For five years I did not menstruate. My body was busy carrying and nursing children. I had to relearn the duty of menstrual care. My preferences had changed since having kids, I had become more interested in living more environmentally friendly and chemical free. Enter my introduction to the menstrual cup.
My period is essentially the only time I am alone in the bathroom with the door locked. Each day I bleed gives me a few minutes of self-care in a literal sense. I nurture and tend to my body as gently as I do my children’s. These tiny respites are delicious in their own way.
A couple of years ago I wrote an ode to the menstrual cup inspired by this time alone and what it has unexpectedly given me. I’ve published it below. It’s a bit of a shift from my normal content, but the ongoing themes of my writing are present. I understand that not all menstruating humans will agree with me, as is their right, but if you’re reading my newsletter I hope it is because you’re interested in my thoughts and experiences.
I discovered the menstrual cup in my mid-thirties. The ability to control when I would see and cleanse the blood dripping from me was a revelation. The pouring of the blood into the toilet; a thick, viscous thread still connected within me hanging down, a different kind of umbilicus. The blood spreads and dances in the water. It feels more miraculous, more curious and beautiful than the foul smelling pads and expanded tampons with mouse tails.
Before I simply absorbed my menstrual blood as my “feminine duty.” Now I contain it and choose to let it go. There are so few things I have been allowed to control about my body. Nature, culture, men, even government, all have claims and expectations, but with a cup I nurture and tend to myself on my own terms.
My pregnancy and birthing phase are complete. Each period is now (wasted) potential–drip, drip, dripping between my labia.
Nature bestows upon us (women) the ability to create miracles within our bodies. It is a gift, but not one we can control. Not one that nature or society allows us to control without struggle and constant ambush. We can not control when pregnancy occurs or how.
I am reminded of giving birth. In transition, my body folded itself in two over and over as it beared down. I did not control this movement. My nerves and muscles were acting on their own, forcing me forward again and again.
I was gleeful when I first realized the power of this cup. This power to control when and how my blood exits my body. I wanted to talk about it–like songbirds chorusing noisily for all to hear: You don’t have to see menstrual blood every time you pee during your period! You don’t have to wipe it or smell it or check for leaks all day! I wanted every female to have access to this newfound ability, control, choice.
Sometimes I say a little farewell to the life-giving part of me that will never be used, nor returned to me, as I pour it away—I’m sorry, I failed to use your potential. After birthing two children it is impossible to go back to menstruating with disgust or indifference. Now each egg is one less, growing fewer and fewer each month. An hourglass of fertility diminishing, my youth, drip, drip, dripping from my thighs.
There is no one to turn the hourglass over. And yet I rest knowing my duty is near complete. I choose when to let it go, swirling into the water beneath me. I relish this bit of control, of autonomy over my body. Perhaps when the hourglass is empty, I will be free.
All images published in Stutter Over Silence are original artwork created by the author, Katie Gresham, unless otherwise noted.
What a powerful way of putting this. I loved my cup before kids, after two kids now it just falls right out of me!
I love thinking of the cup as an hourglass--this is powerful, bold, real and has so much of the truth that is never spoken out loud. Brava!