Something Nice
I first learned about menstrual stigma back when I was 10 years old from my aunt. I was at home when she called me in by saying, “I have something nice to tell you.” Her conversation was all about how girls’ bodies change after a certain age, and that I would be going through those changes too, and to be ready to face my first period. Personally, I had no clue what she was talking about. I just walked away thinking, okay, whatever.
To give you a bit of context, I grew up in a very conservative Muslim South Asian family, where it was forbidden to talk about periods, sex, or even participate in sex education classes back in school.
I got my first period when I was almost 12. I remember the moment very vividly; I was on vacation in the UK, visiting some family members. As the weeks went by, I was having on-and-off cramps. I was very grumpy and moody, not enjoying my vacation at all.
Then one evening, I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the washroom. I remember seeing brownish-red stains, and I told myself—it must be nothing. Yet deep down, I felt terrified and scared that something was seriously wrong with me. I had no courage to tell my mom what was going on.
I felt ashamed just seeing the stains in my underwear.
The next morning, I saw more stains, and both my mom and my aunt realized that I had gotten my first period. They handed me a pad, and as embarrassed as I felt, I had no idea how to use it—how high it should go, or how centered it should be. All I could think about was: how do I make sure I don’t get dirty or create a mess?
I somehow managed to put it on. And in the meantime, it seemed like getting my period was a celebratory moment, with my mom sharing the news with all the female family members that I had finally “ become a woman.” Yet no one cared to explain to me what it really was, how often it would happen, or even how to properly use a pad. Without knowing what to call it, I was experiencing menstrual stigma.
Bloody Hell
The first few days were a bloody hell. I was always moody and mad at the world—especially while being on vacation. The situation got worse when one night, while sleeping, I stained the bedsheets at my aunt’s place.
Mortified by the incident, I didn’t know what to do or how to handle it, especially as a 12-year-old trying to understand what was happening in her body. All I remember is my poor aunt washing the bedsheets by hand to remove the stains. Since then, every time I get my period, I sleep staring at the ceiling, barely turning left or right.
Later on, during the first months of my period, I also learned that as a Muslim woman, I am not allowed to pray, enter the mosque, or even touch the Quran during my period.
Then came the month of Ramadan for the Muslim Community where we fast for 30 days. One day, as I was fasting, I got my period, and my mom told me I wasn’t allowed to fast anymore.
As a 12-year-old, I was secretly happy that I could finally eat, but to my regret, that relief didn’t last long. Indeed, my mom forbade me from eating in front of my dad or my uncles because they would figure out that I wasn’t fasting and was on my period.
I had to eat in a secret room when no one was around. Not only that, I wasn’t allowed to eat outside either, in case I ran into someone from the community who might see me. Thus, it felt unfair that I had to go through:
1. The pain of having my period
2. The stress of hiding in a corner just to eat
Since then, all my life, I grew up thinking that having my period is something to be ashamed of and something we should stay silent about. That's the definition of menstrual stigma.
Silence Suffering
Every month, I would go through intense cramps to the point where my body couldn’t tolerate them. I had to suffer silently without telling anyone why, because no one could find out that I was on my period.
I was never taught any remedies to deal with the pain. And at school, I wasn’t allowed to attend any sex education classes. I even thought that being on my period was a handicap; I should cancel all my gym classes, and some days I would spend the day suffering in the nurse’s office, lying in a bed. Painkillers were the only solution, and as much as I tried to stay away from them, it was necessary just to get through the day.
A Natural Nightmare
As natural as it was, getting my period felt like my worst nightmare—always wearing black, always wearing oversized pads with wings, always wearing something around my waist to make sure nothing showed, and asking friends to check each other’s backs to make sure nothing was leaking.
It was every girl’s nightmare—and in many ways, it still is.
It has been 20 years since I got my period, and not much has changed around menstrual stigma. It still feels like the first time—sometimes even worse. I still deal with leaks from time to time. There have been moments, even at work, where I’ve had to rush home before things got too obvious. The pain is still there every month, and doctors often say, “It’s normal.” And beyond that, it is still a taboo topic in many South Asian households:
“ Do you have your period? No one can know.”
“Make sure your pads are wrapped properly before throwing them away.”
During Ramadan, you still have to hide and find a corner to eat when you’re on your period. And if someone sees you, it somehow becomes your fault. It is always the woman’s fault.
Changing the Story
But I am not that 12-year-old anymore. Now, I choose to speak about it openly to break menstrual stigma.
I teach my younger nieces to feel comfortable talking about it. I teach them how to track their cycles, what to eat to help with the pain, and most importantly, that it’s okay to eat during their period when they can't fast during Ramadan.
I talk about it openly, even on social media, knowing that people from my community are watching. Because why should we hide such a natural thing? I also include men in these conversations because they are part of the solutions as well.
Thankfully, I am starting to see small changes. Some workplaces now offer free period products. Schools are making more effort to talk about it. And my fellow South Asian women are also using their social media platforms to educate the community.
Change is slow—but I truly believe menstrual stigma it’s coming to an end.
About the Author:
Urmi Hossain is a self-published author, speaker, podcast host, and finance professional based in Canada. She holds the CFA and CAIA designations and works in financial services, while also using her platform to advocate for women’s empowerment, identity, and cultural awareness.
Her work often focuses on breaking cultural taboos (like menstrual stigma), including open conversations around menstruation and period stigma in South Asian communities.
She is the author of Discovering Your Identity: A Rebirth from Interracial Struggle and the host of Stories Beyond Borders, a podcast that explores identity, migration, language, and belonging. Urmi is also active in leadership and community work through Women in Leadership and Toastmasters.