personal essay: stephanie vogel
I was a nervous warrior when my first period arrived during a dinner party my parents were having. It was late in the dinner (and I was young enough) so I excused myself and went upstairs, to bed. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone, even my mom. I knew what I was supposed to do, in theory, but I was too afraid to do it.
I was an irrational warrior. Rather than handle the situation or ask for help, I just kept going back and forth to the bathroom, surprised each time. The repeated the toilet flushing brought my mom upstairs to check on me.
I was an improperly dressed warrior. I was wearing a little girl’s nightgown with frills along the short sleeves and little pink flowers. One I had refused to outgrow, even though it was up to my knees now. Mom said I’d bled through it. I cried. I wasn’t ready to lose the pjs or my little girl status.
I was a needy warrior. My mom situated me with a pad and fresh nightgown and tucked me in with a promise not to tell anyone. I felt lost without her though, knew there was no way I could sleep. I went to the landing where I always went to eavesdrop on my parents and their friends. I squeezed my legs that had lost their baby fat through the bannister letting my legs dangle, leaned my forehead into the two railings, gripped the bars, and listened - tuning in at just the right time to hear my mom finish telling the assembled group that I had become a woman - and the sentimental awws that followed.
I was a distraught warrior. At once betrayed by my mom and my body. By my blood and blood. I went back to bed and cried myself to sleep.
I was an accepting warrior. In the morning, without any confrontation about the night before, my mom brought me a blue box of tampons, a pink handled mirror, and a leaflet with instructions – the how-tos. It was a baptism by fire – My parents had given me the choice, and I made it. I was leaving for a week’s long horseback riding camp that afternoon - sleeping in covered wagons, using outhouses, and bathing in the lake.
I was a solitary warrior. I welcomed the discomfort and challenge of handling my first cycle alone, in nature, with strangers and horses. I rode my way into womanhood.
about the writer: stephanie vogel
stephanie is tired of zoom.
