A man I dated for most of college told me at dinner once that I think about my period too much. I should have dumped him right then and there, but this was well before I learned how to turn the volume down on the 24/7 Men Know Words show, the longest-running all frequency radio program we’re all forced to listen to our entire lives until men destroy the planet because their penises that they can neeevvveerr stop thinking about are getting tinier and tinier and so wars must be started and data centers built in space. Now I’m really good at turning the knob down to zero unless it truly serves me to listen. Rare, especially during period week.

I think about my period as much as I do because it’s how I keep time. I often mentally mark events as two or three periods ago. Or a memory is made sharper because I was bleeding at the time. Tending to your period takes you out of the scene. It’s like breaking the fourth wall, just with yourself. Often, it’s a relief point during a social situation that may not otherwise have breaks, like droll presentations at conferences. I no longer struggle to exit a conversation to change my pad. When you’re young, you’re shy about it. What if people notice me taking my little bag of supplies with me to my bathroom, or they figure out I’m on my period if I take my purse with me? Now there’s brightly wrapped pads flopping out of my bag every time I pull my laptop out in a meeting and I don’t give a shit.

Changing can be an intimate, grounding moment during a hectic work day. A meditative breath with your body when things are just go-go-go. A break from the noise of the main dining room in a busy restaurant. I’ve come to rely on my period as a time-out, a familiar friend I can step out back with for a sip of cool air.

My period is an anchor in my calendar, right up there with personal and family engagements. I plan around it as a way of considering myself, not just others. Just like I’m not going to plan a road trip during black ice conditions, I’m not going to commit to attending a ballgown soiree on Day 2 of my period, or say yes to a lot of night things during the week. I care more about replenishing my energy for whatever the next day holds, eating right, and getting my exercise and rest. Of course life happens sometimes and you don’t have a choice, but whenever I do, I try to exercise it.

Every woman should feel empowered and free to respond to her period as she chooses. If that means running a marathon, run that marathon. If it means clearing time to watch Columbo reruns, do so without shame. If you know a mom or other caregiver, ask yourself — How can I help her take care of herself? Because Day 2 and 3 are likely running her ragged.

My timekeeping tradition extends beyond the period and includes the other phases of the menstrual cycle — follicular, ovulation, and luteal. I freely commit to more social stuff during the first two, knowing that’s when I have the most energy and confidence, a bounce in my hair and step. I commit to less during the luteal when I think I look like a gorilla and partake in nighttime rituals, like face masks, plucking, and casting spells on my enemies.

Of course there is a cosmic element to all of this. I think of all time as loops. The repeating cycle of birth, life, death, and rebirth being a large loop. The infinite repetition of that, perhaps the largest. The waxing and waning of womanhood, another loop. The monthly cycle, a smaller tangible loop. It's all very rhythmic and regenerative, and I find that comforting. Being a man without this infinite time machine sounds bloody awful to me.

Women also keep and share this time together. We support one another through changes. One of my friends started experiencing clots a few years ago and we spoke about it at length, compared notes, and kept tabs on the situation over the course of a few periods. And yes, our cycles do also sync up. We’re part of a syntropic secret society that regularly convenes in public restrooms, a vast collectivist network with advanced forensic knowledge and a tranche of supplies available to any ovary-carrying member.

The shibboleth — Is there anything on my butt?

Thanks to readers who wrote in!

CG writes, “I wanna know about pads versus tamps especially from the cultural perspective!! Periods were not discussed in my household. Never had a sex talk. I learned how to put a tampon in from my friend guiding me outside of the stall at the dennys off the 91/lincoln 🤣 I’ll never forget that.” 

Uh, our next meal together is definitely going to be at that Denny’s. Tamps weren’t even an option in our home. My mom only ever said, “We don’t use those.” She didn’t regulate beyond that. I could have very well used them at school as many of my South Asian friends did, and gone hog wild with them in college. But truthfully, they intimidated me because I didn’t understand how they worked. Losing my virginity changed nothing. To this day I haven’t used one. I personally like the thought of my period flowing through my vaginal canal, and I’ve looked into the microbial benefits of this as a controller of yeast and promoter of healthy vaginal flora. I’ve also wondered if they’d dry me out. Is this me accommodating and internalizing cultural stigma? Maybe? Should you be my tamp guide at Denny’s? Maybe!

KT writes, “All I know about this comes from watching the movie Carrie. Was there a status or pecking order among schoolgirls about having, or getting a first period?”

Yes, but the pecking order perhaps only existed in the minds of the little bitches who thought they were at the top of some mythical spire of womanhood. I didn’t give two shits about it and was happy in my overalls, but Melissa Healy, with her big bouncy curly head of hair and painfully obvious schoolbag bursting full of overnight pads sure did. (WOW, where did that come from?) In all seriousness, I think how this manifested is some girls physically grew up faster and it was clearer they had crossed the threshold to womanhood. They might have learned how to manage their bodies sooner, and that creates more visible competition and a pecking order. It’s a really good question I want to think about some more. I’d love to hear what other women reading this have to say about it.

TV writes, “Now I know where the “pee buddy” came from. I will make sure to not let you down next time. I love this my friend. Love you! 🥰”

Love you too!! And you never let me down. PEE BUDS FO’ LIFE.

More tomorrow!