Aunt Flow

A Tribute To Blood Mysteries

This morning I woke up with that familiar feeling like I needed to fart and as I gave a little push to release the gas I could feel blood begin to gush out. Not from my butt hole! Eww, gross. From my vagina. It’s that time of the month. Aunt flow came to call, the purple flower, my moon time, menstruation. Use whatever euphemism you want, but right now I feel homicidal. A demon has taken over my mind and I don’t want to be nice to anyone. I don’t want to make anyone a snack. I don’t want to be accommodating, people pleasing, or easy going. Where is my fucking Red Tent?! I want to be surrounded by women and doted upon. I want to roll up into a little ball and sleep, while someone feeds me fatty delicious protein rich foods.

My 4-year-old son walked up to the bed right as this fart/blood gush was happening and he said, “Mama, I want a book and milk with you.” I said, “Ok honey, I’m bleeding a lot. Let me get cleaned up and then we can go read a book.” He nodded knowingly and followed me into the bathroom. I showed him the blood spot in my underwear and he was very impressed. Then he watched as I reached up inside my vagina to pull out my Diva Cup. I showed him the full cup of blood and then dumped it into the toilet. He said, “That’s a lot of blood.” I replied, “I know honey, that’s why I don’t feel good for a few days.” Then he watched as I squatted in the bathtub to rinse off my vulva before replacing the cup.

We’re learning about blood mysteries together. I try to answer all of my son’s questions about menstruation, birth, vaginas, and the female body, with openness and honesty. I want him to grow up knowing that although bleeding every month, growing and birthing babies is totally natural and normal, it’s also a ton of work and should be respected. I want him to learn to take special care of women while we are bleeding. It’s almost like being sick, but more special and kind of beautiful even in the messiness and pain.

I have a love/hate relationship with my period now. A lot has changed since having kids and one of the things that is totally different is my time-of-the-month. It comes in like a storm. A mind storm. It’s strange because I actually get no physical signs it’s coming, other than being tired. Being sleep deprived I’m tired all the time, so this doesn’t feel like a clear sign of what’s to come. Before having kids my period was no big deal and I could do pretty much anything while bleeding: rafting, running, sex, whatever.

After having my first kid my period came back 2-years later with a vengeance. It was super painful. I started taking black cohosh capsules and the pain went away. Then I went and had another baby. Now my period is pain free (I still take some black cohosh) but it takes over my mind and I just want to shut down and disappear. I hate this feeling but I also get the message that I need a break. My body is telling me to slow down and take care of myself first and try to delegate the kid-care as much as possible. It’s almost like a break from being nice altogether. I also get these clear monthly messages through my body about how much stress I’ve experienced in the month prior and how well I took care of myself; messages about my sexuality, my sense of freedom, and how my soul is doing. It feels like a time to slow down and pay attention even within the discomfort of it all. It’s not time to numb out and run away.

I’m writing at this coffee shop and I just took a break to enjoy my breakfast burrito and chai tea. As I looked around I realized that I’m surrounded by women. I managed to give myself a sort of Red Tent after all. Cramming eggs, cheese, bacon, and fried potatoes into my mouth, surrounded by women. I live with 3 boys (OK one of them is a Man) and in times like these I don’t even want to look at them, let alone make them snacks and feed them from my body. I just want a break. That’s where the love comes in for me with Aunt Flow’s little visit. It brings me back to my body, to my own needs and reminds me how important it is to take care of myself, not just everyone else.

I love the blood cup (is that name trademarked?!). There’s something awesome about reaching up inside myself and this opportunity to feel my internal muscles and get my own bright red hot blood on my fingers. It doesn’t let me look away. It’s this moment of feeling how alive I am, even in the exhaustion and messiness of it all. There’s power to it. Potency. I can contract and relax the muscles of my pelvic floor. I’m aware of the tiny opening in my cervix releasing the blood that also has the power to open up so big that an entire baby, a whole life can fit through that space and come into the world through me. It’s not gross. Or maybe it is but in a cool way. It’s fascinating and powerful and mysterious.

So here I am in a coffee shop writing about blood and vaginas. Again. Why are these things so taboo? These are little reminders of our country’s puritanical roots. Don’t talk about the body. Especially the female body. Taboos: birth, menstrual blood, vaginas, poop, sex, death. Did I get all of them? There’s something about the monthly experience of losing blood that reminds me of my wild animal nature. That reminds me to trust my body even in its confusing unpredictable mystery. While I’m bleeding, I’m alive. This is life and sometimes it’s a painful messy experience. Part of the practice of being alive is accepting all of it. Not just the neat pretty happy stuff. Birth is not neat or pretty and neither is motherhood or life. It just isn’t. Every month I get this clear reminder and a little ass-kicking for all the times I forgot this truth, and punished myself for not being neat or pretty enough.

It’s a reminder that my job as a human, as a woman, as a mother is not to be neat and pretty. My job as a human, woman, and mother is to be fully alive, wild, and free. Honest and authentic with all of the messiness in between the clarity that comes and goes. This experience of bleeding, of letting go, of cleansing, is a clarifying experience. Even in its harshness, its strangling grasp. It forces me to look and not look away. It’s a rough wise teacher and I’m listening.

What if we broke some of these taboos and embraced our messy embodiment? What if we revered the female body for all of our cyclical wisdom and wildness? What if the blood is not meant to be feared but respected and followed? What is your body trying to tell you?

Period Protocol for the boys I live with: I’ve made a plan with my husband that when I tell him my period is on the way his job is to be extra nice to me by giving me massages, getting lots of treats from the store, and being patient with my mood swings and increased need for rest. When my sons are old enough they can follow suit. I also picked up some tinctures from our local herb store to help me feel better and relax more. Outside of building our own Red Tent in the backyard where I can disappear to sleep and eat, this seems like the best we can do.