Blood
running down my legs.
I remember feeling the pain, then after a
while the numbness takes over. My vulva is on
fire and once the trauma is over, I slowly
come back into consciousness. I can feel the
blood coming out of me, with my vagina
throbbing. I learned early on to dissociate
from my body.
I have no female
body.
I have no breasts and
vulva, and most of all I do not
bleed.
It's not safe; it is
only a reminder that they'll be
back.
Things got worse when
I started my period or so I internalized it.
It wasn't always the infamous "they" that
betrayed me. Now I was somehow creating the
monthly blood, but I never knew
why.
Will I bleed to
death?
Can others tell
what's happening to me?
I have to hide it. I
can't let them know.
They don't care. They
laugh at the discovery. The sanitary napkin
is taken from my underwear. A voice speaks to
me, "Is this what you're doing when we aren't
around?" I say nothing. He laughs and takes
it. The blood from the pad is then smeared on
my face. Again I say nothing, frozen in the
moment.
My blood.
Some of my friends
bleed too. These young women are still
awkward with their menstruation, but talk
about it. One of my friends needs to buy some
pads and several go to the store. It takes us
over an hour of shopping, giggling, trying to
walk down that aisle without anyone we know
seeing us getting those pads. Finally we make
it u to the check-out counter, all of us
ready to die from embarrassment, but the male
clerk casually rings up the sanitary pads
like it's no big deal.
We leave the store
relieved, still laughing with nervousness
over all that has transpired.
I get curious around
this menstruation and ask my mom questions
around it. I still don't remember
specifically what I asked; all I remember is
that her response was that maybe it would be
a good idea for me to see a doctor or a nurse
practitioner. He or she could certainly
answer any questions I may have.
I walk away . . . it
really wasn't that important. Besides, I
don't really have a body anyway. This mess is
just something I take care of every
month.
Years go by and I am
now in college. I am taking a class in
physiology and the teacher explains how each
month the uterus prepares to have a baby and
when that doesn't happen, the lining of the
uterus sheds and that is why women bleed. I
am shocked. I never knew! I always wondered
why women's hearts didn't beat faster during
menstruation, being that the heart 'made'
more blood at that time. I am just thankful
no one ever knew that I was
clueless.
I still don't have a
body; I reside outside of it. Always
detached. I know I am in a female's body, but
it's not really mine.
Time has continued
passing and all the oppression has caught up
to me. Emotionally I hit a bottom and enter
psychotherapy. I being releasing the horrors
I repressed as a child and begin knowing I
have a voice.
Something still isn't
right…
I try different
healing modalities, anything that I think
will help me on my journey. My intuitive
voice leads me to a medicine woman, a
shemama. In the course of my work with her,
she begins talking to me about how she honors
her blood. I look at her, confused and
triggered. How could she say this to
me?
I am at a health food
store and a woman is there, handing out free
cloth pads. She speaks so openly, so freely,
around her menstruation. I agree to take
one.
This beautiful cloth
pad I leave on my altar in my room. I like
the feel of the cotton. The next month when I
menstruated, I tried out this new pad. I
found it very comfortable. I felt an honoring
of Mother Earth, but I couldn't find the
words for it.
I soaked the pad in
water, but chose a container that wasn't
see-through. I knew it was my blood, but I
certainly didn't want to see it. I wasn't
ready; it was too soon. Later that day, I
watered my plants with it and said thanks to
Mother Earth. This was something that
naturally came up.
Over the next few
months I purchased more and more cloth pads.
I began to notice how invasive tampons felt
to me. Energetically, using the cloth pads
felt so natural and freeing, while the
tampons felt constricting and shame
based.
This was all new to
me, but I never shared with anyone my
discovery of the cloth pads.
I still can't talk
about my blood.
More time has passed
and now all I use is the cloth pads. If I
were to spill any when watering my plants,
I'd quickly clean up this mess. I was afraid
of it. Still unconsciously driven by the
past. Once, though, I recall looking at this
spilled bloody water and I acknowledged that
maybe it wasn't that bad. After all, my
plants were thriving on it, and I could feel
the ancestors supporting me in doing this
monthly ritual.
Still so much shame
and secrecy.
I'm now in graduate
school and I sign up for a class that I know
intuitively I need to take. I have no idea
what the course, Sacred Feminine, is going to
be about, but I know it's going to be good
medicine for me.
The first class
meeting the teacher, Kami, talks about
menstruation. B-l-o-o-d. She asks the class
to speak about our menarche and what it was
like. I am ready to leave. Doesn't she know
that I don't have a body? That I don't really
bleed, it is just something that happens
accidentally every month for me.
I keep having
flashbacks of past memories with blood. I
think about leaving that night, knowing that
a pornography place is just two blocks up. I
wonder if those women there have as much
shame as I do. I recall those bright lights
on me in a garage turned into a filming
studio when I was a teenager. I vaguely
remember the drugs I took so that I wouldn't
feel what was really happening to
me.
At some point I vowed
as a child that I would never become an adult
woman. It's not safe, and besides, the
infamous they will just want me
more.
I begin feeling
twinges of pain from past abuse as I sit in
class that first night with Kami. I'm trying
to contain my feelings. I listen to my
sisters in the class, speaking of their first
menstruation, and I am struck by the ease of
their story telling. The abreactions subside
momentarily. I look around. No one is being
hurt. Women are just sharing their
stories.
I leave class that
night in a daze. The following day, I share
with my psychotherapist all that had
transpired. I am crying, trying to make sense
of all these feelings. This is the first time
in the eight years I have seen her that I
have ever spoken about my menstruation, my
blood. I am scared, but relieved to let go of
all these oppressive feelings.
In our next class
meeting, Kami once again talks comfortably
about our cyclical nature. At times I still
have the feeling of wanting to leave
suddenly. Pictures of the past are running
through my mind, and yet it is safe in this
gathering. An altar has been set up that is
honoring of women's moon time. Different
herbs are discussed and passed around, and I
flash upon the ancestral wisdom that long ago
was honored. I feel at home.
The class is over and
weeks later I'm still processing all that has
transpired. I have begun making weekly herbal
infusions to drink throughout the day. I like
how it feels in my body.
I have talked to a
few friends about menstruation, the class,
and all that I awoke to.
It's still hard for
me to acknowledge that I have a woman's
body.
Something, though,
has shifted.
I bleed in a cyclical
way with the full moon each month and it is
okay.
