“Con, you cannot wear a tampon.” my mom whispers faintly as she folds my sweaters into orderly stacks. It was the summer of my sophomore year, and my mom’s friend invited us to go swimming with her family, but I just got my period. As one would expect, I was slapped with misery and welp out of the room, slamming onto the couch.“Megan, get ready!”, my brother, Bryan, says eagerly. “Megan’s sick. She isn’t able to go with us, con!” my mom shouts from the room – a statement, concise yet vague for shielding seemingly “private” matters. This was the relief she turned to when discomfort was sensed. Witnessing this reaction from my mom wasn’t unusual. She's a conservative woman who grew up with the belief of maintaining traditions which proved to overwhelm my unorthodox request: asking to use a tampon. Shame. My first period was when my shameful instincts appeared: sliding a pad underneath my sleeve - a security blanket that gave me the vast capacity to execute “secretive” movements about my private matters. I was embarrassed to accept that from December 18th, 2019, I would have to countenance knife-stabbing cramps, unwavering hormonal imbalances, and spontaneous blackouts that chaperone a cycle. It saddened me deeply to witness families commemorate the invigorating commencement of womanhood as if it were a celebratory juncture because, in my family, the emergence of womanhood is kept hidden on the unembellished basis that womanhood is composed of effable abstractions. For a time, I pondered why blurting out such words as “I’m on my period!” was such a sacrilegious act to which my mom had to utilize secret codes. After all, they were just words – letters placed together to form a meaning or even several meanings. If not for Coach Lightener and the life lessons that illuminated the vacant and unproclaimed freshman I exhibited, I don’t think I would ever have deciphered the trajectory to the meaning of selling oneself short. When I did, however, digested the idea behind those words, I found that they were strongly associated with hindrances of womanhood. Elizabeth Cady Stanton once said, “The best protection any woman can have is courage.", but what protection did I harbor when all of her efforts led to me sliding a pad up my sleeve and being ashamed for releasing blood? To answer this, I would say none because, for a long time, I exhibited a lack of courage when the talk of womanhood surfaced. Inflamed. As inflamed as I was about embarrassment controlling my life, an impulse hit me, guiding me into the room where my mom and brother stood. I mutilate the security blanket accompanying all feelings of shame. With that, I exclaimed, “I’m on my period!”. Laughter and disgusted expressions eroded the room, but it was then I realized that having a voice – one which I will use to corrode the unyielding boundaries women must live by without their consent – was worth the price of humiliation. I did not know then, but this humiliation I experienced served as a precursor to the goals and objectives that I have set for myself: to educate young and vulnerable females across the globe to be aware of themselves, to understand that their voices matter, and that there are limitless opportunities awaiting their presence. Majoring in nursing, I will rewire and retwist the strands that have been left tangled in society and tell young girls that just because they are on their periods should not mean that they are hindered from taking part in activities, whether that would be career-related or not.

“Con, you cannot wear a tampon.” my mom whispers faintly as she folds my sweaters into orderly stacks. It was the summer of my sophomore year, and my mom’s friend invited us to go swimming with her family, but I just got my period. As one would expect, I was slapped with misery and welp out of the room, slamming onto the couch.“Megan, get ready!”, my brother, Bryan, says eagerly. “Megan’s sick. She isn’t able to go with us, con!” my mom shouts from the room – a statement, concise yet vague for shielding seemingly “private” matters. This was the relief she turned to when discomfort was sensed. Witnessing this reaction from my mom wasn’t unusual. She's a conservative woman who grew up with the belief of maintaining traditions which proved to overwhelm my unorthodox request: asking to use a tampon. Shame. My first period was when my shameful instincts appeared: sliding a pad underneath my sleeve - a security blanket that gave me the vast capacity to execute “secretive” movements in relation to my private matters. I was embarrassed to accept that from December 18th, 2019, I would have to countenance knife-stabbing cramps, unwavering hormonal imbalances, and spontaneous blackouts that chaperone a cycle. It saddened me deeply to witness families commemorate the invigorating commencement of womanhood as if it were a celebratory juncture because, in my family, the emergence of womanhood is kept hidden on the unembellished basis that womanhood is composed of effable abstractions. For a time, I pondered why blurting out such words as “I’m on my period!” was such a sacrilegious act to which my mom had to utilize secret codes. After all, they were just words – letters placed together to form a meaning or even several meanings. If not for Coach Lightener and the life lessons that illuminated the vacant and unproclaimed freshman I exhibited, I don’t think I would ever have deciphered the trajectory to the meaning of selling oneself short. When I did, however, digested the idea behind those words, I found that they were strongly associated with hindrances of womanhood. Elizabeth Cady Stanton once said, “The best protection any woman can have is courage.", but what protection did I harbor when all of her efforts led to me sliding a pad up my sleeve and being ashamed for releasing blood? To answer this, I would say none because, for a long time, I exhibited a lack of courage when the talk of womanhood surfaced. Inflamed. As inflamed as I was about embarrassment controlling my life, an impulse hit me, guiding me into the room where my mom and brother stood. I mutilate the security blanket accompanying all feelings of shame. With that, I exclaimed, “I’m on my period!”. Laughter and disgusted expressions eroded the room, but it was then I realized that having a voice – one which I will use to corrode the unyielding boundaries women must live by without their consent – was worth the price of humiliation.

Pursuing nursing, I will establish coalitions, widening the entrance to universally adequate healthcare - the impulse that drives me to serve the community on levels that not only positively influence lives but also institute sustainable plans that direct people toward a healthier lifestyle.