Now at 42, I find myself planning the spiritual education into womanhood for my daughter Joanna, only 13 months old.
I certainly don’t want fear to be a factor for her when she begins her time of physical maturity, as it was for me.
I, seeing blood in my underwear at age 
nine, ran fearfully into the face of my mother who kept screaming, “I need a drink! I need a drink!” What was wrong with her? With me? ….I thought I was dying!
I then had to deal with my 14 year old sister spouting chants about my ignorance about what was really happening to me. (Why should I not be ignorant about this blood coming from my crotch…no one had taught me anything). This was not a pretty picture.
But never fear, by the end of the hour, I was well versed on the reasons for my perceived trauma. To ease my journey my grandmother informed me that my taunting sister was just as traumatized when she started her period, and reacted with even more drama and fright than myself. She had gotten her period -- for the first time, just one hour before I started mine!
I was allowed to call my sister a late bloomer.
Please allow my story to provide comic relief as well as to urge you to prepare your daughter for her menarche and her journey into womanhood. ~~Geneviere Thomas, Maryland
I was 12 years old when I started my period for the first time. For me it was a natural event. A couple of my friends had already "started", so I wasn't the first in my group of friends, nor was I the last.
The day of the "big event", I was scheduled to play my clarinet and march in the Christmas parade. Just because I was bleeding, my plans did not change. I simply told my mom, she brought me some pads, and I went on my merry way, marching a couple of miles with some other 6th graders.
I can not remember the first time menstruation was discussed with me. I always remember it. Perhaps that is because of the traumatic experience of my mother's mother. My granny was 16, nearly 17, when she had her first period. This was in the winter during the late 1920s.
My granny's mother never discussed puberty or (GOD FORBID!) sex
with my granny, so when the big event came, she was completely ignorant. For months, she hid her bloody rags in the snow, hiding her "shameful secret". Eventually, my granny's older sister caught her burying her bloody cloth in the snow behind the barn. Thankfully, granny had an older sister to tell her nothing was wrong with her, she didn't have to hide want was happening to her, and explain the "facts of life".
This story was passed down to my mother and to me. I suppose granny did not want us to suffer as she did. I do not yet have a daughter, but will not be afraid to share this story with my son. I want my son to be comfortable when women's bodies and their natural functions are discussed. ~~Theresa, Indiana