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A funny look at the sexism of period pain. Periods, for me, meant cramps and pain. But, as my mother said, as a woman I was "supposed to to get used to going with the flow."
A funny look at the sexism of period pain. Periods, for me, meant cramps and pain. But, as my mother said, as a woman I was “supposed to to get used to going with the flow.”
The first time my mother caught me popping a painkiller when I had my period, she gave me an earful. I was sixteen. To my protests about needing to numb the pain so I could concentrate on studying for an important test, all I got was, “You can’t take medicines every month just for cramps. It’s unhealthy. Just deal with it and your body will get used to it.” I spent all night chewing gum and massaging my belly with a hot water bottle, willing my mind to divert itself.
My mother was right. I got used to the pain.
Every month it comes; this faithful friend– my period. Once upon a time I scribbled dates in a diary and tracked the 28- day cycle but after two decades of our relationship, I no longer need to. When I feel my patience shrinking quicker than usual, I know it will be another five days. When my breasts turn tender and ache like they’re made of little boulders tugging me down, two days. When my libido surges and I find myself terribly confused with the desire to both slap and mount my husband, one day.
Despite the infinite curses I’ve hurled at human biology and the universe, I’ve grown rather fond of my period. Once a month I get a four-day window where I’m allowed to be an inexplicable mess and I can tell myself – It’s okay, you have your period. I can spend half an hour in the shower crying over the shreds of stale potpourri in my head; graying hair, failures as a mother, being broke, being fat, broken phone, broken heart. I relish the anguish and luxury of self-pity. Twenty-something days of frustration over all the disappointments I was unsuccessful in confronting bubble and boil over. The world sucks, life sucks, everything sucks. I can wallow, be unreasonable, reclusive, exhausted and indulgent.
My period is the opportunity to tap into the rawness within me, the parts I’ve shuddered to look at too closely. The peeling uterine walls purge me of all the unsaid and unfelt. My head and heart connect and I realize this power I possess, of being weak enough to weep over nothing and strong enough to not only endure the pain but long for it. It is my release; fixing all the clogs in my emotional plumbing, releasing the stored sewage of festering emotions.
As I drown the undulating cramps with hot water bottle massages, dark chocolate and ‘The Cure’ on an endless loop, I embrace my body and mind. Pause. Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
And when it’s all over- Un-pause.
I still remember the day I got my first period. Ours is one of the many communities around India where coming of age is celebrated. I was fed raw oil, weird tasting laddoos and then draped in a sari as families came to visit me. The only bonus of enduring this humiliating ordeal was that I received gifts and cash. Lots of it.
But I see a deeper meaning behind this celebration. It goes beyond announcing the transition into womanhood. We are telling the world that SHE is ready for pain. SHE will bear it with silence and grace. SHE will get used to it.
So bring it on.
Image source: shutterstock
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UP Boards Topper Prachi Nigam was trolled on social media for her facial hair; our obsession with appearance is harsh on young minds.
Prachi Nigam’s photo has been doing the rounds on social media for the right reasons. Well, scratch that- I wish the above statement were true. This 15-year-old girl should ideally be revelling in her spectacular achievement of scoring a whopping 98.05% and topping her tenth-grade boards. But oddly enough, along with her marks, it’s something else that garners more attention – her facial hair.
While the trolls are driving themselves giddy by mocking this girl who hasn’t even completed her school yet, the ones who are taking her side are going one step ahead – they are sharing her photoshopped pictures, sans the facial hair, looking nothing less than a celebrity with captions saying – “Prachi Nigam, ten years later”.
Doctors have already diagnosed her with PCOD in their comments, based on photographic evidence. While we have names for people shamed for their weight – body shaming, for their skin colour- racism, for their age- age shaming, for being a female- sexism, this category of shaming where one faces criticism for their appearance has no name. With that, it also has zero shame attached to it.
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