The blood was aggressive today, at one point soaking through the cotton of my super Tampax in less than an hour. Shedding seems too passive a word. Today my uterus was certainly not just causally shedding its lining but unapologetically tearing it away with jagged, uneven claws instead. My uterus rebelled today. Tossed around this pain as though my life depended on the aching of it all. As though this stabbing in my gut was necessary lest I forget my purpose.
I am woman, I am made to suffer and bleed.
My womanhood violently reminded me of what a woman actually is and can physically do today. Jaw clinching, white knuckled cramps let me know that my body is meant to create life and had me eating fistfuls of Advil in the hopes to forget again. This evening amidst the throws of an angry menses I noticed streaks of bright red across the top of my foot. This violent monthly so wanted to escape the plug I provided that clots of blood slicked down my thighs and turned my light grey dress to pink on my ass. I waddled through the house careful to not let the blood spilled on my foot stain the carpet. I ripped my dress, now ruined, off as though it too were some kind of lining that needed to be shed. In the master bath I sat, soaking in water as hot as the tap would allow and I bled.
Naked and free.