For over a week now I've been trying to write the day three post. Today, I've decided to move on from that post for now and write about it another day. I am realizing that I am not ready to start talking about that issue yet. We'll call it the dark issue and I promise I will return to it as I feel more able to address it in my own life.
Warning! This post is not for those queasy, faint of heart, or shy of talking about women's cycles, women's puberty, or sexual issues.
Today, I am thankful for all the Midol I can take, chocolate, and a wonderful partner who is understanding of me. "That time of the month" is what it was called in my family -- or my mom and dad since no one else in the family talked about it. Calling the mother's cycle this and tracking it on the family calendar seems to be something that at least a few fundamentalist families have in common. Apparently several of the big leaders in that world even encourage it, including Gothard and Pearl. Tracking their cycles has never really bothered me that much, but all the other things I was taught (and not taught) about my cycle have had a lasting effect on me.
For the record, apparently it's not always only fundamental families that track the woman's cycle because I found out my partner tracked my cycle for awhile when we first got together. His reason for tracking my cycle was not for the same reason these other men do it, however. He tracked my cycle so he would know if I missed a period since he was slightly paranoid about me getting pregnant at the start of our relationship. I don't know if that was wrong of him, but it doesn't and didn't bother me so I just let it go. In fact, I've dated other men that were also terrified of me getting pregnant and constantly bugged me with questions about whether or not I was regular. Plus, he doesn't do it anymore.
I was told very little about my body. As a young teenager, I started developing. Coincidentally, I noticed the tenderness and growth just a few months after my grandmother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I was told that breast cancer can be genetically inherited, so I concluded that I must have had breast cancer. I cried so hard for literally weeks. I never thought to talk to my mother about it. I had learned from the struggle with my bed-wetting that my mother could not be trusted with my medical issues and would only use them to further abuse and humiliate me. After awhile, my mother noticed I started developing because I wore plain-fronted, one-layer dresses. She pulled me aside into her bedroom and close the door. I was terrified because being with my mother behind closed doors always meant something bad. That's when she told me about developing. She also told me that I would be getting something called a period and I would see blood in my underwear. She explained that a period happened when the lining of the woman's uterus sloughed off after the woman failed to get pregnant. She then told me that she would show me where the "supplies" were when I started my period. She then said that this was something that I absolutely should never talk about to my friends. That was the extent of the talk and my education about my body.
She decided that my bra band size was probably around the same as her so she gave me some of her old bras. I hated those damn things. I was not the same band size as my mother. In fact, I am still many band sizes smaller than those bras she gave me. And I still haven't even grown into the cup size of those bras. They were far more annoying than helpful by a far shot. To add to the embarrassment, my mother decided I had not developed enough to need aprons or vests -- the way woman covered their breasts in our church. I was forbidden to put an extra layer on up top. My unobservant mother had noticed I was developing, how could everyone else not notice? I was so bitter about the lack of covering for my poor chest. The bras she gave me only lasted about a week before I gave up wearing them. I went the next several years not wearing any support. Finally, I discovered that by wearing one of my younger sister's undershirts, they were tight enough to keep from bouncing too much and also provided that extra layer I wanted so badly to hide things. I loved those undershirt tank tops because they finally helped relieve so of the pain.
I started my period late, probably around 16. This was extremely embarrassing for me and my mother made it even worse. My mother has a strange notion that a girl is not a woman until she started her period. In that culture, the girl is taught that being seeing as a woman was an ultimate goal and if you were seen as a woman, you were superior to other more girlish girls. Thus, my lack of period made me feel inferior and also gave my mother more ammunition to point out things wrong with me. My lack of a period also became a very public matter. I know my dad knew all about it and even worried about. I wouldn't be surprised if my brothers even knew, which is really weird based on the total secrecy surrounding puberty and bodily functions in that culture. But my mother did not keep this only within the family. It was often discussed between her friends as well. To add to my shame, all of my sisters started at a much younger age.
My mom never told me about cramps. I had absolutely no idea they existed. I'm sure my mom would try to explain it away by saying that I should have picked up from the conversations around me. I had an older sister who had awful cramps, but I still didn't pick it up. According to my mother, I was also supposed to pick up what sex was too because apparently it was talked about all around me. I don't know if I lived under a rock mentally to the adult conversation around me, but I never remember hearing about sex or cramps or periods. My mom accused me of lying because I told her that I hadn't heard about sex before she had the talk with me, but I really couldn't remember.
My first period was light and I remember being so happy that it finally came. It took me until the next day to get up the nerve to finally tell my mother that it had started. She gave me a half-used box of her pads, congratulated me on being a woman, and went on to spread the happy news to the rest of the family (while I died of embarrassment).
I was not so lucky with my second period. The flow was awful, I had no idea how to handle it, I was extremely embarrassed, I had no privacy to try to hide my period, and the cramps were awful. Being the kid of a local leader, I had to always put up a perfect front when we were in public. I remember having to go to a picnic while in terrible pain. The pain was made worse because I was terrified because I had no idea what was happening. I was worried that I had a serious medical issue and was going to die. I was later scolded for not being friendly enough and setting a good example to the others who attended to picnic.
The next disaster came when I ran out of the pads my mother had given me for my first period. My mother never thought on her own that I would need more. I was way too shy to ask for more as well as guilty about costing my parents more money. I was always taught that kids didn't have needs beyond what the parents always provided for. Asking for things beyond what was needed (and thus automatically provided) was selfish and not godly. The next laundry cycle my mother noticed my panties, bought more pads, and scolded me for not talking to her about it.
Despite my crash course in surviving my period, I still had no idea what cramps were or what was happening to my body. One day my cramps hit while I was helping a young mother with her annual spring cleaning. They were back cramps so I thought I was having some kind of severe back pain. Based on my description of my symptoms the young mother recognized I might be having cramps and asked me if I was on my period. I was shocked and embarrassed. How did she know? She then went on to explain about cramps and that I could even take ibuprofen to help relieve them! I was in love with ibuprofen for years afterwards because it finally gave me so much more relief.
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