“Where did it go?” my nine-year-old, Mia, exclaimed, her eyes wide with curiosity as I stood in the bathroom, just having inserted a silicone menstrual cup. It felt like a magic trick gone awry!
I hadn’t planned on this moment of education, but I also hadn’t shut the bathroom door. When she walked in and asked, “What’s that?” I decided to respond as casually as I had when teaching her other life skills, like how to gift-wrap a peculiar-shaped present or core an apple.
Perhaps I crossed a line with my demonstration. I certainly didn’t recall my mother ever doing anything similar, which made me ponder: is it possible to be too open about such matters? My own teenage years had left me with the understanding that there can be a shortage of candidness. I realized that how I approach my own body will have a lasting impact on Mia, and my son, Leo, as they navigate their own journeys.
At that time, Leo was ten. He had stopped walking in on me in the bathroom long ago and would have been horrified by my little demonstration. Still, I felt it was important for him to learn about the female cycle, hoping that this knowledge would help him grow into a respectful and understanding young man. After watching an episode of Anne with an E, where Anne starts her period, Leo asked, “Does it hurt, Mum?”
Not long after, while waiting in line at the pharmacy, I felt that familiar warmth in my underwear. “My period is here,” I whispered to my kids. “Can you grab some tampons?” They hadn’t returned before I reached the cashier, so I perused the women’s health aisle for the right box.
“I get it,” Leo commented, pointing at the tear-shaped symbols. “This one is for when Mum has one drip of blood, and this one is for three.” I appreciated his practical approach, how unfazed he was, despite his lack of knowledge. I explained the varying blood flows and the benefits of applicators and wings.
I remember learning in school that women bleed for five days, a fact that shocked me. My teacher insisted it was correct, revealing how vague my own mother had been about the details. Sure, I knew about the rattan box on the toilet that held the supplies my mother referred to when she “bled from her bottom,” but the specifics were often left unspoken.
During baths, she would sometimes share the basics of womanhood, using euphemisms like “the curse” or “starting.” Yet, she never openly discussed her own cycle in front of my father or brother, instilling in me the idea that menstruation was a source of shame.
As a dutiful daughter, I adopted that same shame. For years, I took the contraceptive pill, often skipping my period entirely to avoid the mess and inconvenience. Admitting to cramps or mood swings felt impossible, and I would have preferred anything over asking a male friend or family member to buy me sanitary products. The idea of leaking and revealing my normality as a woman seemed far too embarrassing.
But then came the day in the bathroom, with Mia asking about my menstrual cup. Between my reluctance to discuss my period and that moment, I began to question where my shame had gone.
Now, I strive to be more open about my cycle. My children know when I’m bloated or in pain; they understand why I sometimes crave chocolate for dinner or choose to snuggle with a hot water bottle. They’ve even seen my underwear soaking in the sink, and yes, they’ve seen blood.
In that bathroom moment, I told Mia, “It’s vast up there—like the universe. It’s magical.” After giving birth, it would have been foolish to ignore my own body’s wonders. I can’t explain why my mother didn’t experience this realization when she had me—are we fundamentally different, or merely products of our respective eras?
For the first time in years, I stopped taking the pill and embraced my natural cycle. I acquired a menstrual cup and faced the warm, dark red fluid with awe rather than disgust.
Now that my children are older, Mia recently asked for a starter bra without any shame attached—a stark contrast to my own experiences at her age. Leo, at twelve, is also evolving; he’s discovered deodorant and his reflection in the mirror, but hasn’t yet turned his attention to girls. I’m confident that when he does, he’ll be the kind of boyfriend who will unhesitatingly run to the store for feminine products.
What would my mother think of this new generation?
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Summary:
In our home, menstruation is no longer a taboo subject. Through open discussions with my children about the female cycle, I’ve aimed to remove the stigma surrounding periods that I grew up with. By fostering a culture of transparency and understanding, I hope my children will embrace their bodies and relationships with confidence and respect.