We’ve all had at least one period-related trauma.
I’m willing to bet my quarter (that I’d need for an empty dispenser, so it’s useless anyway) that this trauma ensued from a lack of preparedness. As much as I’d love to be considered a “period fairy,” with an arsenal of cotton products and medications in my backpack for the battleground that is my uterus every month, it is more my style to frantically ask strangers for tampons when the time comes. Not to mention, how can anyone with irregular cycles anticipate and replenish supplies for a period that’s been M.I.A. for three months?
None of us carries toilet paper around, as we rightfully expect our university bathrooms to be fully stocked. On the rare occasion they aren’t, we’re stranded in an incredibly uncomfortable situation. Yet, that is the years-long predicament for any menstruator’s life. Finding yourself marooned in a bathroom is not all that uncommon on a campus with a mythical presence of tampons and pads.
I was a Newton campus resident during freshman year, who wouldn’t let anything come between her and her squat P.R.—not even the holiday shuttle bus schedule during Spring Break. With 250 mg of caffeine coursing through my veins halfway down Comm. Ave., I was well beyond the point of no return when I realized my period had started. “The Plex will have tampons,” I naively reassured myself. By the time I scoured the deserted, four-story building for tampons, I had already plated my barbell, adjusted the J-cups for height, and queued my brain chemistry-altering music for a gravity-defying lift. Spoiler: No PR that day, but a 40-minute walk back to Newton while bleeding through my biker shorts.
In every crisis-averted since, I am thankful to the court of period fairies at the Free, Period initiative. Free, Period is a volunteer-driven and unfailingly resourceful cohort of about 25 students that confronts period inequity in our university. Their important, yet overlooked, work involves resupplying select bathrooms that are highly congested throughout the day. You’ve likely walked into a fully accommodated bathroom one morning and appreciated a shelf filled with medical-grade absorptive material during an exhaustive shark week. No panic. No avoidable embarrassment. Just one less job of hunting down a pad, instead taken care of by the grace of a period fairy earlier that day.
Not only do they provide the practical support of accessible pads and tampons, but their door for CARE hours, snacks, and conversation is always open during the work week at the Women’s Center in Maloney 441. New volunteers are always welcome to join this low-commitment, high-reward student-led initiative. Women’s center representatives, Gabrielle Keeley, Emersen Mackenzie, and Elizabeth Anderson proudly acclaim the group’s ambitions: “Free, Period works to deconstruct stigma against menstruation and embrace public health!”
I value the collaboration and social camaraderie of a student-led group that helps meet the needs of 53 percent of students through UGBC funding. To complement these successful efforts, I firmly believe the administration should assume a greater responsibility in providing sustainable menstruation support.
While period poverty in our world of manicured lawns may appear to be a non-issue and treated as such by the institution, at least one in 10 college women resort to substitute pads folded from toilet paper, expired products, or borrowing from others. The biological costs—metabolic, hormonal, and pain—are extensive and debilitating, to say the least. The costs increase after considering financial burdens and hindrances to academic performance. These limiting factors pervade no matter a woman’s bleeding volume, all too often deterring her from social activities and perfect class attendance.
Although each bathroom across campus isn’t furnished with period products, the discreet and generous provision of menstrual products in the most used bathrooms alleviates a great deal of anxiety and insecurity. As of last semester, supplies have expanded to Fulton and Free, Period’s future plans include further broadening of menstrual product distribution on campus. What’s more is that since the initiative’s establishment in 2017, multiple events have been orchestrated, including gifting “self-care” packages containing woolly socks and diva cups (my favorite menstrual accessory) for sustainability quad festivals and menstrual education talks in partnership with the nursing school.
Where would we be without Free, Period? Probably bleeding out on the most inconvenient of days and places.
I know you’re probably calculating how on Earth I could have hit a PR during a hormonal crash. That may have been my first misstep—on top of being chronically underprepared, despite never forgetting to log my phases. I suppose it’s my style to expect any institution to recognize a basic biological need rather than treat it as my personal planning failure.
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