GladRags Gab

Happy National Poetry Month! In a last ditch effort, before April, also known as National Poetry Month (www.poets.org) is over, I have penned a poem that has some relevance to menstruation, though barely. Maybe not surprisingly, menstruation has inspired many people to poetry, Sandra Cisneros and Lucielle Clifton among them. The website for the Museum of Menstruation, www.mum.org, has a category for poetry, with many other bleeding-inspired works. Perhaps poetic inspiration will strike you!

Wait ‘Til Jordy Hears This
by Michelle A.L. Singer

My email address differs from
Jordy Singer’s
By two numbers,
9 and 8.
If anyone forgets to add 9 and 8
To jmsinger,
The message goes to Jordy
And he or she
I don’t know which
Never asked
Kindly
Forwards them to me.

When we lived in China
And established our first ever email account
There was plenty of confusion
About email addresses
And Jordy came into play quite often.

When I didn’t get my period for three months
We’re pretty sure Jordy got an earful
Of the ensuing drama.
It turns out that I wasn’t pregnant
And that it sometimes happens
When you live abroad-
Your cycle stops
As if to see what’s going to happen next.

Ten years later, we’ve both
Kept the same email addresses
(Unheard of)
Though my physical address
Has changed eight times
And who knows how many for Jordy.

Ten years
And the other day
He (or she)
Still not sure
Still haven’t asked
Forwarded a wayward message my way.

Ten years,
And I’m late
Waiting to see if I’m pregnant
Again.

P.S. I’m not. Two days after writing this, I got my period. Even though I had taken two pregnancy tests that showed negative, nothing is the final word like bleeding. At times like these when technically I should be wishing not to bleed, I can’t help but still enjoy getting my GladRags out. Somehow they still seem fun to me.

-Michelle 

Did you ever have the dream that you’re pregnant? That very real dream, the one you have before you’ve even had sex, but it feels so real that you don’t notice that important fact? I remember that dream, more so I remember waking up from that dream—the cold wash of pure relief. (Do men have a version of this dream?)

After I started having sex, there was the late period. The agonizingly late period, accompanied by panic and then (finally!) the warm wash of pure relief, maybe even tears, as the blood made its entrance.

Then there was a long stretch of a more mature handle on birth control that left me with just the monthly rhythm, surfing through the cycle and the secrets of its language.

And then, like a force of nature, it was time to get pregnant and we did. Not having a cycle every month was quickly and thoroughly overlooked in the face of such an event as waiting for a baby. Because I nursed my daughter for almost two years, my period didn’t come back for at least a year after she was born. But when it did, well, the Chinese call it “gui lai” and it was a real event—a marker of my changing body, changing back.

I had another child and again promptly forgot about menstruating or what it was like to not menstruate. When my “gui lai” came this time, also nearly a year after my son was born, my body sang with it. With two children, my body well knew the reality, not just the fearful dream, of what this meant. I could get pregnant!

And since that fateful day of singing fertility, it has been a game of “maybe/maybe not.” Will we do it all again? Every day brings a different answer.

People will be all over the board, having vastly different experiences of fertility and what their menstrual cycle had meant to them; for me, it surprises me that I don’t fear pregnancy now that I know what it means to go truly sleepless and compromised by the demands of caring for children every day. But in fact, it’s the opposite.

Now every month there is still the waiting, the speculating, sometimes the counting of days, the recounting of possible “slip-ups,” and yet, when at last the question is answered, the blood is here, I am not pregnant, there is no wash of relief anymore. Just a little pit in the stomach, an almost inaudible sigh. Maybe it’s not surprising at all. For me, knowing, really knowing, what it is to get pregnant and have children, it’s not the magic of the menstrual cycle I feel (although that’s there too), it’s the magic of babies that I’ve got my eye on.

by Michelle A.L. Singer 

     My husband Josh came home from work with a flower-shaped package wrapped in brown paper. We were already at the dinner table and he said he had something for his Valentines. He pulled out three red roses for me, a dark pink rose for my mother, and a light pink rose for our daughter Ruby. As he walked around the table to Ruby, who was sitting next to Jaden our two-year-old son, and handed her her rose, my son’s eyes never left the empty brown paper in his other hand. The look of sweet expectation was written all over his face. When Ruby’s rose was in hand, his expectation grew. He looked at the brown paper. “Where’s my flowuh?” he said. We quickly siphoned one of mine across the table and Josh handed it to his son. Jaden’s little face beamed. We all oo’ed and ah’ed, and he was nothing short of thrilled with his “flowuh.”     We at the table knew that boys don’t get flowers, but he didn’t. I hope it takes a long long while before he gets that message. And from now on, we will do our best to take the gender out of beautiful flowers. With his innocent anticipation, Jaden reminded me of the critical need to foster the feminine in men.     Every year around Valentine’s Day, playwright and activist Eve Ensler continues to push toward her goal of ending violence against women with V-Day—originally celebrated by staging productions of her play, The Vagina Monologues. Entering her tenth year and with the intention of continuing until-the-violence-stops, her appearances and events are now year-round and star-studded. Proceeds from every show, event, speech, and t-shirt go toward charities that help end violence against women. In addition to going to an event and furthering the necessary steps toward that worthy goal (www.vday.org), see if you can’t also find a way to nurture the feminine in a man you know. It might very well have the same effect that Ensler’s going for.

-Michelle 

The snowflakes that fell on January 24, 2008 were so small they looked like glitter when the sun caught them-these are the details that come into sharp focus on the day that someone is born.

Because of the amazing digital technology of telephones these days, I know that at 8:50 a.m. of this day, I got the call-"Today's the day." Immediately my eyes smarted (today's the day!), and I braced myself-I was "on call" now. I was the "big sister doula," the person that takes care of the older child while their sibling is being born. This would be the third time I would get to witness a birth, not just through my own eyes but also through the eyes of a three year old.

At 11:21 a.m., I received the second phone call, lasting 18 seconds, telling me it was time to pick Astrid (the big sister) up for school and come home with her in order to be there for the birth of her younger sister, at their home. In this role, my job is to be firmly in the world of the child as their family transforms, expands. I take this role seriously, to protect the integrity of this major event and also because children respond very well to undivided attention. For this birth, however, I found myself drawn toward the sounds of this child making her way into the world again and again. What follows is the dual reality I found myself in: Astrid's and mine as we ate lunch, waited (not for very long!), and listened to the deep involuntary sounds of labor.

Astrid: "Kitty just ran out of there! She said, ‘Too much ruckus!'  Silly Kitty (laugh) Too much ruckus! (laugh) That one sounded like a horse. (pause) That one a dog. (pause) Oh, that one's a cow."

Me: Those are the most honest, amazing, deep, beautiful sounds I had ever heard. These are not sounds you will ever hear in any other situation. God, what a privilege to hear them. I'm so lucky. I can't believe so many people never have this experience. This is the story of going to the deepest places of the body to find the will to bear birth. "Do you want to go in and see the birth?"

Astrid:  "No, I want to go meet the baby after she is born. What is this? Can I have this yogurt? Mmmmm. I like this yogurt."

Me: "Mmmm, looks good. Your mom's doing a good job in there," (trying not to cry). "Are we going to make some necklaces later?"

Astrid: "Yes! You know what? My teachers know how to sing ‘Oh my darlin'!"

Me: "They do! That's great. Oh! Your Mom is calling us!"

We left our food and went into the living room at the very moment that Astrid's baby sister was lifted into her mother's arms by her father who had just caught her, with the help of the two midwives. I can't say what it was like for Astrid, but for me walking into the room was like walking into a brick wall emotion. My eyes and chest and throat crumpled immediately, and as I looked around, I saw the feeling mirrored perfectly in everyone else's face in the room. Whoosh!-the child slides in to the world-the father's face! the mother's face! my face, crumpled in tears.

Me: I will never forget the look on his (the dad's) face. What a moment. Look at that baby. Were mine ever that small?

Astrid: "Look at her small hand! She's so cute! (pause)  I'm still quite a bit hungry."

We went directly back to the kitchen and sat down. She ate her sandwich, wanted some mustard. She wanted to know what else I brought in my bag for her. I pulled out a light stick. We opened it up and cracked it into pink glowing life. Here, I'm a little ashamed to admit, is when she went back to her mother, holding her newborn infant in the first five minutes of her life, and said, "Mom! Look! I have a glow stick!" Her mother, of course, said, "Oh! That's great!" And Astrid came back with me to see what else we could do.

I am proud to report that I have witnessed five births now (okay, two were my own) and always come away from them wondering at the privilege of it. Here we go on about menstruation, but this, this person whooshing into the world, and the shocking love of it, that's what it, all these moon cycles, is all actually about. Whether we choose to flip one of those hundreds of cycles into a being or not, that's what they are about.

- Michelle A.L. Singer 

Michelle Singer is a freelance journalist currently living and working in Montpelier, Vermont. Former GladRags employee and menstrual enthusiast, she is also a great lover of books, hiking, and wrestling with the continual confusion of feminism. She lives in a multi-generational home with all her most important fans-her parents, husband and two truly adorable children.

I was at a book group the other night with delightful, intelligent, mothers of small children who have an unspoken agreement that although we choose a book every time, we're really getting together for wine and conversation. In fact, our discussions in recent meetings have barely grazed the subject of the book whose premise we were gathered under.

At our last meeting, ongoing struggles of life: marriage, children, and wellness (sleep, sex, and prescriptions) inevitably consumed our conversation. When we lingered on mental health and I put forward my belief that all issues of health stem from a root cause (oftentimes emotional or spiritual), one woman offered her menstrual cycle as an example of something that is strictly biological.

For a few days every month, she said, her personality changes-she "hates everyone" and wishes she could just be by herself for those days. Since this happens only during PMS, it is clearly just a hormonal shift, she concluded.

This group of women doesn't happen to know about my dear love for the menstrual cycle and as they continued to talk in turn about menstruation, I, for once, just listened. The verdict was unanimous-thumbs down-and when the hormonal pill that now advertises that women can simply "skip" menstruation came up, the idea was welcomed.
(more…)

"Nothing in our society-with the exception of violence and fear-has been more effective in keeping women in their place than the degradation of the menstrual cycle." -Women's Bodies, Women's Wisdom by Christiane Northrup

"On approach of a woman in this state, must will become sour, seeds which are touched by her become sterile, grass withers away, garden plants are parched up, and the fruit will fall from the tree beneath which she sits." -Pliny, 636 A.D.

"Without menstruation and the sciences of measurement women developed from watching first the moon and then the stars, there would be no clocks or watches, no astronomers, no mathematicians or physicists, no astronauts, none of the architecture and engineering which have been born from exact measurement and proportion." -Blood, Bread, and Roses by Judy Grahn

"How might your life have been different for you if, on your first menstrual day, your mother had given you a bouquet of flowers and taken you to lunch, and then the two of you had gone to meet your father at the jeweler, where your ears were pierced…and then you went, for the very first time, to the Women's Lodge, to learn the wisdom of the women? How might your life be different?" -Circle of Stones by Judith Duerk

"Suppose that society is a lie, and the period is a moment of truth which will not sustain lies." -The Wise Wound by Penelope Shuttle & Peter Redgrove

-Michelle

Michelle Singer is a freelance journalist currently living and working in Montpelier, Vermont. Former GladRags employee and menstrual enthusiast, she is also a great lover of books, hiking, and wrestling with the continual confusion of feminism. She lives in a multi-generational home with all her most important fans-her parents, husband and two truly adorable children.  

I'm venturing into very personal territory here, bloggers, so hold onto your hats. However, in the spirit of universal experience, I'm wondering something…

Is it just me, or are the delicate tissues of my vulva even more delicate after having given birth two times? Since having my kids and getting my cycle back (although this didn't happen right away) a day or two into bleeding my vulva begins to feel rather…raw. What is this about?

I will admit, in all my years of frankness about menstruation, I still find myself shy to talk about my vulva (especially on the internet). But I do believe that that this is one of the few forums I might be able to venture this subject. Also, many people do experience vulvodynia, which simply means vulvar pain, much like I am describing, but if I am correct, pain caused by vulvodynia is more constant while mine seems to be associated with bleeding. There is also contact dermatitis, which is also irritation of the vulva, but usually because of contact with soaps, detergents, deodorants, etc. Again, my irritation seems linked to blood, when I use internal products, still wearing my skivvies and clothes, I'm fine.

Could my blood be irritating my skin, and why would it do that? Is the tissue of my vulva more sensitive now after giving birth two times?

I hope to hear from any readers with insights, and also to open the door for people who do experience vulvar pain and find relief in natural menstrual products like the ones found here. It's not something we get the chance to talk about but I'm sure we have a lot of experiences to share. Let's talk, we've got to take care of our girls!

Michelle

Michelle Singer is a freelance journalist currently living and working in Montpelier, Vermont. Former GladRags employee and menstrual enthusiast, she is also a great lover of books, hiking, and wrestling with the continual confusion of feminism. She lives in a multi-generational home with all her most important fans-her parents, husband and two truly adorable children.  

To bleed or not to bleed,-that seems to be the question:-
Whether ‘tis nobler to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous moods, cramps, and PMS,
Or to take arms against our bodies with a sea of drugs,
And by opposing ourselves, end it?-To stop,-to cease,-
No more; and by a pill to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural fluxuations
That flesh is heir to,-‘tis culturally
Devoutly to be wish'd. To stop,-to cease;-
To sleep! Perchance to dream:-ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of nothingness what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal cycle,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes worth living of so long life.

This famous speech from Shakespeare's "Hamlet" was frighteningly easy to adapt to menstruation. I was inspired by Jodi's "No More Menstruation" blog that talks about the new oral contraceptive that is taken continually, with no break for bleeding. The "To be or not to be" speech jumped right into my head, and the parallel with "To bleed or not to bleed" was too perfect. I looked up the actual speech in an old copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare that I happen to have lying around. You can just as easily google it, though I like the way the older version has all the dashes. Anyway, you can see for yourself how little had to be changed. I'm kind of stunned actually how beautifully the point is made…

Michelle
 
Michelle Singer is a freelance journalist currently living and working in Montpelier, Vermont. Former GladRags employee and menstrual enthusiast, she is also a great lover of books, hiking, and wrestling with the continual confusion of feminism. She lives in a multi-generational home with all her most important fans–her parents, husband and two truly adorable children.

I have a way to fold my GladRags that I thought was unique. I remove my used pad and fold the long ends into the middle, essentially folding the soiled part onto itself. Then I use the wings to wrap up the sides and snap the snaps (upside down for them) on the top of this nice little package and it all seems very Japanese zen-like. One day I mentioned it to other GladRags employees and get a very blasé response, “Oh yeah, that way, nah I don’t usually do that.” So much for my brilliant discovery.

It worked, however, quite well when I backpacked in Nepal. I kept all the neat little square packages in a Ziploc until we camped in a place long enough for me to wash and dry them in a stream, or in one case until we got back to a hotel. In this instance, we happened to take a short flight and upon arrival in a small Nepali airport, my bag was searched. I think the man who searched the small canvas tote that I kept my GladRags in, including my Ziploc full of used but neatly buttoned up GladRags, was slightly more impressed with this innovation.

(more…)

Even before my cycle has completed itself, I am missing it. On these last days of trickling, I feel the tide turn. I’m moving out of bleeding time.

This time, on the heaviest day, I was at home with the kids all day. Tired from a recent rush of work and a few nights of hot, humid, not-so-great sleeping, I welcomed this rainy day with an indulgent long sit on the couch. I set no agenda for the day and put nothing on my list of what must be accomplished. I let myself lounge, let us all watch TV, eat snacks, read while they napped. Usually, it is so difficult to let a day be. Usually, I must get us out to the library or I must get the bathroom cleaned, or email five people. Oh, glorious heavy flow when we just were. This is what I am missing already, though the blood is not completely gone. I’m missing the deep settling into my body and my life with no other expectations put on them. I could keep this philosophy if I tried, but menstruating makes it so easy, I’m menstruating, that’s what I’m doing. And it feels like enough.

I’ve rinsed the pads, washed out the soaking pot and used the opportunity to clean the tub at the same time. See, I told you I’ve switched gears—I’m cleaning the bathroom. I’m wrapping up the washing and drying and folding and moving on to the next part of the cycle. Luckily, it will all come back around.

Michelle