If you’re suffering from Endometriosis or experiencing symptoms, always seek medical advice from your doctor for diagnosis and treatment options.
Almost a decade ago, at the age of 17, I found myself eagerly awaiting the arrival of my period. My first period.
The offensively pink Libra starter pack gifted to me during my earlier years of high school had become imprinted in the bottom of my bag. Lodged under the heavy weight of textbooks, it remained unused but not untouched.
I’d thumbed through its contents more times than I cared to admit, while every other girl I knew had well and truly exhausted it. The paper instructions had kept their perfect creases and despite the lightweight nature of the pads and plastic, the fullness of it felt like a lead weight.
I should have felt grateful for my extended period-free status but all I could see and feel was a physically immature body and the excruciating self-awareness of it all. Then there was that silent but much louder fear that some very crucial gear was missing.
I saw a rite of passage being experienced by every other woman, just not this girl.
I devoted considerable time and effort to examining the profiles of those around me, measuring my development and age against theirs as I desperately tried to map my female form on some elusive timeline.
I grew frustrated by the solo nature of the task and decided to enlist the help of a local GP. I booked in for my first ultrasound and promised myself that even an unhealthy fear of nudity wouldn’t stop me.