There’s a lot that attending the University of Toronto forces you to experience. From the highest of highs, learning that your professor gave everyone a flat 30% boost on a calculus midterm (the average was 35%), to the lowest of lows, like sneaking into the banquets of unrelated departments hoping for a few extra calories (thank you, UTM Classics). But most importantly for me, it taught me how to coexist with people that fascinated me every single day. I met refugees from Afghanistan obsessed with Ska. I met a guy who was absolutely convinced that the most comprehensive compendium of human experiences was composed by Guattari, a philosopher that I did not, do not, and most probably will not read. I met parents working multiple jobs, grinding for every penny in their pocket and I met someone that was flabbergasted that I do not have the funds for a weekend trip to Portugal (in the same class, might I add). Weirdly, the university felt like a microcosm of the city itself. In every corner, there was a little bubble, waiting to burst out onto whoever dared poke it. A place where I met many wonderful people. But you know who I didn’t meet see a lot of? Women.
No, really. women make up less than 40% of undergrads in the university. While I have no hard data to back this up, this disparity seems a lot more pronounced in my major, math. As a result, freshman me really did not have any female acquaintances (I’m sure my social ineptitude didn’t help). And with that, nobody to talk to me about the unique challenges of being a feminine-presenting person. This includes (embarrassingly) how things like periods affect a person’s health. I was genuinely shocked by how debilitating period pains can be for some people, and how they still push through daily life despite it. Naturally, I wondered how. It came down to a few factors. Like exercise!
While experts disagree on the efficacy of exercise in mitigating menstrual symptoms, a lot of people still swear by it. Like a trans friend that manages his endometriosis symptoms with aerobic exercise (the most dudebro thing ever) and encourages me to participate despite my continued lack of ovaries. Now, I would take him up on it, but my girlfriend has explicitly informed me that my “dad-bod” is my most attractive feature. So while I risk heart failure, I’ll die a romanced man.
Another was community, taking comfort in this shared experience, laughing at the silly moments. I remember a manager recalling a story where her dog, who she brought to the office, dug through the bathroom trash and upon discovering a used tampon, grabbed it and ran. It was her tampon. She was mortified. But thankfully, another coworker managed to catch the fella. And sharing this story was, in her words, healing. Watching your dog run through the office with your used tampon may have been mortifying, but laughing about it with her coworkers who had similarly mortifying experiences worthwhile for her.
But periods only scratch the surface of the plethora of health issues that female-anatomied people face. Don’t even get me started on the world of hurt that is pregnancy and childbirth. It’s no wonder that many opt to instead employ the services of more personal caregivers, who have had the same lived experiences as them, while also having the requisite medical knowledge to ensure a safe experience.