and basically ruined my entire summer. I was used to going to the public pool or the beach every single day, and I had to learn the hard way that those things aren’t as fun when you are leaking blood on a constant drip from your hooha.
Black women get shamed for everything
My period didn’t waste any time making me miserable. I had the worst cramps and heavy bleeding from the start. I was constantly messing up clothes, panties, bedsheets and anything else that I came into contact with during my “time of the month.”
My mother, who was a nurse at the time, would bring me a prescription for Naproxen from work because my cramps were so bad, nothing else helped.
I was in the nurse’s office every month when my period came. It was hard to deal and things only got worse the older I have gotten.
Before you all start jumping in my mentions on Twitter, sending me emails, or leaving comments on my personal website with your completely unsolicited advice (in another post, I will explain why y’all need to stop doing that under all circumstances), please know that I have been to the doctor plenty of times to address my period woes.
As a teen, I was placed on birth control pills to regulate my periods. I don’t have fibroids. I just have a very angry uterus that tries to take me down each month.
These days, my periods last four to five days. I bleed heavily, and I clot a lot. The cramps are uncomfortable — especially the dreaded “butt cramp” that I haven’t bothered Googling to find out what it is about, but I know other women experience it because we’ve exchanged stories on Twitter.
I just had a birthday last week, and I can honestly say, I’m ready for my period to go the way of the Dodo.
Being fatigued, cranky, sick to my stomach, crampy, and overall uncomfortable for five days every month is a drag, and I’m completely over it.
In the same way I was wishing for my period to start, I am now wishing for menopause to start so I can be done with this shit.
I realize that menopause is not all cake and donuts, but I know where Magnolia Bakery is, and I can make it that if I want to.
I really just want to not have to worry about the ever-increasing price of feminine hygiene products (remind me to write an op-ed about the fem tax or whatever they are calling it these days). My tampons have gradually gone up $6 over the last year. That’s ridiculous.
I want to be able to wear whatever I want all month long. I don’t want to have to wear an ultra tampon combined with an ultra-thin overnight maxi pad, two pairs of panties and a pair of yoga shorts just to make sure I don’t mess up whatever outfit I happen to be wearing that day.
One of my best friends has already entered menopause, and her biggest complaints are the hot flashes and the beard. Baby, I already get the stray eyebrows in my chin waxed and threaded on a regular basis, so I feel like I can handle that part of it.
I would like to be free of “Eve’s curse.”
We should really talk about why it’s called “Eve’s curse” one day.
In the meantime, I am eagerly awaiting going 12 straight months with no bleeding, because that is the true sign you have entered menopause.
Please, free me from the b.s. that is my monthly period.
Are you there, menopause? It’s me, Monique.
Don’t leave me on read, bitch. Reply!!!
Monique Judge is a storyteller, content creator and writer living in Los Angeles. She is a word nerd who is a fan of the Oxford comma, spends way too much time on Twitter, and has more graphic t-shirts than you. Follow her on Twitter @thejournalista or check her out at moniquejudge.com.
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