One year. Twelve wombs.
by Fan Sissoko
One year. Twelve wombs. Fan Sissoko.
As a teen, I used to feel less woman than most women around me. I had short hair, long skinny legs and played football. And I didn’t menstruate. I had my first period when I was 15. At first, they were a rare occurrence, sometimes only 3 times a year, and that suited me. Until one day, an agonising pain struck me down. Scans and tests later, doctors explained in their doctorly way that the reason I was less woman was because I had angry ovaries. Their anger was understandable. They were burdened by two massive cysts that threatened to overturn my reproductive system at any time. Three little holes were pierced in my abdomen and the cysts were removed. Finally, the delightful world of monthly pains was open to me. But over the years, what started as an enjoyable dull ache in my lower back grew into a deep cut through my heart, a heightened feeling of indescribable anxiety. Ache. Agony. Burn. Discomfort. Distress. Hurt. Irritation. Laceration. Misery. Sickness. Soreness. Spasm. Sting. Strain. Tenderness. Torment. Trouble. Twinge. Tingle. Torture.
Periods.
Where language fails, we need images. So I asked thirty people to share what menstruating feels like in their bodies and in their minds. Some answers were hilarious, others horrific. Either way, they made me feel less alone. Acknowledging the shared pain felt somehow therapeutic. I turned their responses into twelve drawings that carry the physical and emotional weight of their experiences. They depict the invisible dramas that occur every day in anonymous wombs around us. They challenge the expectation that we are consistent human beings, with consistent feelings and consistent bodies. They are a celebration of the monthly heroism of people who menstruate.
“An internal wave that changes how you feel, how you act, how you interact with the world and how you perceive it. It is somehow soft but you know that at some point it can turn you upside down if you don’t get it right. There are various intensities of pain and mood change, and the intensity builds up. It’s never sudden. If you imagine being by the shore, at the beach, and waves breaking on your feet, but the beach is not a beach, it is actually a body, and the waves are inside this body.”
“A simultaneous feeling of being filled up and evacuated, as if I was a tube of toothpaste being drained. “
“It used to feel like someone had punched me in the lower back. ometimes, I used to imagine
Sometimes, there was a difference in heat in my belly region. It would make me hot for a few minutes then cold. Kind of like when you lean against a hot radiator and then you have to move away quickly after a few seconds or you are going to get burnt.�
“It's like something is pulling down my lower abdomen, hanging off it with their full weight. Like I'm going to give birth to my insides.�
“Stones in your uterus Needles in your breasts
“
energy ok all the o t e n o e m “So put body and r u o y m o fr
“There is a machine inside your belly with loads of cogs and wheels and long chains leading up to your brain and it starts going on overdrive, it splutters and the chains start pulling on your brain and the wheels are grinding and everything is rumbling. It's very noisy in there and sparks are flying and the chains are pulling you eyes and your ovaries and brain and sometimes some of them snap. And the big wheels keep turning and grinding. Everyone is very annoying. They just leave things around and they say things I am not interested in and they poke me with long sticks and my patience has been shrunk to a tiny little elastic band that the machine keeps pulling.�
“In the week before it starts it is like a gathering storm. I can feel the clouds accumulating, growing greyer and ripe with rain. Eventually I feel full to bursting. Breasts are sore and swollen, back is ripe and aching, stomach is growling and churning and rumbling in ominous ways. That feeling of dread and anticipation and weirdness can eventually become so unbearable that it's often a relief when the real pain starts. I can only describe it as being like some big monstrous fascist woman swinging a sling around in my gut so that all of the other organs shrink away in terror. But then when the pain ebbs away, it's like the feeling you get after a storm has pased - maybe you can still hear some thunder rumbling in the distance, but generally everything feels bright and clear and glistening again.�
“I feel tender, don’t want to be touched or bothered. Like an explosion about to happen.”
mes n beco i a p e e.” st, th intens c an re y I r e f v I , ody vy. t my b me hea u o o c h e g b u gs thro “My le reads p s t a mth th a war
Thanks to the contributors Monika Mandy Camilla Aura Jenny Oihana Steph Irene Erika Lisa Sara Amarens Carmen Alba Leonie Elisabeth Nohema Helen Lorène Ajo Take good care. Fan