I got my first period in the summer just before my 13th birthday. I was going to sleep-away camp for the first (and only) time at the coast about 2 hours from my home in Portland. While packing, I asked my mom if I could have some period supplies, just in case. She laughed and said, “Oh, come on. You’re not going to randomly get your first period this week.”
The camp was a Friends camp that my best friend Susanna had been to many times. I was excited to be joining her and seeing all the sights and people she’d be talking about for years. Families met at the local Quaker church, which was providing buses to camp. Just before getting on the bus with the 2 dozen or so other kids headed from Portland to the camp, we all went to the bathroom. Low and behold, yes, I had gotten my first period. I crammed a bunch of toilet paper in my undies and went to find my friend.
My mom had long departed, so I had to go to my best friend’s dad and let him know. The bus was held while he ran to the store to pick up period supplies. We were all loaded up on the bus, just waiting. Kids were complaining and trying to figure out what the hold-up was. My friend’s dad came running onto the bus with a big grocery bag packed absolutely full of supplies. Pads. Pantyliners. Tampons in every size. Of course as he handed it back to me, everyone wanted to know what was in the bag, as I tried to quickly stuff it under my seat.
Once we got to camp–as soon as I got a moment alone–I started reading through all these boxes and the little instruction books trying to figure out how to use this stuff. I ended up using pads because they seemed the safest and the easiest. Sadly, swimming in the lake was out for me all week, which sucked because it looked so fun as I sat there on the shore in my bulky pad. It was a hot week, and the water would have felt so nice.
I was in the girls’ shared bathroom changing my pad at some point and heard an older girl complaining about the smell. “Did someone throw their stinky pads away in here??” she said. They hadn’t taken the garbage out once since we’d been there. I remember thinking, “what am I supposed to be doing with these things?”
As I reflect on this story now, it feels SO Gen X. The way my generation was just sort of expected to figure it out on our own. The amount of confusion and embarrassment I had about things there is no way I could know about. It’s so weird that something that happens to half the population was so hidden. Shameful. Not something to be talked about. How much time have I spent in my life trying to figure out how to hide a tampon while I’m on my way to the bathroom so people won’t know I’m on my period? As I look at my child now, approaching the age I was when I got my first period, I’m glad that they will have a different experience: resourced, believed, and supported.