Recently, a friend and I were sitting around discussing how our periods are like prison time.

I have an IUD that causes my periods to last for two weeks every month. On my heaviest days, I need to visit the restroom about every 45 minutes to prevent my underpants from turning out like a battle scene from “Game of Thrones”(both gory and tedious to make sense of).

I also have two small children, so I can’t go anywhere without decent bathrooms. Why, you ask? Well. I need to safely corral them but leave them outside of the stall. I want them outside because I’m just not ready to answer questions about what mommy’s doing with her “ba-gina”. I want the bathroom to be reasonably clean because there’s an excellent chance they’re going to lick something while unattended. So forget all playgrounds, walks, stores, parks, libraries…basically anywhere except a nice hotel that comes with a nanny service. So, I tend to feel trapped at home.

Any-who, I was whining about my heavy flow and the expense and waste of all those tampons when my friend suggested the Diva Cup. The what-a-cup? It sounded like horrible soup. She explained it was a kind of flexible cup you stashed in your business that collected all of the blood instead of absorbing it. So, maybe I could wear it all day. Even on the days when every trip to the bathroom felt like the equivalent of a Civil War amputation.

Coincidentally, I also stumbled upon this hilarious rant in the Huffington Post, An Ode of Hatred To My Diva Cup, by Alex Logan. Logan despises the cup for being messy, inconvenient, non-functional, and uncomfortable. Like someone asking you to smell something nasty, I felt drawn to the Diva Cup. It was possible the universe was speaking to me. I ordered one that very day.

One of Logan’s gripes about the DC was its cost. She paid $40 for hers at Whole Foods. Amazon only made me shell out $27.78 with free shipping, so already I was totally winning! I had to decide if I wanted Model 1 (Pre Childbirth or under 30) or Model 2 (Post Childbirth or over 30). So I either had a normal sized vagina or an enormous one. I’m not sure why on the last night of your 20s the vagina fairy bestows a cavernous birth canal upon you, but whatever. Since I have the aforementioned offspring, I went for Model 2 (huge vag).

As fate would have it, the DC arrived on the very first day of my period. I was pretty excited to try it! But when it tumbled out its box, I was really taken aback at its largeness. Logan had a similar complaint. The thing looks really intimidating. I mean, it’s a silicone cup that can hold two ounces of liquid (a little less than the amount in a shot glass), so buyer beware. However, having pushed two babies the size of medicine balls through my vagina, I smugly felt I could handle it.

There’s a pamphlet included that tells you how to get it up there. Before you can do anything though, you need clean hands and a clean cup. The instructions advise you to wash your DC in “warm water and a mild, unscented, water-based (oil-free) soap”. So if you’re one of those anti-bac people, line up your plain soap before it’s deep sea diving time. Tip No. 1: When you wash it, always use warm water. It makes the cup softer and easier to mess with.

Next you fold it in half, then fold it in half again. This is not difficult. After it’s in they want you to rotate the cup to make sure it’s in the right place and fully opened. I rotated the shit out of that thing. I turned it like I was winding a goddamn clock. Tip No. 2: Zealous rotating is not helpful. Coupla turns should do it.

Then, done! I was pretty comfortable. Like a tampon, I could faintly detect something up there, but it didn’t bother me at all. After a while, I totally forgot all about it.

Then, it was time to take it out. That was a little funky. The DC has a ribbed stem at the bottom to help you grasp the cup and pull it out. But I didn’t feel like it was that simple.

First off, you gotta have a little bit of fingernail to pinch the stem and pull the fucker out. But not TOO much nail. Please God, keep ’em trimmed down somewhat. You really have to fish around sometimes. Thinking of those long, sharp acrylics is giving me the horrors. Secondly, it kept traveling pretty far up there while I was wearing it. It took some bearing down to get it to where I could grab the stem. (Maybe I DO have a huge vag…?) Finally, pulling it out is vaguely uncomfortable. Like I said before, the thing is somewhat sizeable. Taking it out feels like a very tiny birth. I wouldn’t call it painful, but it’s something. I would maybe liken it to birthing the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Small-ish and soft, but not really a good thing. However, I didn’t find it a deal breaker. Tip No. 3: Relax as much as possible and the removal is more comfortable.

And then there’s the mess. As long as you’re in the shower or a private bathroom, it’s really no problem. Watch your pants for dripping, though. I kept dripping one tiny, infuriatingly bright red drop on the waist band of my jeans. Every. Freaking. Time. Anyway, you empty it into the toilet and then wash it with your special soap before reinsertion. You’ll need a little clean up at this point. Baby wipes are helpful. Tip No. 4: The very easiest way to change the DC is in the shower. If you can time it that way (in the morning, after the gym, etc.) that’s your best bet.

Tip No. 5: Wear a panty liner with the DC when your flow is heavy. There’s a little leakage but not much. I would call it a light dusting. Not enough to soak through your pants, but enough to ruin your underwear. I would wear a liner with a tampon on a heavy day anyway, so this is no inconvenience to me.

Experiments

Here are some trials I did on a THF (Triple Heavy Flow) day. You could maybe compare it to the scene in “The Shining” when the elevator doors open and the ocean of blood surges forth:

1. Dancing. I put on The Weeknd and danced. I danced like, dirty. And…fine! No big leaks.

2. Water. On THF days I can’t go swimming because my tampon becomes water logged and blood starts to seep out. Very embarrassing and super grody. So, I checked out a hot tub. No leaks at all and I felt confident. I might have done some more dirty dancing in the tub just for fun. Just to double check! All went well, although my friends were a little alarmed at the dancing. Everyone else was just sitting and chatting quietly.

3. Vigorous Exercise. I got sweaty, girls!!! I worked it wicked hard. I’m a group exercise instructor and on THF days I have to run to the bathroom at least once during an hour long class. No more!!! I jumped, kicked, squatted, strained, and burpeed. Not one drop sullied my Lorna Janes!

4. Sleeping. Normally on THF days I have to stick three pads together to keep my overnight tampon overflow from ruining my sheets. My husband affectionately calls it, “The Diaper”. It sounds like a bag of cats ‘n candy wrappers when I walk. I wore the DC to bed (it’s safe to wear it for up to 12 hours) and for the first time in years, I tore off The Diaper in the morning and threw it’s pristine white triple thickness into the garbage. I’m freeeeeeeee! Never again! See you in hell, Diaper!!!

The Takeaway:

People who should not buy the Diva Cup:

-Women who regularly need to use public or shared bathrooms where the sinks are separate from the stalls.

People who should buy the Diva Cup:

-Everyone else.

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It’s still awkward to sit one out when you’re on your period. For one, everyone knows something about you that you wouldn’t necessarily tell them and for two, you’re not even sure if you really need to abstain. I’ve been practicing yoga regularly for the past eight years and over the years, I’ve come to some conclusions about doing yoga poses on your period.

First off, let’s look at the yogic perspective. The issue of inverting on your period revolves around apana energy or downward pranic flow. The concern is that reversing the normal flow of energy could cause heavier bleeding later or cramping. I have not ever experienced this. And to be frank, all sorts of fluids beyond your period flow downward throughout the month related to your cycle like cervical fluid, for example.

In ashtanga yoga, women are advised to take a break from yoga poses entirely while they’re menstruating. This makes a lot more sense to me because in my particular experience, I feel dense and lethargic when I’m on my period as if my body is naturally trying tell me to take a break. That heaviness weighs you down, it doesn’t make you want to invert.

From a scientific perspective, the Mayo Clinic refers to something called “retrograde menstruation” which occurs when menstrual flow goes in the opposite direction. When cells flow back into the fallopian tubes and into the pelvic cavity instead of out the body, it could lead to endometriosis. Although, science hasn’t proven this as a direct cause. However, Lizzie Wade wrote on Slate that even if retrograde menstruation was a valid cause of endometriosis, inversions don’t cause it. Rather, uterine contractions reverse flow back into the body. Bottom line–inverting isn’t going to cause retrograde menstruation.

There you have it–if your period slows you down, skip your practice or consider Yin Yoga or Restorative Yoga. If not, have at it–practice yoga poses all you want.

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HelloFlo unleashes the best tampon commercial in the world.

Everything is right about this commercial from HelloFlo, the monthly subscription service for girls.

There’s the girl desperate to grow up and fit in with her friends, the mom’s inspired First Moon party as punishment for daughter faking her period, the guy who shows up with coffee filters—it’s all just amazing.

If there were Emmy Awards for best actor in a commercial, I would nominate both mom and daughter.

However, as some of us inch away from the “new to the whole period thing” phase of life and closer to menopause, I suggest that HelloFlo introduce a new care package to its family: Farewell Flo!

Users can sign up to receive shipments of tampons, lube, chocolate, pads specifically designed for those hearty coughs and laughs that lead to pee leaks, herbal supplements and soothing teas. The starter kit also will also include a portable fan and a calendar that you can throw away immediately upon receipt.

Shipments will arrive sporadically at the most inopportune moments (just like your period will).

I first fell in love with HelloFlo last summer when the company released its ad, “The Camp Gyno.” In it, the first girl to get her period rules her summer camp and awesomely refers to her period as, “The Red Badge of Courage,” and to HelloFlo’s care packages as, “Santa for your vagina.”

What’s amazing about both of these ads is that they turn periods from something gross or scary into a brag-worthy rite of passage. The girls are owning their bodies from a young age, which is incredibly powerful.

More than that, we see girls talking to one another about their bodies using real words for their body parts—but still sounding and looking like real adolescents, eye rolls and all.

Note to the genius team handling marketing for HelloFlo, I’m serious. Tweet me: @LibbyLowe

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Contemplating the idea of birth control and doing better for planet but, at what cost?

Last year I decide to “green” my birth control.

My decision stemmed from a combination of concerns—OK, guilt—related to how I was keeping myself baby-free. Some environmental drawbacks of birth control are obvious: I cringed every time I tossed an empty blister pack and its handy plastic case in the trash (my pharmacy isn’t into the idea of giving me just the blister pack so I can reuse the case-I’ve asked).

But that wasn’t my main concern. I had read in Scientific American that every time I peed, I was flushing synthetic estrogen down the pipes, to a water treatment plant that does not treat for hormones, and out into the waterways where it was doing disturbing things to the reproductive parts of fish.

It turns out that the main culprit in the cancer-causing levels of estrogen in our water is our agricultural system, but at the time, I wanted to do right by my aquatic friends and other people who would eventually be drinking water with the estrogen that passed through my body. (Nice image, right?)

And there were other, more selfish reasons I wanted to discontinue my use of hormones. At the time I was in a relationship with a great guy, the kind of relationship where after my first night over at his apartment I spent the next three days until I could see him again obsessively replaying everything in my head over and over and over again. But after I went on the pill my sex drive plummeted. Studies have been mixed, but a German study confirmed my suspicion that my hormonal birth control was to blame.

One day I was sitting on my boyfriend’s couch reading a fascinating Psychology Today article on how women’s personalities go through subtle shifts throughout their natural hormonal cycle, from bold and confident to more shy and introverted. Suddenly, I felt like by using birth control I was missing out on a whole facet of my personality and the experience of being a woman. I was already trying to eat more naturally and use natural beauty products. Flushing hormones out of my body seemed like the next step. So I did some Google searching, and came across ParaGard, the brand name of the copper IUD, which works by creating mild inflammation and a “hostile environment” in the uterus for both eggs and sperm.

I thought it was an inspired idea. For a manageable up front cost – about $300 – I would stop having to remember to take a pill every morning, stop peeing hormones into the environment and regain my “natural” self, the self that doesn’t think it’s pregnant year-round. (And hopefully improve my suffering sex-life.) IUDs are also even more effective than the pill if you take into account always forgetting to actually take it (which I often did). I ignored the side effects noted in the literature: mild cramping and a heavier period. Everything has side effects, right? And usually side affects just don’t apply to me.

It’s actually rare that a gynecologist would agree to prescribe an IUD to a twenty-something, unmarried girl like me. Despite IUDs being more effective than the alternatives, only 2% of the U.S. market uses them. Many doctors hold the outdated notion that IUDs are dangerous, may cause infertility and should be given only to married women who have children. My friend tried and couldn’t find a doctor in Virginia that would agree to discuss it with her while she was in college. In reality, you should be more careful about when you have an IUD, because getting chlamydia or gonorrhea when you have an IUD can lead to pelvic inflammatory diseases. Not a pretty picture.

But if you’re in a monogamous relationship and/or are careful about using condoms, it’s not a big concern. So my forward thinking, NYC gyno was down to make it happen for me.

Two weeks later I was back at her office for the procedure. I’m pretty tough, so I managed to keep my complaints to “Ow, ow, ow, ow HOLY SHIT OW THAT REALLY HURTS.” I will say this: That sort of pain reinforced my decision to never have children. Because of that is what it feels like to have something so tiny put in there, I don’t want to feel what it’s like to have a seven-pound being come out.

And the pain didn’t stop. I managed to make it back to my apartment a few blocks away, where I curled up in a ball and didn’t do anything except meditate on the extreme pain for the next five hours. It finally subsided somewhat, but over the next week waves of pain continued to periodically blossom in my uterus.

And then my first period came.

I have never gotten cramps with my period, but now the hot pain made we want to crawl under a piece of furniture and hide there. I called my doctor’s office to ask if this was normal, but the nurse assured me it would get better. It never really did. Every period came with a fresh reminder of the fact that I now had a “hostile environment” and “mild inflammation” inside my body. My periods were now so heavy that I had to set an alert on my phone so I would remember to visit the bathroom every 2.5 hours and change out my Diva cup. As if to kick me one more time, the pain would make one final appearance the day after my period was over.

Then, three months after I got off of the pill, the lower half of my face broke out in a big way. My dermatologist took one look and said, “This is just normal adult hormonal acne. You could clear it up with birth control.” So this is what natural, hormone-free living looks like: 15 to 20 zits hanging out all over your chin and jawline.

Almost exactly one year later after I got my IUD, as I literally hid under my desk at work (darkness and being on the ground was somehow comforting), and imagined going through this routine every 28 days for the next ten years, is when I realized that I was not up for it. I grabbed my cell phone and made an appointment with my gynecologist. “I want this out of my body,” I told her.

She was surprised by my decision. After all, many women have an IUD and love it. She tentatively suggested that perhaps it would be better for women who have had children. They have, ahem, a little more room to accommodate it. Whatever. All I know is that for me, it was a nightmare.

Now I’m back on the pill, and while it’s not ideal (of course, what form of birth control is?) I’m happy to be back in artificial hormone land. My sex drive is just fine, I’m only four pounds above my starting weight (a small price to pay), and I even got the type of birth control that banishes three out of four periods from your cycle.

Alden is a 25-year-old writer living in New York City. You can find her musings about seeking sustainably in the city at her blog, CleanHippie, or follow her at @CleanHippieNY

Image: thart2009

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“Only women bleed,” crones a 1970s ballad by Alice Cooper. To which we should say, “Yes. Yes we do.” Call it Aunt Flo, the red tide, the curse, or riding the crimson wave, your period is that time of the month when you’re dealing with cramps that pain and hormones that swing. Sure, maybe there are some women out there who enjoy this completely natural monthly event. If she’d like to identify herself, I’d like to her to show me where Santa Claus lives with the Easter Bunny, next door to the Tooth Fairy of course.

Yes, some sarcasm. Maybe I’m PMS-ing. Or maybe most of us think of our periods via John Hughes’ Sixteen Candles, when Ginny Baker spends most of the film cranky and then completely out of her mind (via painkillers) at her wedding. And all because of her period. Bad menstrual cramps are caused by the normal contraction of the uterus, the result of prostaglandins in the body.

So yes, Aunt Flo isn’t a welcome guest. But there are some easy ways to combat the crimson tide.

Walk it off. Some medical professionals suggest that those who exercise several times a week are less likely to experience bad cramps. Even a quick walk can help ease discomfort, as anything that releases endorphins will help you manage pain.

Hit the heating pad. Heat can help with inflammation and reduce the buildup of fluid in tissues. It also eases muscle spasms. Experts urge us to lie on our stomachs while applying the heat or in the most comfortable position possible.

Sleep. Need an excuse to nap? No time like the painful present. It will take your mind off the pain and let you get some much needed relaxation.

Take a hot bath. This will help you relax your abdomen muscles and, more importantly, soothe your mind. For extra effort, bring out the candles and the scented bath oil. Erbaviva makes a great blend with organic and wild-crafted essential oils.

Consider vitamins and supplements. As Dr. Woodson Merrell of Beth Israel Medical Center told ABC News, consider “taking Evening Primrose Oil in a 500-1000 mg dose once a day in capsule form (available at vitamin shops and health food stores) along with 200-400 mg of magnesium and 100-200 mg of vitamin B6 for four to seven days before the onset of your period.” Be sure to consult a medical professional if you are already on certain medications or experience severe periods.

Drink a cup of tea. Consider a cup of green tea. According to experts, green tea is high in phenolics, which can inhibit cramps. Don’t want the caffeine? Think about a cup of relaxing chamomile tea. Better yet, drink it while you’re in the bath.

Go have sex. Yes, sex on your period not everyone’s cup of tea. But an orgasm will release endorphins and oxytocin in the body that will block pain receptors. You will feel better. And remember, not everyone needs a partner to have an orgasm.

Images: rbmay , hairlover, o5com, yourdon, sophe89, detroitsunrise, laurelfan, umbrellasarefortransients

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