How Infertility Helped Me Befriend My Period

Infertility helped me befriend my period.

I know, it sounds counterintuitive. But it did. Somewhere between tracking my bleeds and anxiously waiting for ovulation, I started a new relationship with my body and Aunt Flo.

Most of us picked up that we were supposed to keep track of our periods somewhere along the line. I remember hiding a little folded up calendar and golf pencil under the decorative hand towel on the back of the toilet in middle school, and marking the days I bled. I picked up that that was my “cycle”—just the days I bled. That was all I knew was important—though I didn’t really know why.

No one taught me about the rest of it—the full, magical cycle from one bleed to the next—until I was desperately trying to get pregnant and my doctor recommended I pick up a copy of Taking Charge of Your Fertility (highly recommend this book at any stage of life if you’re a person who bleeds, btw). Why didn’t anyone tell me about more than just managing the blood and keeping quiet about it?

Imagine a first-grade curriculum that only teaches about Winter—skipping over Spring, Summer and Fall. That’s ¾ of the year and would never fly. So why was that ok for menstrual education?

When my husband and I started trying to conceive, I started obsessing over my whole cycle. I mainly was just looking for signs of ovulation, which unfortunately weren’t quite as clockwork as I’d hoped. But as I started listening to my body’s signs, I started noticing other things as well.

Somewhere along the journey (long enough to be tagged with “unexplained infertility”), I was introduced to a moon calendar journal. This was an invitation to check in daily and keep track of what I found. Not just when I was bleeding. Not just when I was ovulating. But every. single. day. 

I started tracking how I felt and what I did that day — how was my energy? My mood? Was I aroused? Irritable? Was my energy outward-focused and extroverted, or did I want to be by myself? Did I run, do yoga, meditate? Take a bath? Did I get into nature or watch TV or binge brownies or carrots or have a glass of wine or drink enough water?

And oh yes—by the way—was I bleeding or ovulating?

I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think this would be the magic bullet that would make infertility a mere memory. But it truly did turn out to have some magic to it. By taking a few moments each day (the last couple minutes before my head hit the pillow), I started to tune in with my body in a whole new way. I noticed that as my bleed was approaching I was more interested in being alone, maybe curling up on the couch with a book, going inward as I prepared for my body’s own personal winter. When I was ovulating I was the opposite — bright as the summer sun and ready to take on the world. 

I realized the gift of the week between the end of my bleed and ovulation. Especially while TTC, I reveled in the ease of these days — there was no chance I was pregnant, so I could have a cocktail if I wanted without any anxiety. I also wasn’t holding on to any hope that I might be pregnant! that could be dashed as I hadn’t entered the Two Week Wait yet. It was freedom.

I started making plans according to my cycle. I attended a conference that was scheduled when I was expecting my period. Going into it, I gave myself permission to skip any sessions or networking events that I wanted to. I swapped happy hour for some gentle yoga in my AirBnB and an early bedtime. I honored what my body was asking of me instead of pushing through like I’d been conditioned to do and had always done before (hello, patriarchy!).

By paying attention every day of my cycle, I learned to listen, respect, and nourish my body. And it completely changed my relationship to my period. I started practicing—then feeling—gratitude for it. 

We have been conditioned by our society, from the first bleed in elementary or middle school, that this is our curse. That it is something to be ashamed of. That it will be miserable. I’m not saying that it’s not uncomfortable — I've had incredibly painful periods for most of my life, and through the six years of trying to conceive, each one had the added heartbreak of yet another missed opportunity of a child. 

But I started practicing gratitude for this incredible function my body was doing. Every month (or so), my body sheds this thing it doesn’t need. If there is no embryo to implant, it knows that the lining is no longer needed, and it just lets it go. 

I started leaning into that energy and asking the question: what else can I let go of? I had to let go of a lot of could-have-been babies. I let go of shit in my attic. I let go of jobs. I let go of clothes from my closet. I let go of relationships. I let go of tampons when I realized it felt like they were literally keeping this energy stuffed inside me.

I started leaning into the letting go, and rejecting the narrative of the curse. I started seeing my bleed for the gift that it is: a reminder to release anything that’s not serving me. I allowed myself grieve each loss of potential through the seasons of TTC, then leaned in and let go.

Over the years, my period has become less miserable. I take time off for it when I can—not because I’m in too much pain to work, but just to let myself rest. I don’t expect myself to show up like I did two weeks ago, and I trust that I’ll be able to shine brighter again in a week or so. I stay in sweats and binge Netflix for a day. I give my body the comfort she deserves.

By practicing gratitude for my bleed, honoring the cyclical nature of my body, and leaning into the letting go, my relationship with my period has been completely transformed. I no longer dread her arrival. She’s now an ally, a friend who still shows up unexpectedly at times, but who I typically can sense is on her way.

And like a good friend, she reminds me to check in, be present in my body, and asks what I can clear out of my closet.