Photo: Pexels
Photo: Pexels

November 2015. The month and year that changed my life. The year I truly became the carefree, stayfree woman who didn’t need to whisper anymore. I took the sanitary napkins and tampons out of the closet and put them in the bin forever. And I raised a cup to a better menstrual cycle.

I said hello to my new paramour, the menstrual cup.

It is absolutely one of the best decisions I took following a Twitter conversation back in 2015. The fact that something existed which could be put up my baby maker, was inert in nature and wouldn’t give me TSS, would seal my periods in and would make me smell free and rash free and basically free to swim, to roam around for 12 hours without a loo in sight, seemed like a dream.

If a woman can, she must try a menstrual cup.

The cost of acquisition is negligible when you realise you won’t ever (for 10 to 15 years) have to go to a chemist and stand till the crowds clear up and tell him you need a *lowers voice* pad. They would then proceed to hurriedly wrap it in newspaper and then a black polythene and then you would lower your gaze and shuffle quickly back home.

The barriers to women using a menstrual cup, barring medical reasons, are mostly attached to stigma associated with putting stuff up the vajayjay because apparently that can hamper your virginity, and god forbid it gives women some sort of pleasure.

I assure you it does neither.

And although it has a slight learning curve and you will have to relax and let the experience flow in, it is worth every second you spend looking at that silicone contraption and wondering how it would go in and unfold itself on its own.

It will.

It will also unfurl your inner diva who sits outside the main doors of your person on those five-six days waiting for the blood to stop so it can philander again.

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