The cost of menstrual shame | Kayla-Leah Rich | TEDxBoise

If women are generally celebrated for their ability to bring offsprings, many cultures view menstruation as an impurity and limit the freedom of women during that time. It is still considered unspeakable. What is the cost of the privacy and silence in which we enshroud menstruation? Somewhere between a young girl who is convinced she is dying because she is bleeding and an artist who paints with only her period blood, there is a place where menstruation can be discussed as naturally as the process itself, where it becomes the most normal thing ever, and that's the place that will set the new tone for all women and future generations. Kayla brings us to this place with much humour and emotion.

Kayla-Leah is a coach, speaker, humanitarian and author. She is the director of Days for Girls, founded by Celeste Mergens, an organization that provides reusable feminine hygiene kits to women and girls in developing countries around the world. After experiencing a period in a third-world country, she realized that even in developed nations, there is a cost to not having permission to talk about what happens with and to the female body during menstruation.

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at https://www.ted.com/tedx

Me?

I was disgusted,

in shock really.

I felt like Mother Nature was hazing me

into a sorority I wanted no part of.

"Welcome to womanhood!

By the way, we don't really
talk about this,

so if you can just keep it
to yourself, that'd be great."

I was angry,

angry at every single woman on the planet

for the entire existence of this globe,

who had not yet done anything to stop this

before I had to have my first period.

Now, perhaps in the past,

this maybe wasn't a very
comfortable topic for you.

For the women, maybe you can relate.

For the men, I want to remind you
that you have a sister,

or maybe a daughter,

or a wife.

But at the very least
you all came from a mother, right?

Chances are you love
someone who menstruates.

(Laughter)

After my first period,

I just took a cue from everyone around me

and just kept it to myself -

all the symptoms and the questions -

even though half the population

was likely experiencing
the very same thing.

I just "went with the flow."

(Laughter)

Of course, I'd heard the occasional
sitcom references

to "Her time of the month" or "PMS."

There is a more crass version
at school and on the bus

of "She's on the rag" or "Don't be a rag."

And we've all heard euphemisms,
have we not?

"Aunt Flo's in town!"

"The crimson tide,"

"The painters are in."

(Laughter)

Of course, I think
my favorite is: "Shark week."

(Laughter)

I don't really mind these euphemisms,

but they did very little to educate,

or to normalize
such a prevalent process for me.

And for 25 years,

I hid all evidence of my period
like it was a crime scene.

But that changed for me
when I took my first trip to Haiti.

In Haiti, I worked
in mobile medical clinics,

and in four days time, we saw 320 women,

and every single one

had either a urinary tract infection
or a yeast infection.

These very painful infections,

they had waited weeks or months
to see a doctor for.

And the scene is repeated
week after week in Haiti.

Grappling with trying to understand
why these infections were so rampant,

I learned that the women of Haiti
have little access to feminine supplies,

that they would use cut-up rags

or a maxi pad for several days.

And this was what was contributing
to their infections.

You know, it had never occurred to me before

what other women were doing
for their periods.

You know, we were all just so busy
keeping this to ourselves,

that nobody was really talking about it.

Nobody was talking about the fact

there are women who don't have
access to feminine supplies.

That never occurred to me.

And then, as if to add
an exclamation point

to the epiphany I was having in Haiti,

I had an unexpected period.

I would have been fine had I packed
those ever-essential items

that every woman traveller should pack.

But I didn't.

And I was able to experience the panic
of not being able to find supplies,

and the shame

of not being able to take care
of my own body,

and the humiliation
when I bled through on my clothing,

and the relief, finally, when I was
in an airport where I could buy supplies.

Two days,

two short days, I experienced

what hundreds of millions
of women on our planet

experience every month,

month after month, decade after decade,

an average of 3,500 days
in a woman's lifetime.

I came back very different.

And I immediately started
working in a non-profit

that makes reusable feminine hygiene kits

for women and girls
in developing countries.

And because the cloth items
in the kit are colorful,

they can be washed and hung to dry

using the sanitizing power of the sun.

It was through my work
in this organization

that I learned so much about the state
of menstruation around the world.

I learned that women will resourcefully

resort to using items like
bits of their mattress pad,

or corn husks,

even a rock, to manage their flow.

Some girls who don't have anything
would sit on a cardboard mat

and wait out what they call
their "week of shame."

Did you know that there are places
on this planet

that place limitations
on where a woman can go

and what she can do
when she's on her period?

There are some women and girls
who know the power of work and education

to turn around cycles of poverty,

and they get forced

into exchanging sexual favors

for a maxi pad.

These are the facts that I learned
and I share in my community

as I try to rally support for this cause.

The response, without fail, is almost
identical to my own which was:

"It never occurred to me

what other women were doing
for their period."

And then, as if talking about
other women's periods

almost opened the floodgates,

and give permission
for the women in my community

to talk about their own,

my favorite thing to do at sewing events
is to walk by a table of women

and listen to them talk
about their first periods,

the thing they just didn't know!

Embarrassing moments!

There was one girl who thought
that it was a singular event,

"period," one and done.

(Laughter)

Life would be different
if that was the case.

Several women shared
about how they learned quite painfully

that when they try tampons for the first time,

the applicator was actually meant
to be removed and thrown away.

Yeah...

It was through these communications
that I learned

that the ability to openly
talk about menstruation,

and have access to supplies,

isn't just something
that was happening over there,

in Uganda, Guatemala or Haiti,

but here,

in our country, our state, our city.

Right outside these doors,
there are women in our community

who struggle to find access
to feminine supplies.

Our homeless population are particularly
susceptible to infections

and having to go without.

But our refugee centers,
the food banks, our crisis centers,

they all need feminine supplies.

Even some local middle schools!

The nurse will pass out supplies

faster than her own pocket book
can keep up with.

Food stamps doesn't pay for tampons.

And as a community we gather support
around those that are struggling

and try to provide some basic needs
like food, water, and shelter.

But feminine supplies
are the silent necessity,

a need that's not being met
because nobody's talking about it.

The interesting thing is: I was talking
to volunteers by the thousands

about the needs
around the world and locally,

and I realized that I wasn't really
talking about menstruation.

You see, I have four boys.

And we turned our house
into a maxi pad manufacturing plant

for girls around the world.

But I realized that I was still
hiding my own supplies.

I would smuggle them in
from purchase to bathroom,

you know, not wanting to embarrass.

And when I realized the incongruence,
I decided that I needed to change.

So I tried an experiment.

I got a box of tampons,

and inside I placed some money
and a note that said,

"Congratulations for being brave
enough to open this box!

All the money is yours."

(Laughter)

I took my box and put it in the middle
of my kitchen islands,

and waited.

Nobody touched it for three weeks.

(Laughter)

Finally, when I went out of town,

Dad, who was in on the deal
pressured the boys.

"- Open the box.
- Pff! ... Uh-uh."

My 12-year-old didn't really know
like "what is this about?"

And when his older brothers
let him in on it, he left the room.

He wasn't going to have anything
to do with that.

Finally after much pressure,
my 9-year-old,

with his quick ninja-like reflexes,

opened the box and then ran
into the other room

before the contents could have
any effect over him.

(Laughter)

My 15-year-old

peeped in the box

and then pocketed
the money for his efforts.

This experiment wasn't just for my boys,

it was for me.

I wasn't doing myself or them any favors

by hiding the very biological process
that helped create their lives.

So now, I no longer hide
my products, my symptoms, my period.

There is a cost to the shame and silence

in which we surround menstruation.

It is individual,

it is local and it is global.

The costs range from the energy and effort

it took for me to hide for 25 years,

to the girl in Middletown, America,
who lives with Dad

and is too embarrassed
to ask him to buy her some supplies,

so she goes to her school nurse instead;

or the girl in Uganda,
who on first signs of her period,

thinks that she is dying,

because nobody told her
what was going to happen with her body;

to the girls all throughout Africa,

who drop out of school

at drastically different
rates than the boys,

as soon as they hit puberty
because they don't have supplies.

These costs extend to Nepal,

to the women who are sent
outside their community

to sit in a menstrual hut
and wait out their week

until they are clean
and can rejoin community again.

These are the costs.

Celeste Mergens said,

"This planet is never going to reach
its fullest potential,

if half of its population
is being held back

by their very own biological nature."

There's a cost to the shame and silence.

In the past, maybe you thought

the silence around menstruation
was just discretion.

After all, we don't openly discuss

everything that goes on
in the bathroom, right?

But there's a difference between silence,

shame,

and discretion.

For example, we can buy toilet paper
without any embarrassment,

and we openly display it in the bathroom.

But people are really humiliated
to buy feminine supplies,

especially if it's a male checker,

and we tuck those away
so nobody gets to see those.

Discretion looks like me not openly
discussing my period at the dinner table.

And shame looks like tampon manufacturers
that make rustle-free packaging!

So the woman in the stall next to me
doesn't know that I'm bleeding?

We've been taught to be ashamed
about menstruation even among other women.

There is a global effort taking place
to end the stigma behind the period.

It takes on many different forms.

It looks like a woman from England

who ran a marathon while freely bleeding
without any products,

or an American artist,

who designs pictures
using her captured menstrual blood.

I think they're beautiful.

Now to some, these things
might seem like extremes,

but I want to remind you
that on the other end of that pendulum

is the woman who walks through her village
freely bleeding without products,

not out of choice, but out of necessity.

And that woman in Nepal,

who dies alone
in her menstrual hut, from exposure.

Regardless of what has been passed to us,

we have an obligation to the women
and girls around the world

and for the generations that follow us,

to set a new tone around menstruation,

to change it from shame and silence,

to acceptance and education.

And how we do that

is how any good idea
worth spreading starts.

It's with a conversation.

Congratulations!

Some of you just had your first one!

(Laughter)

And for all of you,

I'm encouraging you to go out
and have more.

Maybe try your own tampon experiment.

Or it could look something like this:
maybe you can go today and ask somebody,

"Did you know there are women
on this planet that don't have supplies?"

You can ask questions like:

"What would you want me to know
about menstruation?"

"What was your first period like?"

We can start here
and maybe expand to questions like:

"What toxins are in our tampons exactly?"

"Should there be a luxury tax
on feminine supplies?"

And we can ask,

"Who needs feminine supplies
and who should provide those?"

And will you, no matter
what your efforts look like,

locally and globally, will you ask
the women and girls that they serve,

if they have the supplies that they need?

We need to start talking
about menstruation

and asking questions about the period.

Now, if you were to ask me,

I would tell you,

I no longer think that women everywhere
should put an end to the period.

But I do believe that brave men and women

have the ability to put an end
to the shame and the silence.

This whole planet was peopled by periods.

(Laughter)

And there is no shame in that.

(Applause) (Cheers)