Women have a love-hate relationship with periods.

You hate how messy and inconvenient periods are, but at the same time, you need to get your period to know all’s good in the metaphorical hood. The first time, like most first times, is pretty interesting for some women. I happen to be one of those women. So settle down as I maneuver you through what can only be described as a terribly awful first period.

It all started with that one useless class in school.

See, when I was about 11-years-old, we had a health instructor come to class and explain how periods work. Except, the health instructor COMPLETELY skipped over the menstruation bit. Instead, we were warned – nay, ordered – to keep all besharam period-talk to ourselves.

Since I’ve always been a little keeraybaaz, I obviously went around talking to EVERYONE about it.

Friends in school, my cousin, my neighbors. You name it. The real problem arose when I went to my mother. With a stern look, she, too, ordered that I never speak of such behayai again. So I remained mum on the matter.

Now, the problem arose one fine day when we were expecting guests. 

I was in a beautiful, blue shalwar kurta. I still remember, because, well, it wasn’t very beautiful by the end of the day. Khair, my parents were out getting khaana peena for our mehmaan. Now, I remember casually owning my brother at a Beyblade competition.

All of a sudden, this pang of pain starts shooting through what I assumed was my stomach. (I wasn’t very anatomically well-versed at that point.) I run to the bathroom and boom – there it is.

Staring right at me, in all its dark-crimson glory.

Now, having only been told to avoid all conversation around it, it didn’t even occur to me that I had started my period. A series of thoughts when through my mind.

“Holy fuck, what if it’s a fatal disease?”

“Did I cut my inner thigh?”

“Is this some sick punishment for gloating while crushing my brother at Beyblade?”

I did what any sane person who’s terrified of their mother would do at that point: I turned to my friends for help.

Thus began a series of panic-stricken messages that I sent to my friend, all while bleeding out. I realized at this point that I actually didn’t know what to do with sanitary pads either. Like, at all.

In my mind, they were tiny diapers, and were to be worn the same way too. Since I was a chubby kid, I broke down in the bathroom, thinking how the biggest pad size would never fit me either.

Thankfully, my friends explained how everything works. Just one problem, though. My beautiful blue clothes weren’t all that beautiful or blue anymore.

As I scrubbed my hands incessantly in the sink, I heard the doorbell ring. I dashed out of the bathroom, my stains disguised under the dark colors of my clothes. I sat through meeting the mehmaan in that very state, quite literally smiling through the pain.

The next day, I faced the wrath of my mother. My dumb ass had decided to dump the dirty clothes for washing. And, of course, my mother chanced upon the clothes first. To say that I had learned my lesson is quite an understatement.

^I did. Chittar Central, all the way.

Now, this story is great for shits and giggles, but it also highlights a huge problem. 

As a nation, we’re so obsessed with shying away from conversations that need to be had, that we don’t foresee the consequences of not initiating any sort of dialogue.

It can be traced back to the health instructor, who – well – didn’t instruct for shit. It can even be traced back to my mother who didn’t want to have a difficult conversation with me. It’s even my fault for being a dumbass and not reading up on the matter.

The point is, it’s at times like these when the importance of sex education and sexual health is highlighted. We barely know anything about our bodies.

I was fortunate enough to have been wearing dark clothes. The fact that I was within the confines of my home helped too.

For many women, this story could go in a completely different direction. Ek toh we don’t talk about these things. Then, we consider stains the most shameful thing on this planet. Women in Pakistan just can’t win when it comes to menstruation. And therein lies the problem.

Fine, dhindora peetni ki bhi zaroorat nahi hai. I get it. But we can’t shy away from the conversation around periods altogether. We can’t just shove the topic away. So, for the sake of our women, who have to keep their gazes low due to the pressure of sharam, let’s open this topic up for a constructive discussion once and for all.

What do you take away from this story? Have your own story to share? Let us know in the comments.

How I Learned About Sex, Menstruation And The Human Body As A Pakistani Girl

A “Lipstick” To Stop Periods Was Just Introduced And Women Everywhere Are Red With Anger

Cover image via healthline.com