‘Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret,’ Judy Blume, and the shame of first periods

The day I got my period for the first time, I didn’t know what it was. I was 11.

I called out for my mom in a panic. When she came into the bathroom and realized what had happened, she was overjoyed. Even though I begged her not to, she called my dad at work, and all of my grandparents. “Alison got her period!” she announced, as proud as if I had achieved world peace.

But I wasn’t proud. I was ashamed.

No one had talked about periods with me ahead of time — not my school in an awkward gym class and not my mom, despite her joy at the occasion — which told me this wasn’t something you were supposed to talk about. When my mom marked the day of my first period on our calendar, so we would know to note it in future years along with birthdays and wedding anniversaries, I made her write it in code (something like TDOAFP for “The day of Alison’s first period”) so no visitors to the house would know what was supposed to be special about that day.

This is how periods — and a lot of things that come with them — are often treated: with shame, and silence. My mom didn’t feel that way, but in the 1980s, the world largely did.

So it is an amazing thing that, in 2023, I could buy tickets to a mainstream movie for me and my 9-year-old daughter that is all about periods.

On Sunday, in a Flourtown theater, she and I watched Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, an adaptation of the classic Judy Blume book, along with dozens of what seemed to be other mothers and daughters (and some grandmothers).

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I loved Blume’s novels as a kid, and I’ve already read the Fudge series to my daughter. I don’t remember details of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, but I knew it was about growing up, and that it helped me a lot when I was a girl. I wanted to give that to her.

And what a gift this movie is: a tender tale about your first bra, your first crush, your first period.

Granted, the audience was mostly white, and that’s who the movie is mostly about, along with people of certain economic means. (When Margaret and her friends all decide to get their first bras, they get one, no problem.)

But a movie about periods that isn’t clinical or depressing — just a joy to watch — is an amazing thing. When it ended, the audience applauded for almost a minute.

When the movie ended, the audience applauded for almost a minute.

I know the people who most need to see this movie — such as school administrators who are still banning Judy Blume books — probably won’t. But it still has impact. Ask any woman, and I bet most would agree that getting your first period is a Big Deal, and the shame around it becomes our first step on a lifelong journey of self-criticism about our bodies. Anything that helps chip away at that shame is a good thing.

As long as Hollywood is paying attention, we don’t just need a movie about periods.

A Mayo Clinic study released last week found that menopause causes women to lose $1.8 billion in paid work each year. The physical symptoms of menopause — hot flashes, insomnia, anxiety, among others — are forcing people to cut back their hours, call out sick, or even resign. In some cases, they lost their jobs as a result.

So now, I ask: Where’s our movie about menopause?

On our drive home from the theater, after teasing me for weeping at the end of the movie, my daughter asked why I was so emotional. It was because, despite how much my mom embarrassed me when I first got my period, the movie made me miss her terribly. She died 16 years ago, and I know if she was alive, she would have been one of the grandmothers sitting in the theater with us. Because, of course, she was right about first periods (even if a bit overzealous): There is nothing shameful about them.

So I told my daughter all that, and about my first period, the TMI phone calls, and the “TDOAFP” on the calendar. I told her that story so that when she gets her period, she will know what it is. I won’t call a bunch of people when it happens unless she wants me to. (I definitely won’t write it on the calendar.) But I will be proud, and I won’t be embarrassed. And I hope that — thanks, in part, to this movie — she won’t be, either.