A couple of weeks ago, I asked if anyone had stories to tell about their bodies. A dear friend of mine, Denise Bennett, a consumate storyteller wrote the following story about what it was like when she started her period.
Denise's story is distressingly close to my own. I think my mother tried to tell me about all that stuff, but I was unable to listen. She gave me a book about it. I grabbed it, ran up the stairs, and stuffed it under the rug between the rocking chair and the bed without even thinking about looking in it. The horror! I was certain it was NOT something I wanted to know about.
When I was 13, I was in study hall at school and noticed, with mortification, that I had a dark red stain spreading rapidly over my jumper. I got up, put my pocketbook over it, and ran to the bathroom. I was very confused when I saw that my underpants were clean, but my dress was not. Then I noticed that a dark red marker in my pocketbook had lost its top and was "bleeding" all over my dress. I didn't have a clue what to do about the stain, because anyone who saw it would assume it was my period, but at least I didn't have the double horror of also getting my period!