I must’ve slipped into a time vortex because I’m suddenly 35 and closer to menopause than the start of my periods, yet every time I scuttle to the bathroom with a tampon up my sleeve, I’m thrown back to secondary school, embarrassed and ashamed of my monthly bleed.
Whether it’s tucking keys between our fingers when walking home alone or folding a pad into our palm, as women, our lives are made up of these small gestures. We learn early on to accept that this is just the cost of being a woman. There are literal costs too, and they aren’t cheap.
