Post-Mother’s Day Post

May.15

Before Mother’s Day, I had given some thought to an official ‘Mother’s Day’ post; however, life got in the way, various forms of mothering to be exact, and I missed out on writing that post in time for the holiday. But then I remembered, it’s my website and my blog and I can write about Mother’s Day in the middle of December if I want, right? Right! What’s funny is that my post about Mother’s Day was going to be a kind of stream-of-consciousness sort of entry anyway. I had no grand plans to weave lots of meaning. I was just going to talk about how the whole concept behind Ruby’s Red Wash is intended to honor that forgotten and culturally shamed aspect of female, human being which is, really, the “life blood” of us all. We tend to forget about that, just like we tend to forget about mothers, which is why we devote a specific day just to make certain we remember.

Personally, I think that honoring mothers also includes honoring all those people who do some kind of important “mothering” on a regular (or even sporadic) basis. Caretakers, teachers, doctors, partners, nurses, good friends, animal rescuers, mental health counselors, even certain table servers, and the list goes on and on, all do various forms of mothering- which becomes important relational glue for the community– and ultimately our world.  Do we want a world based more on gratifying individual needs and goals, or do we want a world that reflects the love and respect for others found so commonly in mothering? The act of mothering is primitive and important and needs to be honored and not be taken for granted- even if it’s at least for just one day.

As a fun way to remember my mother and our Southern roots and all those who have mothered me, I dedicate this writing of mine (excerpted from “The Bloody Truth,” pages 65-69) about menstruation and menopause from the classic, 1980s television show, The Golden Girls.

… The Golden Girls, a female-centered comedy, makes occasional references to woman topics such as menstruation and missed periods. Throughout its original run, (1985-1992) the series broke new television ground in that it was the first of its kind to depict older women as beings other than rocking-chair grandmothers, as having interests and occupations, complex friendships and even sexual relationships. Since the series centers around the lives and relationships of four women roommates all over the age of fifty, specific attention is given to the experience of menopause in a hilarious, yet poignant, episode entitled “End of the Curse” (Season 2, Episode 1, 1987).

In this episode, Blanche, a southern-belle type, the youngest, and most sexual by far, finds herself without her period and with a false-positive at-home pregnancy test. In her dramatic fashion, she is initially unable to speak about her “problem,” until the other women draw the word “pregnant” out of her. When Dorothy, the most rational, asks Blanche the identity of the father, Blanche, known for her promiscuity, is at a loss. Dorothy asks, “When was your fertile period?” Blanche replies, “Well, let’s see- I’m nine weeks late- It would have been two weeks before that, so about eleven weeks ago?” Stunned, Dorothy questions, “Nine weeks late and you just realized that something was wrong?” Excitedly Blanche retorts, “Yes- I kind of lost track!” Later, we discover Blanche distraught once again just after having seen the doctor and being told that she is actually going through menopause, rather than having a baby. With the other women gathered around her once again in consolation, Blanche cries, “My life is over…I wish I could die, because as far as I am concerned it is the end of my life.”

After not eating or sleeping and crying in bed all week, the women take Blanche to see a psychiatrist. Kicking and screaming, Blanche finally talks with the doctor about her crisis and confesses that menopause means that she is “old and not a real woman anymore.” The doctor, initially missing the boat tells her, “All that’s happening is a biological process which means that you can’t have a baby anymore.” Blanche leaves unconvinced and instead has an in-depth conversation with “the girls” at home over cheesecake. At home, Blanche moans more about her life being over and the following conversation ensues.

Ma: “All this because you’re going through the change?”

Blanche: “God, I hate that expression.”

Dorothy: “What is the big deal? It’s nothing! Look at it this way- You don’t get

cramps once a month. You don’t go on eating binges once a month. You don’t

get crazy once a month.”

Ma: “You just grow a beard.”

Dorothy: “Don’t listen to her, Blanche.”

Ma: “You grow a beard, Dorothy. Believe me. I woke up one morning. I looked

like Arafat.”

Blanche: “Oh, my God!”

Rose: “I never grew a beard.”

Ma: “You never grew brains, either.”

Dorothy: “Well, I tell ya- menopause was wonderful for me. It meant no more

PMS.”

Blanche: “I never had PMS!”

Rose: “Neither did I. But I had a BMW- a red one. Charlie bought it for me.

Dorothy: PMS! Premenstrual Syndrome, Rose. You mean you never got crazy

once a month?”

Rose: “No.”

Dorothy: “Boy, I did. I would cry, scream, carry on, put on ten pounds of water

and boy, well, menopause put an end to that. I loved it!”

Blanche: “I don’t see how you could love it!”

Dorothy: “Because I didn’t see it as having anything to do with my sexuality. I

am exactly the same person I was.”

Ma: “Unfortunately.”

Blanche: “Men are so lucky. They never get periods in the first place, so they

never have to stop getting them so they never have to go through any of this.”

Dorothy: “Blame us for being crazy when we get ‘em and crazy when we don’t.”

Rose: “I remember the first time I got my period. Nobody had told me anything

about it. Boy, was I surprised.”

Blanche: “You mean your mother didn’t tell you?”

Rose: “My mother was very prim and proper.”

Dorothy: “What a surprise.”

Blanche: “Well, my whole childhood, I kept hearing about the curse. How, when

I was thirteen I was gonna get the curse. Oh, I was absolutely terrified. The year

of my thirteenth birthday, I slept with the lights on all year. Oh, I was sure there

was a witch behind every wisteria. I didn’t go out on Halloween. I was a wreck.

But the year went by and no curse. Then the next year went by no curse. Finally,

when I was fifteen, Momma took me to the doctor because I still didn’t have the

curse. And he said, ‘Blanche, you mean to tell me you still don’t have your

period?’ Of course I have my period you fool. I’m not a child. I’ve had my

period for almost two years. It’s the curse I don’t have.

Ma: “I got it. Nobody told me. I didn’t get it. Nobody told me. I figured, ‘This is

life,’ and went back to my meatballs.”

Rose: “And then when mine stopped, it just happened. A few hot flashes and

that was it.”

Blanche: “Oh, I’ve heard about those hot flashes.”

Rose: “They didn’t bother me. I live in Florida. Who can tell the difference

between a hotflash and a weather front?”

Blanche: “Oh, it’s all so depressin’”

(Dorothy and Ma argue)

Dorothy: “She’ll cheer up when she realizes that it makes no difference at all and

that it is just a concept not based in reality. That will cheer her up.

Blanche: “Nothing will cheer me up…”

(The Golden Girls, Season 2, Episode 1, 1987)

 

Although Blanche is temporarily cheered up by a man who finds her attractive despite being menopausal, eventually she is encouraged when she realizes that her girlfriends are her best support during this life transition. The conversation among the women is significant because it addresses multiple aspects of bleeding from the viewpoints of four women friends. The women share their unique perspectives on menarche, menopause, and their experiences of menstruation in between. The fear, shame, isolation, and embarrassment of menstruation are depicted, as well as the shame, loathing and misunderstanding by men and doctors. Perhaps what is most remarkable is that this entire Golden Girls episode is devoted to women’s experience, unlike most television shows which crack a joke or two and then move on to the “substance” of the plot.

If you would like to read more descriptions of menstruation found in the culture, go to “The Bloody Truth: A Psychological and Cultural Study of Menstruation As Lived and Experienced by Women”

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No Really, Change Can Be A Good Thing!

Mar.30

After two years of being a full on redhead, despite being in a lethargic, appearance funk, I decided to go back to my old, blonder state of being. I did this thinking, “I need a kind of jolt, a change of perspective.” Mind you, I realize that changing one’s hair color is not all that significant in the grand scheme of world change, but sometimes it’s the little changes in my world that help me step into happiness and effect bigger changes overall. And, I think that’s true for a lot of people. In my single days, when I lived in apartments, every so often I rearranged the furniture in order to appreciate a different aspect of my living space, which sometimes helped to position me mentally to make an important life decision. Once the couch was moved, for example, and I was regularly positioned to look at a different angle of my living room, I could better appreciate the lovely Victorian window seat, which put me in a better space, literally and figuratively, to finish a semester of school or go on to finish a degree- or even a relationship. Yeah, so the transition into blonde being has been equally helpful thus far.

It sounds predictable, but being blonde, I now feel lighter and brighter than before (especially with the emergence of spring) and consequently I feel more willing to move out of my comfort zones to try other ways of being. As I’ve written before, I have always used tampons and the occasional pad for overflow, and after all the research I conducted on menstruation, I moved to organic, so as to avoid absorbing massive amounts of dioxins. So, for more than ten years, I have used strictly organic menstrual products and part of my self-care involved ordering enough for a year and stashing several boxes of supplies in every bathroom and purse, so that I am never without the supplies I need. (For me, this gesture had to do with fully recognizing what my needs were and giving myself what I needed. It was in the same category as supplying myself with the proper winter coat, which I did not do for a while until it dawned on me that I now live in a cold climate and everyone who lives in a cold climate needs and deserves a good winter coat. Geez, sometimes a person can be emotionally blocked about the most basic things.)

Anyway, living in this new light has made me realize that I have been in a kind of menstrual rut (not to be confused with a menstrual hut) by only using my organic menstrual supplies and not looking into anything different for the last ten years. Yikes! Did I just become a traditional menstrual product advertising statistic? Well, actually, I wasn’t a perfect statistic since I had changed my type and brand of product several times since menarche, the summer of eight grade, and I did try a plethora of products during my research, but I was certainly getting close to being an advertising statistic with ten years and no change. And, so I decided to step outside of my old routine and honor my menstrual life by giving another product, The DivaCup, a try. (For your information, I bought my DivaCup through the wonderfully helpful BePreparedPeriod, but you can also find it at many other terrific, online female-friendly stores like GladRags. You can find other kinds of cups like the Keeper and the Moon Cup at Jade and Pearl. Zana Shop also carries a wide variety including DivaCup, Lunette, Keeper Moon, and the Mooncup UK.) Anyway, my reasoning for giving it a try came down to this.

1) I really don’t like using products which contribute to the pollution of the environment. It’s a lot of waste multiplied by every one of my menstrual cycles, and if further pollution can be avoided with reusable products, then that’s enough said for me at this point.

2) Although I have been aware of the dangers of Toxic Shock Syndrome for many years, and have been cautious about using tampons, I have become increasingly aware lately (thanks to the organization You ARE Loved) that people are still dying unnecessarily from the disease. Please take a moment and go to this website and educate yourself so that you can protect yourself and spread the word about it to others. The primary reason why women are still dying of Toxic Shock has to do with the silence, secrecy and shame around menstruation. People still don’t talk about periods no matter how “advanced” we think women are in this culture, and that silence (and the deaths from Toxic Shock Syndrome) speak volumes about the real place of female being in the culture. Many people think that Toxic Shock Syndrome went away with the discontinuation of Rely tampons in the 1980s, but this just ain’t true, folks. All in all, in order to avoid Toxic Shock Syndrome, it’s best to just stay away from tampons if you can, and so I have finally made the decision to avoid them.

3) And, even though I adore the patterns and the idea of reusable, cloth pads, (which you can find at all kinds of stores including some of the ones like GladRags mentioned above) and I am a huge advocate for them, I am just not a pads-only woman, and so I opted to give a menstrual cup a try as my main menstrual go-to.

And the results were this.

The cup is pretty comfortable just as long as you insert it properly, and frankly that takes a little practice, but it’s not that trying of an experience. You’ll get over it, same as you did with whatever you tried when you first started bleeding. You need to be a bit more conscious of your body or conscious in a different way than before and that’s not such a bad thing. Also, it was nice to not have to worry about having enough “supplies” for once. You can keep the cup in for up to twelve hours, so the convenience of that is immeasurable. On my really heavy flow days, however, I found myself in tricky situations if I had to use public restrooms, but that’s where one of those cute pads comes in handy as back-up. Final decision-I liked it, and I shall keep using!

So, as I started writing this I realized that the success of Ruby’s Red Wash relies upon women and girls implementing this kind of change in their own menstrual life, to take a leap of faith, to get out of one’s old routine and try something that may make life easier. It’s so easy to just keep doing the same old thing with pads or tampons or even stains- especially since there is so little dialogue about menstruation and these kinds of practical female concerns in the world. This is what traditional menstrual product advertisers want. They want to influence you, mostly by shaming, through fear-mongering, and get you to choose your products and stay stuck there- along with the negative body-image messages they sell.

When I started my period, you were to make a decision about the products you used to deal with your menses, get them and then shut up about it. Well, that’s the rut I’m trying to get women out of and to get girls to avoid. So, I’m running a little contest. I’ll randomly draw the names of three people who post on this blog with the changes they have recently made (or tried) regarding their menstrual life. The changes you mention do not have to involve a product. They can include how you talk to yourself during your period or the things you do for yourself. I’m considering this a kind of menstrual yoga. Everyone should work at their own pace and try something that you have never tried as long as it’s an improvement for you. At the end of two weeks (or when I get three posts that qualify!), I’ll send each person whose name is drawn a free- yes FREE- full size bottle of Ruby’s Red Wash. So get to posting!

April 14, 2102

Comments for this blog contest (only) are now closed. Thank you to everyone who contributed to the conversation! Some of the beauty of running one’ own business involves being able to change the rules of a contest. I decided that since there were four respondents who all spoke so eloquently from the heart, all four women will receive a free bottle of Ruby’s Red Wash! I will be contacting you via email about your prize. Congratulations!        xo Ruby

 

 

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My Big Period Story

Feb.23

Recently, I was asked to by the lovely folks at Be Prepared Period to participate in telling a ‘period story’ to help break the cultural cycle of silence and shame surrounding menstruation. Since I am the creator of a menstrual blood stain remover, this assignment, of course, is right up my alley. As the creator of Ruby’s Red Wash, one might think I would have an arsenal of personal period stories and difficult situations to tell; however, just the opposite is the case.

Long before I started menstruating, I noticed the ways in which women and girls were regularly talked down to, dismissed, and discriminated against. As a kid, when I eventually learned about menstruation, female bleeding became another piece of the discriminatory puzzle for  me. “Ah hah!” I thought, “just another reason to beat up on females.”  And lo, and behold, it was and continues to be true.

Right away, it was apparent to me that periods, and all that they entail, had become just another reason to try to keep women down in the world- although they do not have to be.  Apart from any judgements from the outside world, I recognized that periods do make life harder for women, especially since the world is not accommodating to this difference in human beings. Do not ask me how I knew this, but even as a kid I knew that this discriminatory scenario was ridiculous, unjust, and plain unacceptable.  It don’t know why I knew this, because I did not live in what one might call a progressive household. My mother and grandmother lived complacent and traditional female lives with- let’s face it, traditional and chauvinistic men. However, before this my mother had lived another life. She had dropped out of high school and gone to work to support my grandparents. Somehow, I  grabbed onto that vision as the real spirit of my mother which only eventually became buried underneath the daily grind and burden of four children, a needy and not very supportive husband and demanding parents who continued to expect parenting themselves. I decided that the person who found a job and friends and dressed adorably for herself (judging from the collection of 1940s pictures of her and her colleagues) and married ‘late’ in life was my real mother. The woman who made the best of a rotten and unfair situation while her brothers left home and went into business for themselves and created a very good living for themselves was my mother. Although it was never talked about, the mother who I lived with, however, was the one who somehow lost independence and esteem for herself after getting married and having children. It was never talked about explicitly (to me, anyway) but the message came through loudly and clearly when she regularly sat by herself on the front porch and sobbed. I remember being stunned to see her there alone crying with a house full of people going about their business and no one talking to her or asking her what was wrong. Even though I was the youngest and took my cues from the rest of the family, one day I broke rank and sat with her and asked her what was wrong. Through her tears her answer was “nothing” in a tone that said “go away,” and so I did but all the time knowing that the real answer was that really “everything” was wrong and so she felt it was hopeless.

So I guess my best ‘period’ story is that I took the perception that women are automatically positioned on a lower rung in life- for whatever reasons that culture gives, including the fact that we bleed- and rejected it. My ultimate rejection of that declaration is my research on menstruation and my effort to debunk all the rubbish and propaganda that is thrown to females from advertisers, the media, authority figures, relatives, folklore- you name it. Since my own menarche, I view my own menstrual cycle as just something I accept as natural and normal and as another part of me- same as my hair or one of my arms or legs. While I do not conduct my periods with much fanfare, I try to have a special awareness about every one of my periods, noticing what I may need in terms of emotional care, food, rest, and products that make me the most comfortable. I have always been aware of the cultural standards of secrecy surrounding menstrual bleeding (obviously) and although I have never been thrilled at the thought of a blood leak that others can see, it does not ruin my day or even the moment if that happens. (And after all, I do have a really good stain remover on hand!)

My own understanding is that menstrual bleeding is simultaneously a personal and universal experience. Every girl or woman should have the right to choose how she relates to her own bleeding body (or non-bleeding body, as the case may be) by charting on a moon calendar or using a phone application to keep track or just listening to her body  or being social or not being social at that time, and ideally, she should be able to do this without having to dig her way out of the clutter of shame that the culture so amply provides.

“The My First Period Blog Hop is sponsored by www.BePreparedPeriod.com” a site designed for girls, parents and women just like you! Be Prepared Period offers a variety of information and products to help you “be prepared” including first period kits, organic options and all your other favorite “monthly” products. All bloggers are welcome to join in on the blog hopping fun to share their first period story. If you would prefer to not share your story directly on your blog, you are welcome to share it on the Be Prepared Period website and include a link to your blog! We want everyone to feel comfortable and safe sharing their story. To make this hop even more exciting, Be Prepared Period will randomly choose one participant to win a $25 gift certificate to spend at www.BePreparedPeriod.com!”

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So Nice To Meet You! I’m Your Menstrual Conscience.

Jan.23

The other day I was relayed a message from a girlfriend that one of my other friends wanted me to watch one of the latest episodes (#13) of CBS’ Two Broke Girls entitled “And the Secret Ingredient.” She had watched it and thought of me. So, I found it online and watched it and it turns out that a big chunk of the episode included Max, one of the ‘broke’ girls, staging a kind of demonstration at her workplace, a diner, because her boss triples the cost of the tampons in the restroom dispenser.  If you haven’t seen it, go ahead and look it up and watch it because it really is pretty funny, and I found it attitudinally accurate. The boss squeamishly holds his hands up in front of his face during the discussions as if he is being shown pictures of naked women in the middle of the restaurant. He insists that tripling the price of tampons is merely ‘business,’ while Max argues that it has more to do with providing a needed service for women and recognizing their unique humanity. This show goes beyond the mere referencing of periods and tampons in order to embarrass a male character and to produce a cheap laugh. Although I don’t think that single episode changed the minds of the average period-rejecting masses, it was a different step, and one in the right direction, for situation comedy which is often a good reflection of at least a portion of popular culture and popular thought. And I was honored that someone thought of me when watching that episode.

Actually, ever since I started and finished my dissertation research, more than ten years ago, (yikes!) and especially since I created this product, I get the comment, “Remind me to tell you about something that made me think of you the other day.” Invariably, the ‘something’ is blood-, menstrual-, or female body-image-related– and I love it. I truly could not be more pleased when someone sees an intelligence-insulting ‘Always’ pad commercial, for instance, and they think of me- and tell me about it. Yes, I know. This feeling of mine is not the norm. However, I know that when a friend finds an advertisement distasteful and they relate that to me, they aren’t just thinking of me as a person, they are thinking about what I stand for and what I’ve been shouting about for years. Hooray! My message that women and girls count, and that genuine recognition includes ALL of their being, is getting through!

As a therapist, one of the ways in which  I know that a client is improving and learning to advocate for themselves is if they describe some difficult scenario and say that they heard my voice or that they heard themselves saying something that I might say to them. No, I’m not into brainwashing. As a therapist, if you are genuinely advocating for your client, you teach the person through modeling of sorts how to treat themselves (and others) and you wind up saying a lot of things that resonate for them and their relationships. If you really get to know them and are truly helpful you create attitudes and words that are beneficial and “stick.” When I created this product called Ruby’s Red Wash, one of my goals was to do therapy, if you will, on a grander, larger scale, because I was frustrated with the culturally accepted invalidating messages to girls and women. I wanted to counteract those terrible messages with a positive, female-affirming product and communication. I’m pleased to say that it seems to be working. Women are talking to me, at least, about the injustices they find in typical menstrual products and conversations about female bodies and being. And they must be talking with others, as well, given that the message about the Two Broke Girls episode was passed on to me. If, in the process of all this new communicating, I have to become a kind of ‘menstrual conscience’ to many people, then so be it. Happy to do it. I’m at your service!

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The Gift-Giving ‘Period’

Nov.17

If anyone out there has read any of my tweets lately, you know that I was not ready to give up summer this year. This was due to many reasons, but the main one being that I didn’t feel like I had a summer since I spent seven long weeks desperately searching my neighborhood for one of my skittish cats who got out by freak accident. I spent seven agonizing weeks searching and talking to people, setting and checking humane box traps and putting up flyers (only to have a sociopathic neighbor go behind me and rip them down). At one point I caught this same (I’m fairly certain) neighbor chasing her away from my house. My poor cat was so freaked out that she “camped out” down my street, and I was only able to locate her and find out where to even set the traps after calling an animal communicator. Yes, I was very desperate. And while it’s not that I didn’t believe in certain individuals’ powers to communicate with animals, I doubted that it would work for me and my animal, but I gave it a shot in order to do anything to get her back. Well, I’m here to tell you it did work. I never would have located her if I hadn’t consulted with this amazing woman who led me right to my kitty’s location. If you ever need a wonderful animal communicator, here’s her info. (Sharon with http://listentoyouranimals.com). I’m leaving a lot out here, but needless to say, it was a stressful summer. I don’t know what parents do when a child goes missing…

So anyway, I am deeply grateful to have my dear little cat back, and I have to just give in to the change of the seasons and accept that winter is upon us. Winter and the celebration of commercialism- uh, I mean Christmas. Whether you are Christian or not, the fact that Halloween is over means that we all must surrender to all things so-called merry, glittery, and gift-oriented. I’m not one of those people who hates the holidays. I have always made them what I want them to be and I filter out the unnecessary and offensive. But now that I own a business, I’ve got to participate in a different way- through the eyes of a customer and I must keep up with the all the sales and signs that say, ‘buy me, buy me!’

Well, to an extent anyway. I refuse to compromise who I am and what this product represents. Ruby’s Red Wash stands on its effectiveness and the quality of the message behind every bottle: menstruation is an accepted part of life. Just love yourself, already, and have an easy time getting those blood stains out. That’s it. Simple. Part of me did question, however, how I am going to market Ruby’s Red Wash for the holidays? Does anyone want to give or receive this for Christmas? And then I thought, wait a minute- if people can give and receive manicure sets, soap, perfume or nose hair trimmers, – or makeup or clothes which contribute to creating unattainable ideals for women, then why can’t they give or get Ruby’s Red Wash? All of those other products relate to human body maintenance. So what if Ruby’s is a menstrual blood stain remover?

Ruby’s Red Wash is a truly lovely and liberating thing. It’s not like receiving a box of tampons or disposable pads. It’s a perfect stocking-stuffer for someone you love- a girlfriend or sister, a cousin, daughter or niece. It would also make a lovely companion to some reusable pads. (There are so many gorgeous pads out there, these days, that their beauty alone could make you eagerly anticipate your period every month.) I don’t know if I’d give Ruby’s Red Wash to my boss, (unless I worked in a creative and open-minded workplace) but I wouldn’t give my boss a manicure set, either.

So I have concluded that Ruby’s Red Wash does make a fine gift for the bleeding girl or woman in your life, this ‘holiday’ time of year or any time of the year. Please stay tuned to this website and Facebook and Twitter for updates on this season’s sales and bonuses! I’m busy preparing for Black Friday , Cyber Monday and this gift-giving period- pun intended. Who knows, maybe I’ll create a day just for a Ruby’s Red Wash sales day. Peace, love and self-acceptance to you all. xo Ruby

P.S. If you are not aware, there are wonderful companies which create “First Period Kits” and kits for new mothers, etc. If you haven’t located them, here’s a list of some good ones which I have found and (some of them I do business with).

Be Prepared Period
Lovely Eco Chic
Period Packs
Funky Goddess (Outside the U.S.)

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Staying In the Moment; Okay, I’m Back

Aug.30

I have written this blog entry in my head fifty- no probably one hundred times. What’s been in the way, you ask? Okay, you didn’t ask, but I finally asked myself and realized that it has to do with actually allowing myself to sit down peacefully with the computer and do nothing else. It has to do with just focusing on the one thing that I am doing in that moment. With the exception of writing, in just about everything that I do, I can multitask fairly well. If I’m doing laundry, I can usually plan dinner or a new way to express why I developed Ruby’s Red Wash, which needs to go into a letter, which should be sent tomorrow morning, which will also be hampered by the fact that I need to get to the post office first thing, which has to be done before I get one of the cats to the vet…well, you get it, I’m sure.

I think most people do this; however, it occurred to me that the way I do it can resemble a runaway train. Just a tad obsessive, really. Much like the ‘anal-retentive chef’ episodes in some of the 1970s episodes of Saturday Night Live. There nothing ever got cooked because the chef got all caught up in cleaning the cutting board just after chopping and then drying the cutting board just right and then wrapping up what wasn’t cut up and then washing the pans and counters because of all the chopping. I may not enact every one of those moves, but I can certainly think them. I do get a lot done, mind you, but the ride there is pretty rocky.

It becomes most obvious to me when I’m walking either one of the dogs- both very sweet pit bulls but still young, on the hyper side and still in training. (Translation: I am still learning how to be calm and assertive, especially on their walks. Thank you, Cesar Millan.) The pups have to be walked separately right now because every time they see one another they act like long, lost friends and thoroughly sniff and examine every inch of each other before bursting into a fit of inseparable play. Trying to pull them apart is like trying to separate two big bears that have fallen hopelessly in love. I haven’t figured out how or had the patience to wait for them to settle down long enough to try to walk them on each side of me. I’m still working on them, one at a time. Mostly they (I) do pretty well, but I notice that things go awry when I’m walking one of them and thinking of all the things I ‘need’ to do and just how I need to do them.

The faster my mind races, the faster the dog gets– and then starts to pull like crazy which is extremely irritating. Oakley is merely responding to my nervous energy traveling down the leash. He starts to pull in an effort to say, “Follow me, crazy lady, for you are far too anxious to be trusted to lead me anywhere.” Poor dog. I wouldn’t want to be led around by some distracted and inept human being. (That’s too much like my own childhood! Ha!)

The dog pulling, however, snaps me out of my obsessive, runaway train trance and I instantly get annoyed at him. “Oakley (or Olive), knock it off!” I say. If I’m with-it enough in that moment (sometimes it takes me the length of a full block) I can realize, “Oh, it’s me, again. I need to wake up. What am I doing?” I get the feeling that I shake my head a little just like they do in cartoons in an effort to snap myself out of it. Then I have to consciously make an effort to breathe deeply, loosen my shoulders and release the death grip on the dog’s leash. Miraculously, once I do that, Oakley finds his place again walking next to me and seems to abandon the notion that he has to pull both of us from a burning building. Voila! He gets to be the dog and I get to be the human- sort of- again. On a ‘bad’ walk, I probably have to do this with myself five times. On a ‘good’ walk, I stay in the moment the whole time and enjoy the walk through my own senses and some through Oakley’s eyes. Thoroughly enjoying the walk always includes paying attention to how he enjoys himself and that, no matter what, he is always in the moment. Animals are always our models for what is real and natural- and sane. Now, if I could just get Oakley (or Olive) to write the blog for me…

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Silence Is Not Always Golden

Jul.22

Earlier this month, an article ran in the Huffington Post announcing that Always is the first feminine hygiene product advertiser to ever show blood. (You know, normally we excrete a dreamy blue liquid, especially for the benefit of advertising.) Given my past relationship researching all kinds of “feminine hygiene product” ads over the course of a few years and my discovery that they were all the same in essence, i.e., shame and fear-inducing, I was- let’s say- skeptical about the truth in this intriguing new announcement. I knew there had to be a catch.

The article shows this ‘revolutionizing’ new advertisement (which apparently will appear in print only at this point because one can only assume that video would make it look too real) and interestingly shows a pad riddled with lines looking like something caught between a child’s maze in a Highlights magazine and the template of a computer panel. In the middle of this curious image is one teeny red dot. Yes, advertisers, I get it. The red dot is the “period.”

Code talk and the subliminal still reigns. Even Ruby’s Red Wash wouldn’t be the same if it were Ruby’s Blood Stain Remover. But come on, anything past a perfect circle would look too much like the real deal, I guess? And we can’t have that. Not that I want to see someone’s obviously-stained maxi pad, but a tiny dot? Is this the new demand to put on women? In addition to pretending that we don’t bleed at all, when we must, we are now supposed to bleed daintily and symmetrically. Even the blue liquid appeared as a legitimate spill. I say bring back the blue liquid if this is the alternative. And, newsflash, that red dot is still just ink, folks. It ain’t real blood! The people at Always didn’t prick their finger or perform a bloodletting to create that ad. The red is just as fake as the blue. Yet, this advertising ‘breakthrough,’- a change in ink color and shape has created a firestorm of discussion.

The most interesting part of the article- and often any article online- is the comment section. At this point, this article has generated 479 comments. (And, so far, it has been “liked” by 955 people, FYI.) There’s a lot of talk about advertisers showing “too much” these days and can’t we just guess what feminine hygiene advertisers are talking about? One person says that they do not want to see blood in a maxi pad ad any more than they want to see snot in a tissue ad or poop in a diaper commercial. I have to say that I can understand what they mean. Like I said, I have no real desire to see a stranger’s menstrual stain, but unlike menstrual blood, snot and poop are not tied to cultural definitions of gender. The notion of and the visual representations of menstruation in this culture constantly imply that women are dirty and inferior and are shame-filled. No one wants to share their ‘boogers’ with other people, but if someone sees our dirtied tissue, it does not bear the same cultural shame than if our stained pad or tampon is seen by another human being. Forum pages are filled with hundreds of comments from teen girls and women who are ‘humiliated’ when someone somehow discovers they are menstruating, never mind finding the evidence of such.  And no one sane is going to find a baby shameful for producing a poopy diaper. I’m sorry, but it’s just not the same.

I think at the base of the complaints from women about ‘showing too much’ is the fear of the old cultural tradition of exposing women just to put them down and point out their inferiority. No woman wants more of that. There’s been plenty, thank you.  There must be a way of depicting a red spill or stain in print or on video without grossing people out or dehumanizing or shaming women. Respect is all any of us wants, but sometimes we get so accustomed to being talked down to that we wind up preferring no dialogue at all than being humiliated again and again with the likes of the same old messages from ‘feminine hygiene’ advertisers, doctors, and ‘authority figures.’

Which brings me to my last point. I have been asked by the good people at You ARE Loved to mention in my blog the seriousness of Toxic Shock Syndrome in order to help bring much-needed awareness to the disease for girls and women. The silence around this disease and the lack of awareness (even from doctors) to make a timely and accurate diagnosis stems from the age-old silence and shame that still encompasses the notion of menstruation. Again, because culturally menstruation remains something to be “embarrassed” about, girls and women do not readily mention that they are on their period and doctors, although they routinely ask, “when was your last menstrual period?” often do not think to consider Toxic Shock Syndrome (TSS) when a menstruating female patient presents with flu-like symptoms. This kind of unconscious avoidance of the topic of female bleeding is literally killing women and girls, still. Although the scandal of Rely Tampons from the 1980′s is over (Sharra Vostral of University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign has written about the politics and technology behind the making of Rely), TSS is still a very real concern. Please take the time to inform yourself and your relatives and friends about the dangers of Toxic Shock Syndrome. No one should die of embarrassment and the silence and shame around menstruation. Go to http://you-are-loved.org/ for more information. And break the silence and save a life.

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Home Sweet Research

Jun.18

A couple of weekends ago, I was tabling Ruby’s Red Wash in Pittsburgh at a conference for the Society for Menstrual Cycle Research, a positively dreamy event. (You might have seen the Tweets- or not.) It may sound odd to you to call any conference “dreamy,” but trust me, when you are interested in female being and specifically the phenomenon of menstruation, a conference of that configuration is the stuff that dreams are made of. Or should that be, the stuff of which dreams are made? Yep, that’s it.

Mingling with people (men and women) who aren’t afraid of a real discussion of the biology, psychology, and politics of female bleeding and everything related is downright liberating. Although I was peddling Ruby’s Red Wash and the message behind it, I did hear and see one of the presentations and I can honestly say that it made me “homesick” for menstrual research (as sad as that may sound to some of you). My own research which triggered the development of Ruby’s Red Wash was agonizing for me to complete because I was obsessive, but overall I did enjoy it much like an investigation of sorts. And so research is a little piece of “home” to me because I spent the better part of six years paying attention to anything related to menstruation-  meaning anything research-related, popular books and articles, television shows- old and new, the same for films. And then there were the “feminine hygiene” product advertisements- print and television. Oh crap- the advertisements. I looked at and analyzed so many of those it’s hard for me to casually look at them now. Of course, another reason it’s hard to even casually look at them is that they are mostly truly demeaning to women and downright psychologically repulsive. Looking at all that advertising and its history, and I mean really looking at the images and the subtexts, is actually a dive into the history of the oppression of women. Any morning and afternoon I spent plowing through that stuff usually left me in dire need of a hot bath and a cup of tea and the desire for something truly dissociative.

Back to the conference. The presentation which got me fired up again was truly interesting because it was an in-depth analysis of an internet advertisement for an age-old “feminine hygiene” product which is posing as an unusual “short film” on the topic of menstruation and menarche, and what it’s like to be a girl. (The researcher’s name is Dacia Charlesworth from Indiana University- Purdue University. Look her up. She’s great.) I refuse to name the film here or link it because I don’t want to increase the number of hits it gets on the internet. I’m sure every time the internet ranking of that film soars, the advertising geniuses give one another a high-five and have another dinner with multiple drinks on the company tab in celebration of themselves and another defeat of women.

Turns out, as a film it is interesting, well-made and has won at least one film award, but its messages about being a female, and a bleeding one at that, are just plain old demeaning and merely repeat the stereotypes of female inferiority, just like in every other typical menstrual product advertisement. The worst part is that the film plays upon the sympathies which girls wind up having for the lead character. From the looks of the blog entries- yes, blog entries- connected to this ‘flim’ and the wait- Twitter account Tweets- yes, really– girls identify with the troubles the character has and instead of the film/advertisement pointing out that the troubles are due in part to the culture and the way the world treats women, the film “sells” the idea that this is just the way it is in the world for women. The film/advert essentially announces “girls, you may as well get used to the drudgery of your being early in life. Oh, and by the way, those terrible troubles you have being a bleeding girl can just about be alleviated by buying  –guess what– a particular product!” Now isn’t that amazing?

Yeah. One well-intended (and happened to be male) audience member asked something like, “do you think the advertisers intended these messages and really knew what they were doing?” The presenter did a fine job of containing herself answering that one, and offered an  emphatic, “yes.”  I have to say that I also did a fine job of containing myself, because I know from my research that it was customary for advertising executives to use the locution “Two C’s and a K”  when discussing the often called upon scenario and dynamic for advertising any kind of female product. The typical scenario to which they so lovingly referred was actually “two cunts and a kitchen.” How’s that for demeaning– and deliberate?

So, mothers and fathers and young girls, please beware of and be aware of the stylized, professional predators that exist and want to purchase the souls, especially the young souls, of all females out there. This isn’t just a piece of art or an innocent film to entertain.  The more I think about this latest set-up for girls, the more annoyed I become and the happier I am that this new assault on girls and women came along after I finished my research. If I had had to dwell on this thing as long as Dacia Charlesworth did or the rest of my own research, I might have overdosed on hot tea, never emerged from the hot bath or the dissociative state I would have desperately needed.

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Helloooo Dolly

Jun.3

Okay, well finally after several agonizing weeks, I get my period. And, trust me. I’m grateful for its arrival, full blown cramps and all. Yes, I said finally not in the I’m-worried-I-may-be-pregnant-so-it-needs-to-hurry-up-and-show-up kind of finally but finally in the sense that it’s been teasing me for a while now. Ever get that feeling? That ever-so-faint cramping that comes and goes along with a sort of muzzy feeling head, like you have a case of hay fever or something? So, you get geared up to pay attention to when you need to carry around tampons or whatever it is you use and you’re all set and at one point may even hallucinate a little blood in the underwear– and then nothing. Your body starts playing -what is it- Jedi mind tricks?

When it doesn’t come after all that introduction, then I start trying to calculate and remember the exact date I started last time. And I can rarely remember. I usually just go by what my body starts saying to me and merely pay attention to that, but it’s times like this when I can beat up on myself for not marking little red x’s  on a calendar. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do? Mark off the days? In a little pocket calendar? And shouldn’t it be exactly twenty-eight days between? Okay, now I’m being sarcastic about the number of days. I know that women have different cycles and that the number of days between can vary greatly. Mine varies from month to month. But this time I did catch myself being self-critical again (surprise) about keeping track of my period. I have never (except for when I was conducting menstrual cycle research) kept track of exactly when I start and stop bleeding. Somehow when asked, if the topic should ever be brave enough to surface, women on television and in the movies always know when they bled- down to the date. I don’t get it. It’s not my practice and frankly, I have never been friends with any woman who has done such a thing. Not that it’s terrible or anything and if that works for you, then go for it. (And if you have such a routine that works for you and/or you enjoy, please feel free to share it below. I’m not above learning.) This newest criticism of self, however, has got me thinking. Where did I get that keeping track of one’s bleeding is supposed to be done so precisely? And then it dawned on me.

Patriarchy, my friend. The patriarchal world always wants things tracked down to the minute and quantified to the utmost. For some time now, I have been thinking that I should create a little calendar or something for Ruby’s women and their periods, but then something in me always resists and I don’t do it. And I have tended to shame myself for not getting the lead out and just doing it. Now I know why I haven’t done it. I don’t do it myself- and I, of all people, should be following my period to the minute and tracking it with current events. Or so I have thought. My prejudice has been to place more value on marking off days and counting. After all, the doctor always wants a number, dammit. I have usually felt like a fraud or an airhead when I have to stop and calculate and remember what was going on in my life the last time I bled. Silly me. I feel silly because the only way I can “acceptably” discuss my period in the culture (in the doctor’s office), i.e., to quantify it, I cannot do appropriately at that moment.

Today I say, who cares? With the beginning of this period I am dumping that insidious, semi-conscious, habitual judgement once and for all. I don’t speak the language of dates and that’s okay. I have decided that perhaps my way of ‘free-wheeling-bleeding’ keeps me more in tune with my body, rather than distancing me from it with numbers. So, that’s my story, anyway, and I’m sticking to it. I’m going to ‘have a happy period,’ however long it lasts…

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“It’s Always One Thing or Your Mother”

May.8

I had an epiphany this week, and I will get to it shortly but first I have to say that I still laugh every time I think of this mother statement, just because it is so true on so many different levels. Mothers, simply because of biology alone, “show up” the most for the care taking of children, and because of it, wind up the responsible party for rearing children. Add to that, the history of patriarchy and social roles, and then throw in the voice of psychoanalysis, and of course, women are doomed to take all the responsibility for the good and bad times of a child’s life. Absent fathers generally get to stay invisible when it comes to bearing responsibility for the way a child grows up and turns out as an adult. Even when television news stations depict stories of abandoned or neglected children, the question most often thrown out is “where is the mother?” The subtext is, “so we can promptly throw her butt in jail.” And, while I get the hideousness of the situation, what I always think in response to this is, even when it’s a horrific story of a teenage girl giving birth in a bathroom and leaving the baby or fetus to die is, okay, well, where is the mother AND where is the father? How come he gets a free pass? It takes two to tango, and if, at the get-go, teenage boys were held more accountable for their part in the creation of babies, maybe men would be better, more thoughtful fathers.

I know. I digress. The epiphany. I’m getting there. This is relevant, I promise.

The truth is, however, because women tend to be so “stuck,” for good or for ill, doing the rearing and care taking, it is almost impossible for a mother to dodge “blame” of sorts from their adult children. It is always one thing or your mother. See? We’re back to the main theme.

A couple of weeks ago, I was reminded of this about mothers in one of my new favorite television shows, “Addicted to Food.” Tennie, founder of Shades of Hope, an addiction treatment center somewhere in Texas, jokingly announces, “it’s always one thing or your mother,” in order to offer gentle encouragement for the patients to reflect on the painful experiences of  their childhood. Tennie stresses that these are the experiences which most likely prompted the patients to start eating as a means of avoiding experiences and the expression of their emotions. If you live in a household where you are scolded for being sad, for example, many people turn to food to self-medicate and to escape. Not too hard to get, right? That is, unless you’ve been living it for most of your life. Then it’s the most difficult thing in the world to grasp.

In the course of Tennie’s in-patient treatment program, she strips every possible “vice” from every patient- gum, magazines, cell phones, one poor guy loses his guitar. The purpose of this is to create a situation in which the patient is forced to deal with themselves and their raw emotions, something most of them have never done, and to look at themselves so closely that they can recognize their unhealthy relationship to food, themselves and others. They get backed up against a wall and are forced to look at themselves, but the upside is that they are supported and helped and are afforded the opportunity to change their ways. At some point in this, many patients inevitably regress to a childlike state. And this is the really interesting part, and I swear, it does connect to this theme of mothers.

The dinner table is where things typically tend to get out of control and emotions and words fly. One day, two patients, had two different issues at mealtime. One was refusing to eat at all, a no-no in a food addiction program, as Tennie points out. The other, Tenisha, became very vocal about not wanting her vegetables and wanting more chips, instead. Tennie intervened by asking what the problem was. When Tenisha whined (remember, she is in a regressive state) that she wanted more chips and no vegetables, Tennie asked her how many people in her life when she was a child cared whether or not she ate her vegetables. Those of us following the show knew that answer would be zero since Tenisha had talked about the fact that both parents were addicts. Tenisha answered “none.” Tennie then said, “so, can you picture that little girl right now and feed her the vegetables she is supposed to have?” Can you do that for her?

And then the light bulb came on for Tenisha and me. Oh, I get it now. As adults, especially if we came from less-than-nurturing families,  we are supposed to mother ourselves today in the ways in which we should have been mothered and cared for as children. Now, intellectually I have known this for years and helped others get to this point of revelation for themselves, but I never really realized that for many years, I, personally, have been trying to parent or mother myself from the same helpless feeling and position I held as a child. I have done many adult things and lived through many trying times as an adult, but I realize now that emotionally I was just barely hanging on, just like I was barely hanging on in childhood. Picturing myself as the small child and asking my adult self how would I now help the overwhelmed, upset little girl is a real revelation for me. I am guessing that it would be a real revelation to many others, too. So, you see, in life it really is one thing or your mother. If you have not figured out how to be your own, wonderful, caring, non-critical, supportive mother, then that “mother” problem will plague you forever. In theory, mothers conjure up notions of unconditional love, support and acceptance but in reality, especially as adults, it’s up to us to put that into practice. Go do it. Go be your own good mother (or father) to yourself. It’s Mother’s Day, after all, for crying out loud.

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