I toyed with titling this article “preventing premenstrual violence in young teens,” but thought better of it, the violence in teenagers these days not being some kind of far-off fantasy, but an unfortunately harsh reality not to be joked about. So I borrowed a chapter title from my book instead. Because yesterday, my almost 14 year old daughter came home from school a raging asshole, replete with a dark cloud of angst and cruelty hanging around her. I was almost at my wits end.
And then I remembered what I know.
My daughter and I have the kind of relationship where she tells me what’s going on with her body – especially if it’s concerning to her. The pathway to how we came to have that kind of relationship is the entire foundation of my book, so I won’t repeat myself here (excepting the title of this post, I guess). Suffice it to say, she feels comfortable enough to confide in me about private things, and I treat her like an autonomous human, not someone for me to have control and dominion over.
This is healing generational trauma through motherhood.
I had known for a few days that she was late on her period, because she had told me as much. At some point throughout each day that week, I would get some kind of an update. It had been a stressful week and we had done quite a bit of traveling, which I informed her can throw off the cycle, so I wasn’t particularly alarmed (though I am attentive and tracking and will probably make her sit on a yoni steam if it doesn’t come in the next day or so). She was cranky and irritable and tired. But, knowing where she was at in her cycle, I knew why and gave her a wide berth.
For many of us (definitely for me), the late luteal phase is when we want nothing to do with anyone, when we need our private cave time, time to pursue what nourishes us, space, slowness, and softness. As adult women who often can craft our own schedules, set clear boundaries and carve out our time, we can – if we are prescient enough to do so – create the space for ourselves to be better tended during this phase. (I am well aware most adults do not do this, which is why I do the work I do, but still, we have the choice).
With teens, that can be a bit trickier. In the day and age of a large load of extracurriculars and school and homework, teenage girls can be not only overscheduled and overburdened, but this can make it much more challenging for them to carve out space and time around their menses. The programming that menstruation is something to “just push through” begins here.
As mothers, this is where we come in.
With teens it can be easy to feel like, because they are relatively self-sufficient, our job as parents is less important. We can feel less necessary in this time (except as chauffeurs, which I’m pretty sure I’ve clocked enough hours to have a professional license in at this point). But especially when it comes to the area of self-care around menstruation for our daughters, being present, aware and available as mothers becomes paramount at this stage. We are helping her to lay the foundation of what reasonable care and behavior around her cycle is for the rest of her adult life. Of course I believe rites of passage for girls are extremely important, but so is modeling and teaching what maintenance care looks like – self-love in action.
When I picked my eldest up from school yesterday she was a crabby mess. Everything was terrible – her school assignment, her teachers, the place we live, the state of the world. Everything. Awful. No attempts at reframing were helpful or wanted. She was a raging ball of distress. A hangry Eeyore.
When we got home and she was interacting with her 5 year old sister, it got even worse. There was genuinely a moment where I was concerned that my daughter – who is training for her black belt in karate and physically stronger than she realizes – might accidentally hurt her sister. Over a box of hippy macaroni and cheese.
I will be transparent and say that the bickering between my two girls is one of the primary things that can really get under my skin. Talk about rising cortisol levels! I hate when they fight (which is more often than I would like, which would be never). Sometimes I yell. I’m not proud of this, but I am, after all, only human.
But yesterday I held my wits amidst my stress hormone overload and remembered where Sunna was at in her cycle. So I sent her downstairs to take some space, with the promise that I would feed her some of the mac and cheese when it was done. This was not done in a punitive manner and she was aware of this – that feels important to name. Separating them in that moment was just a very clear boundary that I held – fiercely but tenderly.
And then I set about loving her.
I put the kettle on and went to my herbal cabinet. I got out the raspberry leaf, the lemon balm and lemon verbena, the rose and the tulsi, all from my garden this summer. I added some milky oat tops from my herbalist friend in MA. I set a beautiful tray with the mac and cheese in a pretty bowl, a small dish with honey and a petit spoon in it for her tea. Set a small bowl of fresh blueberries (as I have learned from my elders, dark berries are a particularly good food for nourishing the womb and female hormones). I picked out one of our many gorgeous mugs to brew the tea in. I enjoyed laying the tray, making everything beautiful for her. If it was the season for fresh flowers, I would have added a few of those too. Beauty and kindness are their own form of nourishment, after all. And then I brought her the tray.
She was not in her room, as I had expected, but watching TV in the den instead of doing her homework. I could feel her getting ready to defend herself as I walked into the room, but I said nothing about her chosen activity at the moment. I set down the tray. She thanked me, a bit surprised as she took in the beauty laid out for her. And then I left.
When she came up later, she had visibly softened. No longer a raging ball of mess, she was calmer. Gentler. Matured, somehow. She brought up the empty dishes without being asked, laying them neatly near the sink. Continuing the Beauty Way. (This is not normal for her, FYI. I have pulled more dishes starting to grow their own species of lord-knows-what out of her room than I care to think about).
She even remarked at dinner, “I think your tea is working, Mom.” By which I understood that what she was really saying was, “thank you for walking the Beauty Way, Mom. The medicine of it is working on me, and I am grateful.”
I used to meet aggression with force. With my own will and combativeness. If someone was an asshole to me, I was an asshole right back. My father taught me well. While embarrassing to admit, it’s accurate to say that when Sunna was small, this was also sometimes true with my dynamic with her. But, as children are, she has been one of my most amazing teachers. And my continuing apprenticeship of the Beauty Way has softened me, too.
The older I get, the more silver my hair becomes, the more I find kindness and softness to be the more appropriate response. Somewhat surprisingly, gentleness works. Softness is really the medicine so many of us are seeking. And, without exception, especially when they are awaiting or experiencing their bleed and everything is amplified, this is true of our girls.
*Want to go deeper with this kind of work in your own life?
The Mothering as a Spiritual Path program is a 6-month container to walk you through exactly that.