For too long, a heavy silence has shrouded one of the most natural things in the world. We’ve been taught to whisper about periods, hide products up our sleeves, and "just deal" with the discomfort. But at joni, we know that silence comes with a massive price tag—one that affects our wallets, our education, and our mental health.
We believe that in our period stories, there is truth and there is power. That’s why we’re on a mission to dismantle period stigma through our BLEED mission. We want to provide a platform to normalize the conversation, because when we speak up without shame, we pave the way for real systemic and policy change.
Why We Need the Numbers
To change the laws of the land, we need more than just heart—we need hard facts. We are conducting a national research study to quantify the economic and social impact of period inequity in Canada.
We’re calling it The Cost of Silence because, right now, the data simply doesn't exist. There are major gaps in what we know about how menstruation impacts 50% of the population, especially within BIPOC and LGBTQ2+ communities. We need "Hero Stats" to take to the government and say, "Look, this is the reality of period equity in 2026."
Take Action: Join the Survey
If you live in Canada, are 18+, and menstruate, we need your voice.
Whether your period is a minor monthly inconvenience or a major life hurdle, your experience helps us fill out the picture. By spending just 7-10 minutes taking our anonymous, multiple-choice survey, you are helping us build a baseline for human rights advocacy and systemic action.
✍️[Take the Survey Here]
The Stories Behind the Stats
While our survey uses ratings and numbers to build a case for policy change, we never want to lose sight of the lived experiences that drive us. These stories remind us why we’re fighting for better access, better education, and an end to the "toilet paper fix."
Kelly, 28:
“It was a gorgeous, sunny day when my first period decided to make its appearance, right before a big track meet. I only had three tampons with me—the ones my mom insisted I pack in my bag. To be honest, I wasn't quite comfortable using them yet; they felt a bit strange, like I was trying to learn to ride a bike for the first time. But I brushed it off, reasoning that I’d figure it out.
As fate would have it, just before my race, I realized I needed to change. I rushed into the restroom, but as I struggled to get the tampon at the right angle, frustration kicked in. I felt too shy to ask my friends for help, worrying they might judge me. The pressure of the ticking clock added to my panic. I ended up going for a classic solution—shoving a wad of toilet paper down my pants. Not ideal, but I was holding out hopes it would do the trick until after the race.
I made my way to the track, trying to focus on my race and not on the awkward toilet paper situation shifting with every step. The race was a mix of adrenaline and a bit of discomfort. As soon as it was over, I bolted to the car where my mom was waiting. When she saw my flushed face and the panic in my eyes, she silently handed me a plastic bag to sit on. Even though I appreciated her understanding, I felt mortified.“
Emilie, 43
“My first period arrived when I was 14, during a family camping trip. At the time, I had no idea how to use a tampon. I don’t know how I managed to insert it, but before long, blood was running down my thigh, soaking through my bathing suit—at the beach, no less.
Panicked, I ran to the toilet. When I removed the tampon, it was still white as snow, making it painful to take out. I was traumatized and didn’t attempt to use a tampon again until I was 20!”
Courtney, 29
“My relationship with my period has changed a lot throughout the years and shattered my expectations of what they are like. I started out excited to finally "become a woman" but from the beginning, it involved discomfort. I had to use toilet paper because my school did not have pads. Immediately, I felt a sense of disillusionment that never left.”
Sara, 59
“I was a late bloomer—the last of my friends to get my period. It was also not really talked about by my mother or my older sister.
I knew the products were in the house but I wasn’t sure how to use them: very thick pads and belts or slightly thinner adhesive pads. I so wanted to be like the other girls that had their periods but didn’t want to be caught off guard for “Aunt Martha” to arrive. I didn’t carry a purse (that wasn’t cool) so I walked around with pads stuffed into my long striped sport socks, waiting for the day that I could use them. I don’t remember that day—just putting the pads in my socks.”
The cost of silence is too high. Let's break it together. Take the survey, share it with your network, and let's make menstrual justice a reality.