Growing up as a woman felt like navigating a rose garden with thorns you couldn't always see. During my teens, the first sign of trouble wasn't about not finding my crayons in the right place. It was more like a cryptic message – a stain on my pyjamas, an action I couldn't decode. By now, you must have guessed it! Yes, this is my story of growing up in Bihar's quaint village, Triveniganj. As a woman of that village, it wasn't less than an expedition into the wild. Now, as I share my journey, forget popcorn as this story requires helmets, but I can assure you it is going to be an unforgettable ride.
In the hot summer of Triveniganj, I turned fourteen, and the air shimmered with a strange heat. It wasn't just the relentless sun; it was a slow burn within me. I was slowly becoming a different person, and it was both confusing and a little scary with a new curve here and a different feeling there. It was like my body, once familiar and predictable, was morphing into something new. Strange sensations sent shivers down my spine. It was both exciting and terrifying, like teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure of the breathtaking view or the potential fall. Then, one day, everything hit the fan. My first period arrived, and I had no idea what to do. It felt like a foreign language, a code I desperately needed to crack. But where was the decoder for this biological mystery?
This is when my superhero, without any cape and mask, came to my rescue. Yes, my mother! She swooped in and became my interpreter, deciphering the cryptic message my body was sending. But now, the problem was, in our village, pads were a luxury hidden far away. So, my mother, in an act of fierce love that transcended limitations, whipped up a solution from a cotton cloth. Then, she did something incredible. With the help of a friend, she got me pads from a city (Patna), which is 300 km away. It might seem like a small thing, but it was a universe of love condensed into a single package. It showed me the unwavering support that would become the bedrock of my journey.
When I was just beginning my periods, in the pursuit of my education, I had to trade my cosy room for a bunk bed in a giant dorm with 150 other girls in a boarding school. 150 girls? Yes. The numbers can tell you how strenuous it was. Without my mother around, I had to figure out the whole period rituals by myself. There were definitely some leaks and oh no! moments. But with the help of my new friends (who, thankfully, weren't squeamish) and some supportive teachers, I gradually got the hang of it.
Imagine a 14-year-old female juggling so many things at once – exams, hostels, and periods. All was well until one day when I woke up early because of a cramp that felt like a permanent resident in my tummy. Did things get better after that? NO. Everything went downhill. To your surprise, that day was my Biology final. Nausea hit like a wave, and there was no way I could even think about dragging myself to that exam hall. But, you know what? My teachers were amazing! They felt my pain and rescheduled the exam for a few days later. What a lifesaver!
Even after the exams were over, I still felt wiped out every time I got my period. It just didn't feel right. Determined to get to the bottom of it, I decided to see a doctor. They explained that inadequate nutrition and poor sanitation were likely contributing to my severe pain and weakness. This was a revelation! But staying at hostels, I didn't understand how to introduce these healthy practices into my life. Tiny kitchens and unfamiliar grocery stores weren't exactly a recipe for healthy living. But I was desperate to ditch the cramps! So, I started small, grabbing more fruits and veggies whenever I could. It wasn't fancy, but it was a step towards feeling better. But keeping things clean in a shared space (hostel) was another battle. I figured out ways to improve hygiene in my hostel, even with limited resources. It wasn't a magic solution, but slowly, things started to feel a bit fresher and healthier.
Looking back, I wish I had known all this sooner. It would have saved me a lot of trouble. But hey, that's life! The important thing is the amazing support system I had – my family, friends, and teachers. They were the lighthouses in my storm. This whole ordeal became a crash course in resilience, signified the importance of seeking help, and taught the incredible strength that blooms within a supportive community. Now, looking back, I wouldn't trade this wild ride for anything. It shaped me into who I am today: a woman who knows the power of her body, the importance of self-care, and the unwavering strength found in the arms of loved ones.
Sharing my story is my way of paying it forward. If you're navigating similar challenges, remember this: you are not alone. Don't hesitate to speak openly about your experiences and seek the help you deserve. Now, we are waiting to hear your stories. Feel free to write to us at info@zealgrit.org.