Period Anthology: Judy Blume Didn't Prepare Me for This...
Every heart holds a story. Today we are hearing from Ginger Lobdell, founder of SheHopes. Ginger hopes that her story will encourage someone who is hanging on for dear life in the midst of their own storm.
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Everything I knew about starting my period, I learned from a Judy Blume book.
I wore out my copy of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret in my girlhood, but I don’t know if anything could have fully prepared me as an eleven-year-old finding blood in my underwear for the first time. I reached into the bathroom drawer where I knew I’d find sanitary supplies. Margaret in the 1970 book used a belt to hold her pad in place. I didn’t realize that belts were a thing of the past when it was my turn in 1992, but I was still able to figure it out. This pad felt like I was wearing a pillow between my legs. It didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating. I was joining a sisterhood of girls who had all experienced their periods before me as we blossomed into the women we were becoming, but I felt paralyzed by the bleeding, and I felt alone.
Unfortunately Judy Blume didn’t prepare me for what it is like to go through other kinds of female problems: Cramping, leaking, learning how to use a tampon, hemorrhaging in childbirth, or being terrified of the first trip to the bathroom after having a baby. I know now that women and girls all across the world have gone through these very same things - but at the time I just felt scared and alone.
Judy Blume also didn’t prepare me for losing a baby.
Who came up with the word miscarriage anyway? Miscarriage sounds like I misplaced or mishandled my babies, or misunderstood how to care for the tiny bundles of hope inside my body. The phrase, “I lost my baby," also feels wrong. I didn’t lose my babies like I lose my keys, glasses, or my place in a book. There isn’t a word or phrase in the English language that seems to fit - just the feeling of a heart shattering like glass into a million pieces.
Mother’s Day is always a nuanced and complicated holiday. There are women who have lost their mothers, women who have lost children, women who have lost relationships with their mothers, women who desperately wish to become mothers, and women who have decided to not become mothers. Like I said – it’s complicated.
I have three incredible sons, and I know how incredibly lucky I am to play a role in their lives. I remember finding out that I was going to be a mommy for the first time on Mother’s Day weekend in 2003. But Mother’s Day 2020 was a little different. After years of being told that I could no longer become pregnant, I have miscarried pregnancies twice in 2020 – once in January and again in April.
During my first loss in January I curled up in my bed, arms wrapped around my contracting belly, and pleaded with my baby, with God, with the universe, “Please stay. Please don’t go.” My head knew that 1 out of every 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, but my heart went into such darkness that I didn’t know if I would ever feel joy or see the light of hope again. I fought the grief as hard as I could. I didn’t know how anyone could survive one loss, and I felt certain that I couldn’t go through that lonely and terrifying experience again.
In April, I heard those seven awful words, I’m sorry, I don’t see a heartbeat, and saw my lifeless baby boy on the screen above me. I felt so alone again in the exam room while I could hear the doppler of another baby’s heartbeat in the next room. The nurse came in wearing a mask and said she wasn’t supposed to give me a hug because of the COVID restrictions, but she did anyway. I begged for a D&C to get it over with so I could heal physically and emotionally before the darkness and waves of grief could swallow me whole again.
With each miscarriage I wanted to hurry to get back to normal and how life used to be, but through these losses I’ve begun to see that when our hearts break, I think it’s impossible for them to heal exactly how they were before a loss. There is no going back to normal. Our lives and hearts are forever changed. My heart and life are forever changed.
I feel awful that my husband and boys watched me be destroyed by the losses, but I am grateful for every hug, every head poked in the doorway asking How are you? Do you need anything?, and every I love you while I healed.
The waves of loneliness, shame, and guilt I have felt have eased each time a friend went out of their way to tell me they knew exactly what I was going through, cried with me, baked me cookies, shared their stories, left tea at my doorstep, brought me a flower, and reassured me that I am not alone. These moments are helping me as I pick up my broken pieces. The stories, love, and support of those who have loved and lost before me is the glue that I’m using to rebuild my heart, and myself, into something new.
This time I’m not fighting the waves of grief. I’m letting them wash over me, allowing myself to feel all the feelings, and let the tide carry the waves back into the ocean of the unknown. The waves are coming less and less now, and the sun is beginning to shine.
Thank you, Judy Blume, for preparing me as a girl for my period. And thank you to the sisterhood of women across history and around the world who have gone before me for sharing your strength, your stories, and shining the light of HOPE for others - even in the midst of the storm.
It’s been about a month since my surgery, and just like when I was eleven, I am once again waiting for my period to begin. This time it’s different. This time I know that I am not alone.
Here’s to the next chapter, and here’s to HOPE…
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Ginger Lobdell is a wife, #BoyMom, and the founder of SheHopes. When she’s not planning her next trip to India or East Africa, you can find her reading, running, or hanging out with her guys. You can follow the SheHopes journey on Facebook and Instagram.
If you are interested in sharing your period story, please send an email to Ginger@SheHopes.org or contact us HERE. We are compiling these stories to share with our sisters around the world. Please remember that you are SEEN, LOVED, and YOU ARE NOT ALONE.