Congratulations, You're now a woman🙂

I can't remember how old I was when I saw my first period, but I will never forget when it came. I was on summer break, and like every other morning, it felt normal and slightly chaotic....the kind of morning you would understand if you grew up as a girl in an average Nigerian home.I had finished my chores and was sitting in the parlour, watching an animation. My brother and his friend were at the dining table, gisting, laughing, and probably playing video games or something. Honestly, I didn't care. My mum was in her room, and my sister was in the kitchen. Nothing eventful was happening. I didn't have cramps. No pain. No mood swings. Nothing.There was absolutely nothing to herald the world of torture I was about to walk into. In fact, I was happy. For once, my brother had let me watch what I wanted in peace.You see, most times, we'd fight over the remote.Okay, "fight" might be an exaggeration because, he'd just collect the remote from me and change the channel to a football show.That's why I hate ball, by the way😅.I'd cry and cry and cry, and eventually, I'd either give up or he'd get tired of me and leave me alone with the remote🙂 So that morning, I was enjoying my little moment of peace when I suddenly felt something come out of me. I paused What was that? It had never happened before, so I went to the toilet to check. And there it was. Blood.My underwear was stained with blood.I was terrified.....scared, for a moment I thought "what the hell?"I was in Junior Secondary School, and I had heard enough about menstruation by then that I could probably write a whole book about it. We'd been taught that it was normal. That every girl would experience it. That we shouldn't be ashamed of it."Don't be embarrassed.""It's a natural process.""Every woman goes through it." I'd heard it all. Oh well. I felt the exact opposite. I don't even know where that feeling came from. Maybe it was because nobody had really prepared me for what it would feel like to suddenly have blood coming out of my body. Maybe it was the way menstruation was talked about in hushed voices. Maybe it was because, despite being told it was normal, I had somehow learned that it was also something to hide. Or it was probably because I'd seen my sister, close relatives and even female seniors in school try to cover up themselves when they got stained like they had committed a shameful act. Whatever the reason was, I felt embarrassed, ashamed and scared.I didn't even tell my mum.Instead, I went to my sister's wardrobe, took a pad, and tried, with the little knowledge I had, to make sense of how I was supposed to use it. Funny thing is, we were taught about menstruation in school, but apparently teaching girls how to actually use a pad was too advanced for the curriculum. I did a terrible job, by the way.An absolutely terrible job.And it was a horrible first experience. I instantly hated wearing pads. I hated the feeling.I hated the discomfort. I hated that I suddenly had to be conscious of something that had never existed in my life before.Most of all, I hated that there was nothing I could do about it. I remember wishing it would just stop. Eventually, I resigned myself to my fate and told my mum later that day.And then came the full-blown Nigerian mother lecture. The one about how I could now get pregnant if I played around with boys, the one about being careful, about boys....the one about how I was now "a woman." A WOMAN. I had barely figured out how to wear a pad properly, and somehow I was already being introduced to womanhood. As the days went by, something in me changed.I withdrew I became incredibly sad, and it felt like my entire world had been turned upside down.I know what you might be thinking "It's just menstruation", It's normal", "Millions of girls experience it", "It's not that serious."But it was a big deal to meIt was a very big deal, I felt weird.I didn't feel like myself anymore.I felt uncomfortable in my own body, like something had suddenly changed without asking for my permission.I wanted all of it to go away. I became withdrawn from everyone—at school, at home, everywhere.My mum noticed, she asked me several times what was wrong, but how was I supposed to explain something I didn't even understand myself?I didn't know the word for what I was feeling. I didn't know that what I was experiencing could be depression. I only knew that I was sad.Very, very sad.Looking back now, I understand myself a little better. One afternoon, I was walking towards my room when my mum looked at me and asked,"Why are you walking as if there is something in between your legs?"I didn't know what to say.Because there was something between my legs and it made me so uncomfortable.But how was I supposed to explain that to her?Would she think I was exaggerating?. Hell, I even thought I was exaggerating. Maybe I was being dramatic.Maybe I was supposed to just get over it.After all, every other girl seemed to be doing just fine. I had classmates who were so excited about getting their first period that they told every girl who cared to listen.They'd gather in groups close to the toilet, whispering and giggling about it."I've seen my period!""Me too!"They spoke about it almost like it was a badge of honour. I, on the other hand, was so ashamed that whenever someone asked me if I'd seen mine, I'd lie."No.", "I haven't."I hadn't learned how to say, "Yes, but I'm scared."I hadn't learned how to say, "Yes, and I hate it."I hadn't learned how to say, "Yes, and I don't know why I feel this way." So I simply lied.I didn't get used to it.Every month, I faced it with the same deep sadness, hoping that somehow it would get better.And maybe it did.Or maybe that's just what I thought because once my period ended, I'd go back to being the happy young girl I was.I'd laugh, I'd play, I'd feel like myself again.Until the next month then it would come back, and I'd slip right back into that familiar pit of sadness and self-hatred. And then the cramps came. They came in their might. They came with pimples, purging, mood swings, body aches, and pain. So. Much. Pain. Oh God, I hated myself.I hated my body so much that I would cry. Sometimes, I couldn't sleep at night because of the pain. I was painn. And yet, I was still expected to go about my day as though everything was fine.I'd still be called to the kitchen to help prepare meals, I'd still be sent on errands, I'd still go to school,I'd still be expected to sit through classes, participate, answer questions, concentrate and act like a normal human being while it felt like my organs were tearing themselves apart. One day, I finally went to the school clinic.I had walked all the way from my classroom, bent over from the pain, across the school compound, through the staff room, all the way to the clinic because I genuinely thought I would find some sort of relief there.I asked the nurse for medication.And guess what? 😀 I was told by a man (by the way), that he wasn't going to give me any drugs. His reason? If I started taking medication this early, my body would get used to it.Instead, I should endure the pain. According to him, with time, I'd get used to it. I remember being stunned. I legit stood there and was like "ehhnn???"; "you say??"I unfortunately didn't have the strength to roll my eyes, cross my arms and ask him why he felt like he could tell me that.I couldn't understand why a man was so casually advising me on something he had never—and would never—experience. Oh yeah, I get that he was a medical practitioner but last time I checked they were supposed to advise patients not to outrightly tell me he won't give me drugs not for health reason but because he believes I can endure it. And it wasn't even the fact that he was a man that bothered me the most.It was how nonchalantly he said it, I had walked into that clinic bent over in pain, hoping that someone would look at me and understand that I wasn't being dramatic.I thought someone would ask me to sit down or thought someone would ask how much pain I was in or at least help.Instead, I got a lecture and was sent on my way.So I bore the pain and I wondered why....Why did my body have to do this to me every month? Why did something so natural feel so unbearable?Why was I expected to simply endure it? Why did I feel like my body had suddenly become something I had to fight? Years later, I still bear the pain and I still remind myself to be kinder to me.I still hold myself through those moments because, sometimes, who else can truly hold me if not me?I still have those feelings.I don't think they ever completely went away. Maybe one day they will.Maybe one day I'll be able to hold the hands of a young girl who'll find herself in my shoes. Maybe I'll be able to look at her and tell her all the things I wish someone had told me.Maybe I'll say something like"You will get through this","Your feelings are not invalid", "you are not being dramatic","you are not weak because this is difficult for you".You don't have to love what is happening to your body because it's natural.And most importantly I'll tell her that her body is not her enemy.Even when it hurts, even when it feels unfamiliar, even when everything seems to point to the fact that it is.Her body is not her enemy.Your body is not your enemy And maybe, just maybe, if someone had told me that when I was younger, I wouldn't have spent so many years believing that mine was. If you've read to the end you're a darling 🥹Drop a comment beloww🫠

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