Tag Archives: women

The Silence Breakers: This Is What Happened When I Stood Up for Myself in 2017

When I saw who TIME named Person of the Year and then read the article and watched the video, I cried a puddle of happy tears.

At the turn of the 2017 new year, I vowed that I would start standing up for myself. It has not been easy, but it has been worthwhile.

I have a tendency to let people walk all over me or to turn the other cheek way too many times. I am the first to stand up for others but the last to stand up for myself. This is because I’m a peaceful person who sees the good in everyone, but those traits have also been my downfall. Like every year before it, 2017 has been a year of change and growth.

Standing up for yourself doesn’t have to mean throwing daggers. I started off the year by negotiating the crap out of an unexpected rent increase, presenting a professional and well-informed counter-proposal. In the past, I would have just whined and written bigger checks, but I work damn hard for little money and I’m a good tenant. It was a learning curve for me to acknowledge to myself I that could negotiate, and to realize that the worst I could hear back was no.

This newfound courage carried over into my professional and personal lives, and for once, I was respectfully fighting for myself with dignity and grace. It ruffled some edges, because it’s admittedly a shock to witness me, once someone who would roll over, now engaging in confrontation to protect myself. But those who stuck with me are the ones who value my own self-worth, and they’re the people I want in my life.

And of course, the biggest and most meaningful way I stood up for myself this year was in breaking my silence by not keeping my sexual assault a secret any longer. I’d been working up the healing to share my story for the better part of a year, and, coincidentally, I was ready around the time that the #MeToo movement began taking off.

We live in days filled with so much terror, hate, confusion, and fear. Imagine how much love and prosperity we could generate if we enabled ourselves to nobly stand up for what is right and just?

TIME Magazine did right by naming The Silence Breakers as Person of the Year. We are in the midst of a cultural revolution chasing inherent human dignity, for women, for gays, for blacks, for Muslims, for the handicapped, for the poor, for everyone. The movement starts within you.

Be the spark that starts the fire. Be Bold. Be Brave. Be You.

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I Was Sexually Assaulted & This Is My Story

For quite awhile, I didn’t know if I would ever publicly share this story. I didn’t even know how much I’d personally share it. Part of that is because I felt so very, very ashamed.

Another reason is because I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to feel any better after telling it, largely because people don’t know how to appropriately respond.

The more I noticed how much I feared other people’s reactions to my story, the more I saw that I needed to share it—when I was ready.

In the networking, research, and self-help I’ve encountered since long before I realized the assault, one thing I’ve learned is that too many people don’t understand.

I want people to understand what is going on inside a person’s mind days, months, or years after he or she has been sexually assaulted so that the humans hearing these stories can be empathetic, not judgmental or dismissive.

I want other survivors to know that they are not alone, and it is important that we talk about it.

Too many people think that the assault was an isolated incident. It happened, it was horrible, and that was the end of it.

Too many people don’t realize that the incident, the memory, the trauma, lasts for years. Relocation doesn’t solve the problem. Addiction doesn’t sweep the issue under the rug. Staying busy doesn’t block it all out.

Too many people question the strength and integrity of a woman who let herself get into a situation in which she could be once, twice, repeatedly sexually assaulted.

Too many people don’t realize that it is often strong, loving, giving people with good hearts who find themselves in these situations, who hear that it’s their fault, always their fault, and so they try to do better because that’s the humans they are. But nothing was ever their fault in the first place.

Too often these people are the victims themselves.

I didn’t do anything wrong. But I was told I did. I collected stones in an invisible backpack with each transgression. I collected stones each time I did something I didn’t want to do because I was coerced, manipulated, humiliated, and dominated into doing it. I collected stones until the weight held me down and the only way to pick myself up was to start unloading those stones until my bag was empty.

Sexual assault commonly results in post-traumatic stress disorder. The realization, acceptance, and effects are not always immediate.

In my case, it took me more than a year to realize I was sexually assaulted. And it didn’t occur to me on my own.

The effects of a past relationship slowly started to trouble me. I became nauseous when I heard his name or saw something tangible that reminded me of him. I began to flinch when men gingerly put a hand on my shoulder, making a move. I became hypervigilant and hyperaware, lending toward a constant state of anxiety and subsequent depression. I had nightmares that were only memories. And yet, I still obsessively thought about him.

My mind concluded there was something wrong with me. It didn’t help that this is what most of the world was telling me.

But one day I couldn’t take it anymore. One day I picked up the phone and told my story to someone, with as many painful details as I could remember, from beginning to end. That conversation positively changed the course of my healing, because I felt for the first time in a very long time that I was not alone. I felt listened to and respected. I felt empathy instead of judgment.

I had been carrying this burden that I didn’t fully understand and I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t carry it alone.

But understanding the truth of my past relationship was only the beginning. From there, I had to go through heartache all over again. I had to break up with the memories—all while continuing to function in my daily life: go to work, cook food, make new friends, sleep. Most importantly, I had to forgive myself, because in the first months of the healing process, I blamed no one but me.

I thought I was weak for getting myself stuck in this situation in the first place, for being blind to the red flags. I felt guilty and shameful, dirty and disgraceful. In my mind, I had become infinitesimal.

The man who assaulted me took my virginity. I lost something I can never get back. For a very long time, I felt that this man took with him a piece of my spirit.

Since realizing the assault, I have been trying to redefine what intimacy means—without being intimate with anyone. That’s a very hard thing to do.

But by opening up to a select few people and sharing my deepest, darkest, most vulnerable secret, I am learning. I am understanding that romantic passion between two people is not supposed to be selfish. It is not supposed to cause you gut-wrenching, incapacitating pain that leaves you unable to walk for a week. It is not supposed to make you feel like you are merely a body—inadequate, disposable. It is not supposed to make you feel like you are just an ant crawling across this great big earth, trying to escape the magnifying glass that taunts you.

I have wanted so much to forget the man who assaulted me. I have wanted to never hear his name or see his face again. On the other hand, I have wanted to stare him hard in the eyes and show him what a strong and capable woman I’ve not only become but have always been.

Sometimes what we want doesn’t really matter. Sometimes it’s what we need that counts, and what I really need is peace in my heart. The only way I know how to do this is with forgiveness.

He doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, but I won’t be doing it for him. I’ll be doing it for me.

Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a woman who feels helpless, unworthy, or ashamed. I see a woman who is confident and self-aware, who is not afraid of men or love but who is learning what it means to be respected and dignified in a relationship and most importantly, within herself.

Too many people put a timeline on someone else’s healing. We often even do it to ourselves. But the truth is, time is irrelevant to matters of the heart. And sometimes, we never fully heal.

Sometimes, fresh wounds become scabs that shrink in size but remain intact, picked at accidentally on rare occasions down the road. But those wounds, those scars, make us human. Those broken pieces of us somehow make us whole.

We cannot change the past. We can wish a thousand times over that the past never happened to us, or we can learn from our unique experiences. We can be open about them so that we invite healing scabs into our wounded hearts, so that we don’t live our lives in fear of love or other people’s reactions, and so that we realize no matter how much it feels like it, we are never truly alone.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’ve written and revised these words in an ongoing draft over the past year, knowing that I would only publish this story when I was ready. I am ready. This article isn’t about pointing fingers. It’s about sharing vulnerabilities in an effort to inform, unite, understand, and—ultimately—heal. Thank you for letting me tell my story, and for being there for me on the other side.

**This is a public post. If you feel this story speaks to you or can help someone, feel free to share it.

101 Thoughts I Have While on My Period

Periods suck. Unfortunately, half the global population deals with them–or dealt with, bless you souls–on a monthly basis.

Please enjoy this stream of consciousness list of thoughts I have every month. Note: This is not for the faint of heart. You’ve been warned.

  1. Are you gonna eat that?
  2. Someone please carve out my uterus.
  3. Oh, great, diarrhea.
  4. If men had ovaries…
  5. *Sobbing* But that puppy only had three legs!
  6. Am I dying?
  7. Pretty sure I’m dying.
  8. Wow, I have reached a new level of cranky.
  9. How do men put up with hormonal women?
  10. In need of a sign that says, “Get out of my way, I’m menstruating.”
  11. Why is everyone so loud today?
  12. It’s really only been 7 minutes since I last ate?
  13. My bloated stomach looks like a loaf of bread.
  14. Look at me, still thinking about food.
  15. How many more days is this going to last?
  16. Can I just hibernate for the rest of the week?
  17. It feels like there’s an anvil in my uterus.
  18. This better all be worth it when I have kids.
  19. My poor bed, I remember when you didn’t have period stains.
  20. Why don’t they make black mattresses?
  21. There goes another pair of underwear.
  22. No but seriously, that was my favorite underwear.
  23. I literally have no period-free underwear left.
  24. Was that just the wind or am I leaking down there?
  25. Probably bleeding onto my scrubs but I’m over it.
  26. Why are tampons so expensive?
  27. Maxi pads feel like a diaper.
  28. Wow, these farts could kill a person.
  29.  UTERUS FOR SALE!
  30. There’s an army of angry minions inside me.
  31. Oh, hey, back pain. You’re back.
  32. *Googles: How much of my life will I be on my period?*
  33. Hey. I asked if you were gonna eat that?
  34. YOUR PERIOD ONLY LASTS HOW MANY DAYS?
  35. Life isn’t fair.
  36. I wish I was a man.
  37. No I don’t.
  38. I wish men had periods.
  39. I wish men understood what it’s like to have a period.
  40. I wish periods were universal among women.
  41. Can someone please scratch my head?
  42. And feed me?
  43. Wow, that’s a lot of blood.
  44. Good thing I’ve gotten over my fear of–
  45. Oh my God, I’m going to pass out.
  46. Periods are gross.
  47. I feel really gross right now.
  48. *Sobbing* Why am I so gross!?
  49. And ohmygod, those bags under my eyes!
  50. I just want to cry.
  51. I just want to sleep.
  52. *Searches: “Top 10 Movies to Watch On Your Period”*
  53. *Watches movie and cries like it’s “Titanic” IRL*
  54. Why am I so emotional?
  55. Ohmygod, I can’t stop crying.
  56. But that three-legged dog!!!
  57. How will I ever get through work tomorrow?
  58. BUT I DON’T WANNA GO TO WORK TOMORROW.
  59. Women should be allowed additional sick days because OUR FALLOPIAN TUBES HATE US ONCE A MONTH.
  60. HEY. YOU. THEY CAN HEAR YOU CHEWING ALL THE WAY IN AFRICA.
  61. Food is my favorite.
  62. Free uterus!!!!
  63. Is someone punching my ovaries?
  64. Two thumbs up for diarrhea.
  65. Oh geez, and nausea.
  66. Oh boy, I’m dizzy, too.
  67. Must be because I’ve lost FIVE GALLONS OF MY INSIDES.
  68. World, why you gotta be so cruel?
  69. Girls rule the world.
  70. *Listens to Girl Power playlist*
  71. “If this period doesn’t kill me it’ll make me strongerrrrr, stand a little talllllller”
  72. Maybe I’ll feel better if I go for a run?
  73. Wait, let me poop out the rest of my insides first.
  74. Look at me running like a homicide isn’t happening in my pants.
  75. I feel like my vagina fell off at mile 3.
  76. “My period hasn’t killed me, I am strongerrrrrr.”
  77. Wait. But my period might kill me.
  78. *texts girlfriend: “Why does my uterus hate me?”
  79. *texts other girlfriend random period question*
  80. *breathes sigh of relief with friend’s response*
  81. *friend says she’s on her period, too*
  82. *texts her: “Soulmates.”*
  83. *crying* My friends are the best.
  84. There is nothing to eat in this house!
  85. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
  86. I could literally tread water in my period blood.
  87. It is literally like Old Faithful has sprung out of my vagina.
  88. I DON’T CARE IF THAT’S GROSS.
  89. YOU TRY HAVING A PERIOD LIKE THIS.
  90. I’m sorry, I love you.
  91. I just love love so much.
  92. I need to be alone right now.
  93. I wish I had a pet.
  94. Animals are the only ones that understand.
  95. Wait, if I got my period today does that mean that I’ll have it when…
  96. *curses like a sailor*
  97. I have Satan for a uterus.
  98. The universe is literally conspiring against me.
  99. This is the worst day of my life.
  100. Wake me when it’s over.
  101. Are you gonna eat that?

20 Ways I’ve Smiled & Stayed Sane Since Trump Happened

The week after the election, I cried non-stop. I cried for my gay friends and black friends; I cried for women and children and the poor and handicapped. I cried for the environment. I cried for my Latino friends and Muslim friends. I cried for the man I met from Iraq.

I cried on my walk to work. I cried at work. I cried on my lunch break. At the end of each day, I pounded my fists into my bed out of despair. I had no appetite. When I caught myself in a chair collapsing from exhaustion, I said, “Fuck this.” And then I changed tactics.

I needed to let myself have my feelings, just like everyone else who was processing the results in their own way–many in a similar fashion. And then I needed to get on with my life instead of letting a government I don’t agree with suck me dry of my passion for living.

I began to bring joy and peace back into my life, and this is how I did it:

 1. Girl Power Songs

Including but not limited to: “Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson and “This Is My Fight Song” produced by Elizabeth Banks for the Democratic National Convention. These and others were listened to on repeatrepeatrepeat.

 2. Dancing to Said Girl Power Songs

 3. Singing

I looked in the mirror and sang “I Won’t Give Up On Us” by Jason Mraz. I sang it to America and I sang it to the world until I believed it.

 4. Creativity

I poured myself into my artistic talents, writing and acting as much as possible.

 5. Social Media Moratorium

I took a break from social media, because I just couldn’t stand all the fighting.

 6. Conversations with Conservatives

I had verbal discussions, not arguments, with Trump supporters because I needed to understand. I wanted to believe that people I loved who supported a man who was so vehemently hateful were not hateful themselves.

And I do. I really do believe that this world is full of more love than hate, and I am grateful to my conservative friends for showing me that.

 7. Nature

I went into the mountains for a week.

 8. Dogs

I signed on Instagram only to follow funny dog accounts. If you’re in need of suggestions, I am an avid fan of @dogsbeingbasic, @itsdougthepug and @bark. I also hugged every dog that came into the vet clinic. They were living their lives happily despite who was President, and I knew I could, too. Thanks, canines of the world.

 9. SNL

It is 100% biased and has been 100% hilarious.

 10. The Kindness of Strangers

I have been very keyed into my surroundings. When a homeless man helped a blind woman off the bus, I smiled and cried happy tears and it gave me hope.

 11. Change of Residency

I was living in Washington but registered in Florida and didn’t need a new license until 2021. I don’t drive out west. Florida is a swing state for elections. I didn’t have $89 lying around. All very good reasons to not switch my residency over.

But I wanted to be able to say yes to canvassers who ask me if I am registered to vote in Washington, so that I can sign petitions to help the homeless and save the bees. And Washington is finally a place where I feel like I’m meant to be. So I saved up and got a hideous new photo taken for a WA driver’s license and registered to vote in the Evergreen State.

 12. Marches

I joined the Women’s March. I will be marching for Black Lives Matter and Science. I make uplifting signs and I display them in my bedroom window.

 13. Baths

I’ve never taken so many baths. Magnesium flakes are glorious.

 14. I Started Saying “No”

Some people need to vent constantly about the state of the world, but I enter into a downward spiral when I’m surrounded by repeated negativity. So I’ve learned to politely say, “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk about that now.”

 15. Good Things

I remember that there is still so much beauty surrounding us, and I make a point to reflect on it.

 16. Meaningful Relationships

I threw myself into maintaining friendships that mean the most to me.

 17. Health Care

I saved up for insurance and addressed burgeoning health concerns I’d neglected before. I tackled doctor visits at the beginning of the year to protect myself in case my plan was suddenly unavailable to me.

 18. Massage

I treated myself to a massage because dammit, I deserved it.

 19. Delayed Filing Taxes

Normally, I do my taxes in January. But I had a lot to learn about self-employment tax this year. And I needed to focus on myself before I focused on my taxes. So I set a personal record by waiting until mid-March to file.

 20. Goodwill Closet

I bought myself some dresses at Goodwill so that I could feel sexy. Yes, sexy.

The U.S. government’s attack on arts and science and basic human rights has been a personal attack on my careers and my fundamental beliefs. In many ways, Donald Trump has shaken awake the hibernating souls who never knew what they believed in but now are budding activists.

I will not bury my head in the sand, but I will take care of myself. If I forget to look after me, then how can I help the rest of the world? I’ve learned that there is a dotted line between ignorance and knowledge. As an empath, I remain informed, but I don’t have to know everything. And no matter what I do or do not know, I won’t stop standing up for what I believe in.

 

I Like My Men Emotional

My dad was the first man I ever saw cry. The second was my grandpa.

I was in fourth grade when the priest at our church passed away. That was the first time I experienced death, and the first time I saw tears slip down my father’s cheeks. In future years, I would see him cry at funerals, when we buried our guinea pigs in the backyard, and when we held our dog as he slipped over the Rainbow Bridge. Later, I would see him cry out of pride–when he walked my sister down the aisle on her wedding day, when he told his three daughters how proud he was of our independence.

father daughter

I was in eighth grade when I saw my grandpa cry for the first and only time in my life. My grandma had just passed away. Grandpa and I were standing on his porch, looking out at the street. We were both quiet, processing the hard truth of saying goodbye. Then out of nowhere he started bawling.

At thirteen years old, I was somewhat taken aback. Women, I was used to seeing cry like this. But what do you do when you are the sole witness to the painful tears of someone who society paints as a pillar of protection and strength? What do you do when you’re young and naive and still not quite sure about this thing they call life?

My grandpa opened up to me in that moment more than he would ever open up to me in the sixteen years that I knew him. “I don’t know what to do,” he told me. “I just loved her so much.”

father daughter

With those two sentences, he unlocked the door to his heart, sharing with me his deepest fear. He made himself vulnerable. And it made me love him more than I thought I could.

A girl standing next to a grown man sobbing, I didn’t know if there was a right or wrong thing to do, so I just hugged him and cried, too.

We live in a world of stereotypes. Men are supposed to be stoic; women are supposed to be emotional. Men are the strong ones; women are the weak ones.

At least that’s what we’ve always been told.

But females are paving a way for ourselves. We are shattering glass ceilings, we are dissolving stereotypes, we are striving for equality. And many men are right there with us in solidarity. Yet much of our fighting is to have the same rights as men.

What about the men in the world? Who is fighting for them to have the same rights as women?

I like my men emotional.

It has taken me 28 years to truly accept that my emotions are not a curse. Twenty-eight years, and I, a woman, finally see that emotions take off my blinders to the world, that they give me empathy and compassion.

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When I am sitting on my friend’s couch sobbing because my heart is broken into a thousand pieces, when I am screaming into my best friend’s pillow because I can’t process today let alone tomorrow, when I am a blubbery mess relaying my insecurities over a phone line, when I am blotchy and tear-stained and at my absolute ugliest… I am at my most vulnerable.

Allowing myself to be this way, to ask for help and let others see me in pain, is one of the strongest things I will ever do.

And when a man cries on my shoulder, be it out of joy or anguish, whether friend, family or partner, he is, in that moment, the most beautiful man I know. He is honest, unadulterated and incredibly human. He carries the strength of a hundred men.

I have listened to the sobs of my friend’s brother as he eulogized his father. I have mingled my tears with my best friend’s as we held each other and processed a suicide. I have watched a man swipe a finger under his eye as he married the woman of his dreams, and then later when he held their child in his arms. I have seen tears glisten in the sun as men relayed their survival stories following Hurricane Joaquin. I have shaken strangers’ hands after they told me that my performance on-stage made them well up. I have hugged crying men as I packed up my bags and moved on to my next adventure and others who have cried upon my surprise return. I have heard the wails of dozens of males as they watched their beloved pet take one last breath. I have held an ex’s hand with one of my own and collected his tears with my other as he cried and broke my heart.

And I know that if these are the faces of the next generation of patriarchs, then the future is bright.

Womanhood & Manhood, A Uterine Tale

My roommate found my rice sock in the oven the other day. I had to explain to her why a lone reindeer sock was sitting in a casserole dish ready to be baked at a low temperature.

In case you’ve never heard of them, rice socks are exactly that: socks filled with rice. When heated, the rice retains its warmth for a long time, so you’ve got yourself a cheap yet efficient heating pad. I use them for period cramps.

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Pinterest/Modishgeek.com

So when my good friend, Simon, WhatsApped me one rainy fall morning asking me how I was doing, I told him honestly, with details. Because you know me. I never hold back. And because Simon is a mature and caring man, he didn’t crawl away into cyberspace when I started talking about my bleeding vagina. He engaged himself in period chat, and humanity is better off because of it.

After explaining to him what a rice sock was, the menstruation conversation began. It started off like this:

Me: Simon! Can we trade uteruses for a day? I need a break from mine.

Simon: Erm. I can’t find mine.

Me: Lucky.

Simon: Is that bad? It might still be lost in my previous life.

Me: It probably means something medically. I wouldn’t worry about it until you become symptomatic.

When I thanked my friend for humoring my menstrual comedy, he wanted to know what it was really like when my floodgates open every month. (And for that, Simon, I am truly grateful.)

Simon: Do you get very emotional during this time?

Me: Oh my God, I get everything. My bed and pants always look like I went out and committed a homicide in the middle of the night and then just slept it off.

And then I continued to explain to him the glory of my womanhood.

Me: And I get really cranky and extra irritable. And crampy. And back pain. And diarrhea. And nauseous. And dizzy. And clumsy. And tired. And can’t sleep. And I eat a lot more than usual, which is A LOT.

In other words, I’m like a bear about to hibernate but trying to fight nature.

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Tumblr.com

And then he needed clarification on the homicide. I first had to excuse myself to change the tampon I’d just put in 45 minutes ago because I was leaking onto my underwear.

Simon: But all over the bed and pants?

Me: Sometimes I find a trail when I wake up in the morning. Into the bathroom.

Simon: Ok. So yes. I am reading this right.

Me: Once, I bled on my slippers. I considered that an accomplishment. Skills.

And then Simon wanted to know more.

Simon: Are there ways to not bleed on everything?

Me: If Old Faithful isn’t shooting out from your vagina, then most definitely. But I was blessed with a very heavy flow.

Simon: So do you like use darker sheets? Tampons? I heard some girls talking about a cup.

And then we discussed tampons and pads and cups and my bedtime period ritual to try not to stain the mattress. I had to explain to him that my cup would overfloweth, that I could benefit from a transfusion when I’m menstruating.

So now Simon understands that for one week out of every month, my period bloat makes me feel like a disheveled 55-year-old man with a beer belly eating Fritos on the couch with his hand down his pants. I really look more like a zombie from my sleepless nights and anemia. But I wouldn’t mind sitting on the couch eating Fritos.

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IMGFlip

However, I am forced to ignore the cramping, bundle up, and hop on my bike to head to work on this rainy day, where I cry when a dog looks at me because it’s just too much, and where I must paste a smile on my face despite my irritability at the fact that that table won’t stop getting in my way.

At other work places, I used to secretly dip into my backpack to grab a tampon and slither to the bathroom, hopefully camouflaged in my purple scrub top against the beige wall. Now I work at a place with all females, so when I get to the toilet and realize I need a tampon that I don’t have, I can confidently shout to my gal pal colleagues, “Help a sister out!”

But workforce period etiquette isn’t the only place where fully embracing our monthly apocalypse gets stifled. Culturally, there are contrasts in appropriate ways to deal with the red-headed Aunt Jemima.

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Wanna-joke.com

Simon is from Jamaica. We discussed periods across cultures, because when I lived on a remote island in the Bahamas, I had to order tampons off Amazon on account of the limited grocery supply due to cultural differences.

In America, we are fighting for women’s rights. I’ve lived in, worked in, and visited many countries in which such a fight is centuries away from anyone’s mind. But that doesn’t mean the fight isn’t worthy. Hey, newsflash. Women represent 50% of the global population.

My sister is writing a book about the taboo of menstruation across cultures. So, we talk about periods in my family. My dad was the only male in a house of four females (unless you count the dog), so he’s pretty well-versed in feminine monthlies. When my period poem (yes, I wrote one) was published in Witty Bitches magazine, my dad apologized that I had to go through this every month. MY PRECIOUS FATHER. What a man, what a man, what a jolly good man.

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Cosmopolitan

I predict that few men will read, like, or comment on this post, because too many men are not drawn to a story that has the words “uterine” and “womanhood” in the title, let alone want to engage in commentary about the subject. But that’s the topic of this post, so I didn’t think I’d be doing it justice if I called it “Beer, Cars, and Sports.” (That’s what men like, right?)

Too few people are proud enough to call themselves feminists, because they forget that being a feminist is, perhaps, the single most caring thing you can do for your best friend, wife, girlfriend, daughter, or sister.

Really, we should all call ourselves feminists.

Men, this is your chance. Prove me wrong. Prove to us women folk that you care what goes on inside our bodies. Ask us what it is like to lament about not being able to wear white for one week every month, not just after Labor Day.

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Stay At Home Mum

If you’re a man offended by this post, I will set a crazy pregnant lady upon you.

If you’re a woman offended by this, please open up a discussion about it. If we keep our mouths closed, we are just as guilty as Donald Trump throwing sexual insults at us from the podium.

P.S. Simon gave me permission to use his name and our menstruation conversation. That’s a good man, people.

P.P.S. Please do yourself a favor and google period memes. (I made the first one, and I’m pretty proud of it.)

Periods Suck: Menses in the Night

Period-Meme
FunnyAnd.com

Sorry for all you closeted Puritans out there who don’t want to talk about it, but periods are a real part of life. And us women have to deal with them. Often. Like, once a month often for half our lives.

And for some of us, it epically sucks.

Some ladies get cramps so bad we just want to lay on the couch with a heating pad and a box of Cheez-its all day. But we have to make ourselves presentable for society and get off our butts to make money to buy an endless supply of cotton. Menses in the workplace, not a fun thing.

Sometimes we have a game or a performance or, God forbid, our wedding, and the Menses have decided it’s the perfect time to make an appearance, rearing their ginger head most unwelcomingly. White after labor day? Whatever. White on your period? Forget it.

I wrote a stream-of-conscious ode to the Menses in the night for Witty Bitches magazine. Menses in the night=a whole new battle of epic proportions. Whether you’re a gal or a guy or a gal who doesn’t really, um, feel comfortable talking about that stuff, it’s time you joined modern women in turning period talk from taboo to normal.