Period, Come Home!

If you had told me a few years ago that one day I’d miss my period — miss it — I would have laughed in your face and handed you a heating pad in solidarity. My periods were awful. I’m talking curl-into-a-ball-on-the-bathroom-floor level pain. The kind that ruins your plans, your pants, and your will to live. They were unpredictable, heavy, emotionally draining, and often left me feeling like I had been hit by a hormonal freight train.

But now that they’re gone — completely and permanently gone — I’ve realized something no one ever talks about:
I miss them. I really, truly do.

Not the cramps, or the bloating, or the crying over spilled iced coffee. But the presence of it. The rhythm. The monthly reminder that my body was still functioning, still in sync with something ancient and feminine and deeply biological.

It was frustrating and painful, yes. But it was also symbolic. It meant that maybe — just maybe — one day my body could carry life. That I still had time. That I was still in the game.

Now? It’s silence. Stillness. A biological door slammed shut before I even got the chance to walk through it.

People assume losing your period is a blessing. “At least you don’t have to deal with that anymore!” they say, like I won the lottery. But I didn’t. I lost something I didn’t even know I would mourn. Something that was annoying and messy and painful — but mine.

It was a part of me. It was a marker of time, of womanhood, of possibility. And even though it brought misery, it also brought meaning. And now that it’s gone, I feel its absence in a way I never expected.

I miss knowing what phase of the month I’m in.
I miss the weird comfort of routine.
I miss tracking it and pretending it was a game I could win.
I miss the chance it carried — the “maybe this month” that always came with it.

It’s okay to miss something that hurt you.
It’s okay to grieve something you used to complain about.
It’s okay to admit that, despite all the pain, your period was a connection to something bigger — something possible.

And to the girl reading this who used to curse her cycle but now feels its absence like a ghost — I get it. You're not weird, or ungrateful, or dramatic. You’re just mourning something you thought you'd have longer.

So yeah, I miss my period. Even the ugly, painful, bloated, weepy parts. Because in some strange way, it made me feel alive. And losing it — losing her — was losing a chapter of myself I didn’t know I was so deeply attached to.