Community Share: Kate’s Period Truth
[Originally shared March 30, 2020, edited June 2021]
Beings, I have another amazing period story to share. Meet Kate - a local ambassador to all things community. A north county native, she manifests magic with just speaking her ideas aloud. Maybe you feel like she has a familiar face, and it’s because she curated Form + Flow Life Drawing Experience at Gather Encinitas, The Guild Venue 100, and The Community House in Cardiff. She had asked me to participate in her series, and now I’ve asked her to be a part of mine.
Kate and I were also supposed to also be co-leading our first Red Tent event this past weekend, which is a multi-generational women’s experience for connection to self and to community.
One day it will happen. And it will be magic. In the meantime, revel in Kate’s words. In her Period Truth.
I still remember the words, crystal clear as I fainted--my head hitting the desk next to me on the way to the floor-- “the uterine lining is ripped off and slushes out…”
That day was so traumatic for me—9th grade summer school health class is not a forgiving setting to be the girl known for fainting during “the period talk.”
It haunted me throughout high school so much that I actually wrote my college admission essay about that moment. About overcoming how I thought everyone saw me, although, I’m quite sure now they probably had forgotten about it, as quickly as the weather changed to fall.
IRONICALLY, WHEN I FAINTED, I HADN’T HAD MY FIRST PERIOD YET. I WOULD GET IT EXACTLY A WEEK LATER, IN THAT SAME HEALTH CLASS.
I remember excusing myself, going to the bathroom and seeing blood in my underpants and thinking to myself, “oh, this is what they told me about.”
But had they really told me? And who is “they??”
Surprisingly, seeing my own blood didn’t make me queasy. In contrast, I was calm. Because it was mine. And it was covered in truth and right-ness.
When I think back on the moment I fainted, I connect to the violence in the language my teacher chose. How it didn’t match the moment I personally experienced, but at the same time, my personal experience wasn’t exactly cemented in confidence and pride.
Later that day, my mom left flowers in a vase next to my bed, with a note signed by her and my father: “we are so proud of you and the woman you have become.”
I shoved the note in my bedside drawer—it was too embarrassing. I’d rather pretend it didn’t exist. I’d rather pretend my whole period didn’t exist and that even in some ways, that I didn’t exist. I didn’t want to worry about getting pregnant, about PMS, or cramps.
Looking back, I think this speaks volumes about how uncomfortable I was having these conversations, and why I can’t specifically remember any talk leading up to my period that my mom and I ever had, although I know we did. I can only tap into that 14 year old girl who wanted to disappear—who would rather pretend none of this existed.
I WANT TO ASK HER WHO TAUGHT HER THAT HER BODY WASN’T RELEVANT? WHO TAUGHT HER TO CARRY SHAME THAT SHE WAS A WOMAN?
AND THEN I WANT TO HUG HER AND TELL HER THAT THIS GIFT IS MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ALL THE FEAR SHE CARRIES. THAT HER POWER LIES WITHIN HER VULNERABILITY TO FEEL, DEEPLY, ALL HER EMOTIONS, AND THAT SHE GETS THE PRIVILEGE TO EXPERIENCE THIS FLUX EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH, UNTIL, THAT TOO, WILL CHANGE.
All photos of Kate captured by Eunique Deeann
