Jennifer Ginsberg: It is remarkable that after over two decades of menstruation, I am still thrown for a loop by my monthly cycle. Every 28 days or so, this freaky thing happens to my body. First, I have the overwhelming urge to consume my body weight in salt, which I counterbalance with chocolate chips and peanut butter. My boobs get so sensitive that if they are accidentally brushed against, I gasp in pain. Everyone and everything is intolerable to me. In the hours before my period starts, I often find myself at the beach staring out at the waves and asking the Universe, "Is this all there is?" While nothing is concretely wrong, my hormonally distorted reality is confusing, dark, and bloated. Red Tent, here I come!
Once I actually start to bleed, I often find myself completely unprepared for my period. How is it possible that after all these years I lack the ability to appropriately plan for this monthly event? I blame this phenomenon on pathological denial, which is induced by the emotional and physical trauma I endure each month. If I actually went out beforehand to purchase tampons, I would be acknowledging the ensuing horror. So I get three weeks of relative bliss because of my inability to face my feminine reality.
My husband, Adam, is a unique man. A classic Alpha Male with a sensitive side, he not only beautifully takes care of our family, but also understands my nuances and idiosyncrasies. So when I recently found myself late at night in my bathroom desperately in need of a feminine hygiene product, I woke him from a deep sleep. There was no doubt in my mind that he would rescue me from my self-inflicted drama.
He got up from bed, without uttering a complaint and drove to Rite Aid in the dead of night. When he called me from the store to confirm the brand and absorbency he said, "Jen, I forgot to put my shoes on. I am walking around the tampon section of Rite Aid barefoot."
Adam has been romantic, generous, and adoring from our first date. But it was at that moment, after seven years of marriage, when I fully grasped the depth and character of the man I married.
A man that will go out in the middle of the night barefoot to fetch me tampons is a keeper. I scored!
|Jennifer Ginsberg is a Los Angeles writer and mother to three, surprisingly angst-free children. As a former actress/waitress, turned clinical social worker specializing in addiction, turned full-time mother/part-time psychotherapist/writer, Jennifer is particularly well-versed on the topic of angst.|
Find out more about her life at angstmom.com