Mountains, A Dream, and Flow

I was in the White Mountains of New Hampshire at a Christian camp my home church hosted every year in late August. It wasn’t really camping, though—this was a Black church, so it was more like glamping, just without the luxury. This was my first time away from home without my mom, but I was excited because all my church friends would be there.

Easter Sunday at 10 Years Old

Each day at camp was structured for the youth participants, with very little downtime. Everything was new and exciting. We had Bible study and age-group activities during the day, followed by a worship service in the evening.

On what must have been my second day there, I went to the bathroom and noticed something strange: a brownish stain in my underwear. I was confused. I knew my anus was toward the back of my panties, not where my vagina was. Was it nerves from being in a new social setting? Was it because I was away from home? I brushed it off and told myself to be more careful.

The next day, it happened again. And just like ice melting in a glass on a warm day, realization seeped in—I think this was my period. My menses.

Pop culture didn’t prepare me for this moment. I was only ten years old, with no references to draw from. I rarely noticed my mom on her period, and my best friend was a boy—he wouldn’t be much help. There were no cell phones, no quick texts to my mom or an older cousin. So I did the next best thing: I went to a trusted adult who led a girls' group at my church and confided in her.

She realized what was happening before I did and handed me a pad. I had never worn one before and had no idea what to do. She walked me through it—how to place it in my underwear, how to dispose of it. That’s about all I remember. Hopefully, as I reflect more, other memories will surface about how I felt in that moment.

What I do remember, though, is that she told other adults. And soon, it felt like the whole camp knew. Whether she meant harm or not, I was mortified. I recall a male camp leader saying, I heard you became a woman today. Heat rushed through my body, and I wanted to shrink, to disappear. I don’t even remember if I responded—I just wanted to hide.

Thankfully, I had a solid group of girlfriends. At night, between the bunk beds, they’d hold up towels to give me privacy while I put on my pad. Then I’d slip into my pajamas and lie down, feeling the bulk between my legs. I was extremely self-conscious. Could others see the pad the way I felt it? Did they notice that I was walking funny?

I eventually confided in my best friend. He didn’t know how to respond, and I didn’t know what to say. We were both clueless.

As camp came to a close, I was eager to go home. When my mom picked me up, I filled her in on everything she had missed. She was stunned. Before I left for camp, she had a dream about me getting my period—but it slipped her mind to have the talk and prepare me with supplies.

Now that I was home, she went over the products I could use, how often to change my pad, and then she said something that stuck with me: Don’t tell anyone that you got your period. It was no one’s business. She didn’t want people projecting things onto me the way they had done to her. She grew up hearing too much about “fast girls,” and she knew that if I told people, they would put their own assumptions and fears on me. So it was a secret.

Well, kind of. In my mind, the whole church already knew.

A practice I started way back when was talking to my period. When she stopped flowing, I’d tell her goodbye. When she returned, I’d say welcome.

Today, my relationship with my period is ever-evolving. But one thing remains the same—she’s with me, month after month, flowing as I’m growing.

Can you recall your first time having a period? If so, share in the comments. And if you’d like to contribute to this series. Email: menstrualmemories@gmail.com

*Originally published on Substack on March 6, 2025