Cursed, Period

I grew up in the 70's and 80's in an Italian Catholic home with parents who never talked about S-E-X. The topic, never brought up intentionally but sometimes penetrating the impervious genetically inbuilt "wall of shame" via the television, was met with complete denial. I never brought it up either. I think I was born into the family with the avoidance gene already firmly expressed.

My very first period showed up as a single red pinpoint of a dot. I did not tell my mother.

Eventually, my mother knew. I remember she smiled and hugged me with some embarrassment and then handed me a thin booklet that she must have gotten in the '50's. It was now about 20 years later. It might have been called Now You Are a Woman, or something like that. I didn't read it. I didn't need to. I'd already learned in school enough to know I was menstruating. I didn't really understand why. My sisters called it "the curse" and that was good enough explanation for me. I was cursed.

Some of my friends in Middle School were reading books like Judy Bloom's Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret. I was too ashamed to even sneak peeks at it at the school library until well after the time it would have done me any good. To this day, I've never read it, though some of my school friends managed to show me a few important passages that at the time left me wondering what else I didn't know about life.

One thing I did know. I hated my period. I couldn't even bear to say the word. I hated having to wear a stupid garter and a big bulky pad that felt like a couch pillow between my legs. Thank God times have changed. I was always paranoid the damn thing could be seen through my pants, alerting all the prepubescent boys in my class to my situation. I also hated the obviousness of sitting out in gym class on pool days. Then again, being excused from other sports from time to time was the one bonus I did appreciate, as I hated PE more than my period.

I didn't try my first tampon until well into high school. There was something very mysterious and onerous about tampons. My mother said, "Tampons are for older girls." I wondered when I would hit the magic age. If it were up to my mother, I never would have. It was a sister who gave me my first tampon and told me how to use it.

As far as my period was concerned, I'm not sure if the worst part was the bleeding, the cramps, or the awareness that I could now become pregnant. On second thought, I know the worst part was the pregnancy thing. I think from the time I was 12 to the time I was divorced, that abject fear of pregnancy stayed with me. Of course, it changed over time. I eventually realized I couldn't get pregnant from the toilet seat or from kissing or liking a boy. I could only become pregnant from sex, which was to be avoided at all costs...until I couldn't avoid it anymore. Then, it was the pregnancy itself that was to be avoided at all costs.

I didn't become sexually active until well into college. I was far too shy, awkward, and guilt-ridden to spend much time with boys before then. When I did have the opportunity to make out, it was always a dizzying, overwhelming experience followed by way too much guilt to make it worthwhile. The cost of all of this, of course, was the continuation of my complete and total ignorance.

My parents had indoctrinated me well.