How the Fuck Am I Supposed to Menstruate Under Capitalism?

Red Flags is Novara Media’s advice column for anti-capitalists. Inspired by our columnist Sophie K Rosa’s book, Radical Intimacy, Red Flags explores how capitalism fucks up our intimate lives – not just our romantic relationships, but also our friendships, home lives, family ties, and experiences of death and dying – and what we can do about it. To submit a question to Sophie, email [email protected] or, if you’d like more anonymity, fill out this form.

Dear Sophie,

I am a cis woman in my late 20s and in the past few years, I’ve realised that I am extremely impacted by the hormonal changes throughout my menstrual cycle. I know that there’s all sorts of advice out there on this but that it’s also an area that’s super under-researched because of sexism.

As a feminist and an anarchist, I bristle against the idea that it’s my job to make myself acceptable to a society that loves how fun and productive I am when I have oestrogen coursing through me (although it sometimes tells me I’m “too much”) but hates me when I’m exhausted and angry and whatever else progesterone has thrown at me that month.

So I don’t think I want medical intervention. I don’t want to go on birth control and I certainly don’t want anything more long-term. I want to retain my autonomy and apart from anything else, I’m not sick. I’m experiencing a normal process that society has maligned.

However, I don’t know what else to do. I am also an engineer who takes pride in my work. I am a friend trying to be there for my friends. I feel like I spend half the month straining to keep up appearances and the other half borderline manically working to make up for it, both in and outside of work – but I can’t help thinking I can never ask to be treated any differently from a cis man who doesn’t have to deal with this biological process. Is there a “politically correct” way to have a period in this society?

– Unruly Uterus

Dear Unruly Uterus,

I wonder which half of the month you wrote this question in, and how differently you might have written it in the other half. It seems to me that our generation was largely brought up with the notion that having periods shouldn’t change anything, and that that knowledge should liberate us. I’m thinking of Always adverts depicting smiling women doing sporty things whilst bleeding. And slogans like “Have a happy period. Always,” which Adweek wrote “promotes a curse as a blessing”. God help us. At least now period blood in adverts is shown in red.

The prevailing culture still, seems to consider periods a necessary evil that we can overcome with the right effort. Alternatively, an increasingly loud and often trans-exclusionary earth mother subculture promotes menstruation as a spiritual gift, glossing over earthly matters such as emotional and physical agony. The truth is that most of us experience menstruation with a lot of ambivalence.

One thing the woo-woo approach to periods gets right, in my opinion, is recognising that we change throughout our menstrual cycles – physically, mentally, emotionally. And yet we live in a culture where good people (workers) are supposed to be stable. Maddeningly, a culture built by and for people notorious for their volatility, cis men.

I recognise your struggle; how the fuck are we supposed to menstruate in a capitalist society? At some times and in some cultures, menstruating people are hidden away. In the UK, we are expected to hide in plain sight, pretending to be something we are not (pain-free, sane, happy, energised).

It has become more taboo for men to ask if someone is on their period. Doing so is deemed sexist often for good reason; the question usually insinuates the dismissal of emotions as irrational. But I don’t want to disavow the impact that my hormones have on my emotional life. Quite often, my biggest and most challenging emotions do come ahead of my period. And that doesn’t make them any less real. It’s all me. And all of this is all you.

Though this system doesn’t make any sense to me, capitalist patriarchy claims to enshrine rationality. People who menstruate have been oppressed on the basis of our supposed unruly, irrational nature. You write that you “can never ask to be treated any differently from a cis man who doesn’t have to deal with this biological process.” I understand this; to do so could have material as well as emotional consequences, such as workplace discrimination.

There is little in place structurally to back us up. Unlike countries like Indonesia, Zambia, Spain and South Korea, the UK has no statutory menstrual leave. It also has shoddy sick pay and shedloads of stigma around periods. Even in countries with menstrual leave policies, provision is usually only one, occasionally two, days per month. While there may be growing general awareness that periods can be painful for a day or so, the reality for many people – weeks-long emotional and physical symptoms – is rarely grasped. Perhaps because it is too much for the system.

Our bodily impossibility is fertile ground for demanding the impossible. You mention that solidarity is important to you. Do you participate in any anti-capitalist organising? This could give you some hope – or at least be a consistent outlet for rage. Your organising could be something closely related to this particular issue, or a broader or adjacent liberation struggle. Women and people who menstruate are often maligned as “mad”; this struggle might overlap with mad pride and liberation.

I’m also wondering about how self-care factors in. I agree with you that individualisation entrenches the logic that causes our suffering in the first place. Indeed, the stress of capitalism no doubt makes menstruation more difficult and increases the prevalence of so-called menstrual disorders. Within this injurious system, there is a role for showing ourselves and others consistent care, insofar as this is possible.

Whilst I agree that medicalisation can be problematic, I do think there can be a place for getting to know our bodies. Especially difficult periods can indicate particular diagnoses or stressors. It took me years of contending with doctors’ dismissals (“These are just women’s problems!”) to receive a polycystic ovary syndrome diagnosis – and even then, my doctor only offered support if I wanted to get pregnant.

Medical patriarchy often means women, people who menstruate and trans people become experts in their own health. Personally, I have come to better understand how my hormonal and menstrual health relates to my emotional health and stress levels, and as such have identified things that help and hinder my wellbeing. A lot of this has been about attempting to honour rather than resist the fact I am a cyclical being – although of course this is easier said than done, and easier for some than others.

I am not suggesting that self-care is the answer – it is more a case of survival pending revolution. We can also collaborate on and share menstrual health knowledge with those around us. Crucially, I am not referring to “adaptation” here, but to the alleviation of symptoms we want to and might be able to alleviate – or at least understand better.

In a society that does not permit us to exist authentically – which is to say, in alignment with our feelings and our cycles – how might we be able to self-authorise? And what would make this self-authorisation more possible?

I don’t think we should aspire to politically correct periods. Living under conditions that render our menstrual cycles disruptive, can we disrupt the same system right back?