Rachel Kauder Nalebuff celebrates womanhood and released those of us that have been stuck in secrecy concerning our periods, with My Little Red Book.

“The Curse”, “Aunt Flow”, “On the Rag”, “Getting my Friend”, “On my Moon”, or “Rebooting the Ovarian Operating System” — whatever we call it, women will inevitably be visited with their first period at some point in their life. For some, it’s a celebration, for others, a shame and embarrassment. Others will find themselves annoyed and inconvenienced and some will be convinced they are dying. Sometimes, everyone who will listen will be told that it has arrived — sometimes no one will be told. We all have our own way of dealing with it when it comes.

My Little Red Book is a compilation of those ways. It’s the kind of book I wish I had thought of — it’s that brilliant!  Spanning the decades, women share their stories of their first periods. The stories are as unique as each personality that recounts the story.

One woman who shared believes that how we deal with our period the first time it comes is indicative of our personality. Of course, that got me to thinking about how my period psychologically describes me, but more on that in a moment.

While I read, I laughed and I cringed with empathy. I shook my head in utter amazement and I thought through what I will and won’t do with my daughter when she gets her period. For instance, I will not slap her on the face to “help shock her out of childhood and push her into womanhood” and I will not broadcast to the entire family that she is now a woman.

I will borrow the idea of creating a period box for her, complete with a pamphlet on what a period is and different types of pads and tampons for her to try out and see what she likes best. I’ll also take the idea of this same wise mom, who told her daughter that getting her period meant her body was preparing her to become a woman but didn’t mean she was a woman yet — she could still be a little girl if she wanted.

I read, and was glad, that I don’t live in cultures that require me to be an outcast from my family, including my own children during my period, that I’m not so poor that I had to quit going to school as a teenager because I couldn’t afford sanitary supplies, and that I didn’t have to experience my first period while standing in line to be searched by Nazis.

This is a book that women are going to love. It connects us on the one common denominator we all have — we have a uterus that sheds its lining every month and causes us to bleed. Even if we are women who are as different as night and day in our personalities, live in cultures that can’t understand each other, practice different religions, and hold varying political and ethical beliefs, we all get a period.

Not only is this an endearing read, proceeds from the sales of this book are going to profit women everywhere. In India, funds will go to empowering women and health education programs. In Kenya, proceeds will provide water, toilets, and sanitary supplies to girls so they can continue going to school when they have their period. Rachel has also chosen several other programs that will be supported from the sales of this book, addressing various aspects of a woman’s life.

As far as personality being associated with how one deals with their first period, I’m still trying to analyze myself on this one. At ten years old, being somewhat of a hypochondriac, I was horrified to first learn that I would be bleeding once a month and hoped it wouldn’t happen anytime soon. I remember solemnly asking my mom if I “could bleed so much I would die” at which she said with an annoyed, “Of course not! It happens to all of us!”  Her annoyance stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t too thrilled to be telling me this kind of thing and just wanted the whole awkward conversation to be over with.

Nothing more was said in the five years that followed until one day, at fifteen and a half, I mentioned to mom that I was worried because I hadn’t, “um…  gotten my… um… you know… ”

“What… your… um… your friend, you mean?” was the question in response with eyes that settled everywhere except my face.

I got a puzzled look on my face. “My friend? What do you mean, my friend?”

“You know… your monthly friend,” was the curt answer.

“Oh! Yeah. That.” I stuttered.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll wish it hadn’t come when it does,” and with that, the conversation was over.

My mom had no clue I cried, I was so worried my body was broken (the same type of tears that I would later cry over my inability to get pregnant) because all my friends had it but I didn’t. I was so ashamed. I didn’t belong. It was the secret that I couldn’t share — the bond I wasn’t a part of. I couldn’t get out of gym class because of cramps and I couldn’t importantly discuss whether or not my mom let me wear tampons. I didn’t belong and I desperately longed to. It was not so much about being a woman or being able to make a baby. I just wanted to fit in, belong, be a part of the girls.

It came while I was babysitting. I, of course, was totally unprepared, having completely given up on ever getting it. I was too conscientious to go through the bathroom cabinets to find what I needed. I was too afraid I would be stealing, even though the occasion would have justified taking something. Toilet paper was my first pad. I remember being terrified it would fall out my shorts but I also remember being thrilled I had to use it.

I called my  mom. “Mom, I got it! I got my period!”

I don’t remember her response except that it was terse and full of her embarrassment to even be talking about it. I remember getting off the phone and feeling a huge letdown that I couldn’t fully comprehend. Why was I crying when I finally had what I had wanted for so long?

Looking back I realize that wanting my period was more than wanting to be one of the girls. It was about wanting to connect with my mom, to share something with her, to be seen as her equal, her friend; a daughter that she could share with and confide in. It didn’t do that. Nothing changed in our relationship and we never discussed anything related to periods — or anything else private and sacred for that matter.

I entered womanhood but my mom didn’t enter it with me.

What’s your period story? Check out My Little Red Book to share it.