How navigating menstrual cups made me confront my period shame

When I got my first period at 12 years old, I was given a pack of sanitary pads by my mum. I was told to keep my period a secret from my brother and to always throw away my used pads in the bin chute located on the opposite side of my flat. As the years went by, my experience with periods grew worse. My very heavy flow would always cause me to leak through my underwear even when I wore thick pads. Every month, the first two days of my period would cause me unbearable pain where I would be bed-bound, constantly holding a hot water bottle to my stomach, feeling nauseous and eventually vomiting. Unfortunately, painkillers never helped, no matter how much I was taking them like they were sweets.

With the unbearable pain and secrecy about my period, it’s no wonder that I was never encouraged to see a doctor. Growing up in an evangelical Christian Nigerian household meant that periods and vaginas were a taboo topic to speak about inside and outside of the house. I internalised the idea that a menstruating person was dirty so it made sense to me they shouldn’t talk about it. My knowledge of vaginas and vaginal health was also practically non-existent. Hiding my periods from my brother extended to burying my period pads in my school bag so no one knew I was menstruating. I couldn’t risk the embarrassment of accidentally exposing my pads and having people laugh at me or make disgusted faces.

During my teen years, I heard about tampons but never thought to try them out. I was too scared that it would hurt when I used it because I didn’t know how and where to insert it. But when I went on holiday to Malta with my family, I was in a situation where I had no choice. As I was on my period during the holiday, I knew I couldn’t enjoy playing in the beautiful waters of the Blue Lagoon with a pad strapped to my bikini. My mum showed me how to insert a tampon and after many painful, failed attempts, I gave up. So the trip to the Blue Lagoon consisted of me wearing shorts with an oversized t-shirt and sitting in the sun while watching the rest of my family enjoy the waters. When I was around 17 years old, I discovered the menstrual cup, but it wasn’t until I was 19 years old that I decided to try it out. Like with tampons, I was worried I wouldn’t be able to use it, but reading about the benefits of the menstrual cup encouraged me to buy it. They are sustainable and eco-friendly, lasting for up to 10 years. They hold more blood, they’re genuinely comfortable to wear, they can be worn for up to 12 hours and there’s no risk of getting toxic shock syndrome like Tampons.

When my menstrual cup arrived, I knew navigating it would be a learning curve. The uterus diagrams in my sex education lessons at school never mentioned that every uterus looks different, so I assumed that it would still be fairly easy. I was wrong. It took me many failed attempts to get my menstrual cup in for the first time. I folded it in a way that I thought would be the most successful and tried to insert it in many different positions. Although I wasn’t successful yet, I got used to touching my period blood, which I would have been so horrified to do before. My belief that period blood was repulsive started to dissolve, and I didn’t feel so grossed out about it. After researching a bit more on menstrual cups, I decided to try a different folding method to insert it and it worked like a charm. Unfortunately, I leaked, so I still wore pads as a safety net, but this was a huge achievement.

Even though I was able to successfully insert my menstrual cup, the reason why it kept leaking was a mystery. I still didn’t really understand the anatomy of my vagina, so with the help of a hand mirror, I found an important discovery. Everyone with a uterus has a different cervix height. Most of the research I did to try and help me use the menstrual cup used diagrams and sculptures of uteruses with a medium or high cervix, but mine was very low. The reason my cup kept leaking was because my cervix was essentially sitting inside the cup, decreasing its capacity and making the blood overflow quickly. Because of this, I purchased another cup that was better suited for my cervix and the leaking stopped!

Finding out about my low cervix made me realise the importance of knowing the anatomy of my uterus. People with uteruses are often told to be ashamed about having one and ridiculed for experiencing periods and the pain that comes with it. We’re told that periods are disgusting and so we internalise shame. It can extend to further prevent us from exploring our vulva and understanding what we like and dislike when it comes to sex. It can make us downplay our concerns for our uterus because we feel like we might not be taken seriously.

Period shame is more than being disgusted about period blood. It can negatively impact our physical, emotional and sexual health in many ways. Navigating menstrual cups helped me unpack my period shame and become more open about my experience with periods. Every person with a uterus deserves to feel comfortable and safe being on their period and discussing it. Whatever method helps to let go of the shame that comes with having periods, I hope that more people with uteruses embark on their own journey in doing so.