Menstruation

Artwork Credit: The First Women Jasmine Jones 2019

Artwork Credit: The First Women Jasmine Jones 2019

The opening.

It's presence hard to ignore. 

18 years ago. We never celebrate, never have an anniversary, but we should. We should celebrate every month with chocolate, toast your arrival with herbal tea and tears.

We have a love hate relationship, don't we? If only you'd discreetly depart between my legs, then I wouldn't have to take sick leave.

You were hugely unwanted and feared at 10. I wasn't a child anymore, my sense of innocence taken as I became very aware of the changes in my body. I was changing. 

You were an embarrassment; wearing 'nappies' to conceal my change. I didn't know why this was happening, I didn't quite understand the reason behind this change. But my mind started to change... I knew things were different. 

And then the clothes, oh the clothes! Bright colours transitioned to dark tones to be discrete, to hide my woman-ness. Very aware that I needed to change often so nobody would ever see what was happening inside. 

When you're a teenager you're told to use protection because you could get pregnant at any point. A sigh of relief as you receive your 'Get out of Jail Free' card. The feeling that comes over you as you thank the period Gods that they have graced your flow for another cycle. So many sick room visits because of you, so many ibuprofen’s popped back, so many hot water bottles used. Some gnarly trips to A&E too. Sometimes you were so pissed that I couldn't even walk. A relentless bitch, that was what you were. 

And then we become adults. People that are supposed to have our shit together (mostly). But I really don't. I dabbled in your farewell as I set my daily alarm, but that didn't last long. I missed you, and as much as you frustrated me I wanted you back. 

And then we talked about those eggs. I actually started to listen to you for once and tried to give you more attention. I tried to synchronise myself with you, finding oneness in our purpose to produce. No luck. And then you wouldn't arrive, and then I'd think our dance worked... but you'd show up days later. You made me sad. 

And then when you kept showing up unannounced when I was pregnant. You made me so angry, you tried to scare us, but it didn't work. He's beautiful.

So many scriptures say you're unclean, that a woman is impure while she bleeds. Everything that she makes contact with is unclean. I feel uncomfortable, somewhat violated. Blood is significant, it represents old and new. Surely, you are hope. You are sacred and beautifully painful, here at the beginning of time, reminding me that you are meant to be.

When you visit, it's liberating. I had to let go of our past, it wasn't healthy. We have a better understanding of one another now 

I think.


Jasmine Jones (Tainui) is a māmā & blogger.

You can check her out here: https://wordpress.com/view/formywairua.wordpress.com

And follow her on Insta @for_my_wairua and fb @4myWairua