It is exactly 6 years since I published my first book. Bloom – the period diary. Looking back at who I was, I was convinced that teaching girls the basics would save them years if they were looking for a diagnosis.
This desire to give the next generation what I didn’t have fuelled my work to create the Furaha Program. It has now come full circle, as Miss K is in a cohort. Time truly does fly.
I’ve spent the last couple of years gleaning knowledge to help more women. That’s how I ended up being a certified Menstrual Cycle Coach.
I genuinely enjoy talking about all things menstrual health. The last year or so, my own period has been so harsh. I’ve been admitted twice because of it.
This isn’t my first rodeo with complicated menses. When I was 19 years old, I was diagnosed with Endometriosis. It was so good to have a name for it but also deeply shameful. It wasn’t my elbow or little toe that was hurting. Instead it was my ovary and intestines playing games. Popping cysts like popcorn.
It referred to how wonky my body was. How it was failing at one of the basic things – having a period. Sharing my story gave me a community of women to walk with. Women just like me, whose body’s sometimes let them down.
A week ago, I had my 7th surgery. A hysteroscopy. It was a day surgery but I was terribly anxious. The surgery went well but I came out feeling so ashamed. It felt like my body was letting me down again and this was a whole new chapter in my story. It wasn’t endo but something else all together.
As I was trying to process the whole thing in therapy. My therapist asked me a question that gave me so much perspective.’ Just because you are mechanic does that mean your car will never breakdown?’ Being a professional doesn’t offer immunity. These struggles might still be there.
The thing about menstrual health issues is that they can be deeply lonely and personal. They have a lot of shame pegged to them. As I did my quiet time, I realized that this shame is not a new thing. Even the woman with the issue of blood, who had bled for 12 years, went alone to find Jesus. She didn’t shout or draw attention to herself. She quietly reached out to touch the hem of his garment. If you draw a parallel with the paralytic who had his friends who dug a hole in the ceiling and lowered him down to Jesus.
I’m really grateful that I have been surrounded by love. Love shatters the shame. Even during this time as I wait for the histology report, I’m still a little worried about the future, wondering if this issue of the blood will become a thing of the past, soon. I know I shouldn’t worry about tomorrow as each day has worries of it’s own. So I whisper to my heart, Peace be still.
Bibi2Be 