5 hours ago
5 
Every month, a week before my period, cramps from my cervix flow into every bodily crevice.
Alongside the pain, my mood drops with a crash.
My periods are brutal because of endometriosis – a condition that causes body-wide pain due as endometrial tissue grows outside the womb. The pain is constant beyond bleeding days, and the actual menstruation? Savage.
To prepare, I charge my TENS machine (a pain relief device) and electric hot water bottle, and stock up on painkillers.
But since I ditched menstrual products and started embracing the ancient practice of free bleeding, rushing to buy pads and tampons is one less thing to think about. I don’t ever see myself going back.
‘Oh, a period for the modern, woke, feminist?’ I hear you moan. Not so much.
People have bled freely for centuries, especially before underwear became common in the 1800s. If you want women to return to ‘traditional femininity’, you can’t get more femme.
In the 1970s, the term was coined amid a rise of menstrual activism and its popularity rose due to fears around toxic shock syndrome (TSS), a rare and potentially fatal condition that can be caused by improper tampon usage.
In 2015, the movement surged again when Kiran Gandhi ran the London Marathon without a tampon. Her choice sparked global discussion, ranging from applause to disgust.
I’d considered free bleeding while at university, where I battled thrush and couldn’t always afford tampons. Medieval accounts of women letting blood run into their skirts intrigued me. But period shame held me back.
Despite being raised by a feminist matriarch, social period stigma had a massive effect. Into my twenties, I hid tampons up my sleeve to avoid people seeing them and panicked over the tiniest leak. I’d been socialised to believe my periods were inherently bad, that men would dismiss any mood change as ‘PMSing’. I figured the less people knew, the better.
But I couldn’t find a period option that worked for me. Sticky sanitary towels gave me thrush or caused vulval irritation. Tampons were uncomfortable and fear-inducing. Reusable pads, while softer and chemical-free, still irritated my skin, and the constant rinsing was time-consuming.
Period pants were the winner overall, but on summer days, they made my crotch feel like a bloody furnace.
After cycling through menstrual cup options – digging inside myself, in a public bathroom, put me off for life – I decided to try free bleeding in April 2024 and I haven’t looked back.
There’s no irritation, no smell, and fewer expenses. The average annual cost of period products is around £128 for disposable products. I haven’t spent a penny in over a year.
I’m no longer worried about whether I have enough pads, or waste time soaking reusables.
I also bleed less. Although I don’t have any scientific evidence, I used to go through up to eight pads or four tampons a day, and now I rarely get through my underwear. I only bleed for three to five days, instead of up to eight. I don’t know the exact source of this menstruation miracle but I’m not questioning it!
Similarly, I’ve also noticed far less cramping.
Instead of dousing my vulva with Sudocrem or Canesten after a long day of discomfort, I just wear dark clothing and usually change my underwear once, usually about mid-afternoon.
On light days, I can go the whole day in one pair; on rare heavier days, I might go through three. I sit on a blanket as an extra precaution, but in over a year of free bleeding, it’s never been stained.
On work-from-home days, I sometimes eschew underwear and clothes to let my vulva breathe. I use a towel to soak up any blood and take an extra shower during the day if the blood gets on my thighs, which I already do at least twice a day during my period.
Apart from the extra laundry load, the only down-side has been avoiding the swimming pool.
Everyone should try free bleeding at least once. It’s cheaper, environmentally friendly and so freeing – I’ve formed a greater connection to my body and embrace all its functions without shame.
People imagine free bleeders dripping blood and leaving puddles in their wake, but we only lose an average of two to three tablespoons of blood per period. It’s not like the slasher film you’ve conjured up in your head.
When I have shared in the past, no one has judged me – because my period is my business and how I deal with it doesn’t impact anyone else. I’m grateful for any little bit of stress I can remove from my already chronically ill life.
If you’re curious, start on a light day near the end of your period to test the waters. Wear dark, thick fabrics and see how you go. It might not be for you, or you might become a convert.
In the face of enduring period stigma, I plan to remain a free bleeder for as long as I have a period.
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Bengali (Bangladesh) · 
English (United States) ·