A reflection of my tears throughout my life.

Mami, could I possibly start using tampons now?

I was expecting my mother to groan and perhaps even give me a lecture when I asked her this question. She simply laughed. As if I was asking the most outrageous and ridiculous question, the ones where you’re stunned that all you can do is cackle-and that’s what she did while I stood red in the face, eyebrows furrowed, and could feel my eyes ready to release the subsequent tears of shame. 

At that moment I wish she would have yelled instead. 

I couldn’t hold it in so I rushed to the bathroom. This shabby bathroom, too small for a family of six, had been converted into my sanctuary over the years. It was here where I cried the first time I got my period because I had bled through and didn’t realize. I was used to sitting on the cold tiles, clutching my stomach from the nausea that my first couple of periods would bring. This bathroom had its own peculiar way of being there for me when I felt the shame that came with my intolerable development. Now was no exception, with the tune of my mothers laugh still ringing in my ears. Looking back I don’t think it was the laugh itself that bothered me. It was more so, the fact that  the laugh was a reminder of this endless cycle of embarrassment when it came to my body and the transformation I was going through. There were many things I couldn’t control when it came to my body and yet when I did gain even a bit of strength to stand up, that strength disintegrated. It was replaced with the humiliation that I still hadn’t gotten used to. The only thing that could cement me was sitting alone in the bathroom, with a dread that I kept to myself, too scared to ever let her out.

By the time I was 14,  my period had continued to be something that I saw every so often-like a family member that annoys you that you surprisingly only see on Christmas. My period was severely irregular and unbeknownst to me, was due to polycystic ovarian syndrome. At the time I didn’t know what that was so I never chose to look up or inform myself about it-choosing instead to sulk and be a moody preteen. I wanted to put a stop to the race that my body was winning against my mind. I felt 14 years old

But the day I finally got my menstrual again I felt like I became a “woman” again. 

It wasn’t the sound of the packed buses filled with locals going to work or the familiar lady who walked up down the streets yelling out “Pan Francés!” that woke me up. It was the blood running down my thighs. My period  had returned, unannounced. I was looking forward to this day as it was the day that my family and I had planned to go to the beach. It was a day that was supposed to be spent splashing in the waters, writing messages in the  sand,  getting my summer vacation in El Salvador started, and smelling the charcoal fumes that emit from the grill-a smell that I used to relish in. It was supposed to be a family beach day and nothing compared to spending summer with family. 

It was also the day that my dad died. 

I cried earlier that day because I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy the day, but now I was crying because I didn’t know if my family or I would ever enjoy the rest of our lives. My cramps felt sharper and sharper as if the anguish in my mind had also manifested and crawled  around my body. I was still a child yet on the same day, the desire to be naive flew away. Perhaps it was even naive to think that I could desire this in the first place. I was no longer a child, I was a young woman-and if the physical embodiment of blood leaving my body-a belief that was my shared by my family and even me for a while, didn’t show it, then it was seen in the way I had to explain and retell the story of the day my dad died. I controlled my breathing and I trained myself to fly into an alternate universe I created in my head so I wouldn’t have to think about the fact that he wouldn’t appear in any new family photos.  

All I could tell myself that time will heal, time will heal. Which meant from then on I kept thinking about the future. I kept thinking about how one day I was going to look back and all that grief I experienced was going to disappear and.. 

I’m now 19 and although I still don’t cry when I talk about my dad anymore- I still picture  my 14 year old self in tears on the beach the day he died. I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

Process

I had been wanting to create a piece that showed a side that I wasn’t used to showing, a more vulnerable and raw side of Jacqueline. I had brought it up to my mentor Shrien at our meetings and she helped to get my thoughts and ideas onto paper which is something that I struggled with. We had found that we had similarities in our life experiences which made me comfortable with the idea of opening up to the world. This piece had initially been a culmination of different events in my life that occurred revealing my periods, body, and grief but I decided to tune in on the few that I felt had impacted me the most. Writing this piece has been a new experience and it made me think about my relationship with my body, my family, grief, and how I have managed to deal with these things up until this moment of my life. But my goal for this piece was simply to write out all of these thoughts and feelings that I’ve kept mostly to myself and acknowledge them.