Mind Body Mama: A Tiny Feminist Rant about Birth Control and Menstruation
If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you know that I have a thing about underpants.
So it won’t surprise you that my eye was caught by a television ad that began with a clothesline full of panties. To me, that’s a pretty good hook.
But you might be surprised to hear the venom that poured forth from my mouth when I figured out what the ad was about.
The product was birth control pills. And the pitch was this: These birth control pills eliminate mid-cycle spotting. So you won’t get any stains on you underpants!
(Oh, and please over-look this last paragraph the lawyers are making us read about the possible side-effects of this medication including stroke or death. Didn’t you hear: No stains on your panties!)
Now, you might point out that I’m a lesbian and as such have no need of birth control. Which is why I’m not weighing in on how women choose to balance the side effects of various birth control methods with their active heterosexuality.
That, in fact, is none of my business.
What I am addressing is the pea-brain advertising executives who think that, “No stains on your panties!” is a better pitch than, “No unwanted pregnancies!”
It’s such a blatant example of the distain our culture has for women’s bodies and minds. It makes me mad and sad to think of the ways this body-hatred is internalized by so many women.
Really? I’m supposed to get wound up about stains on my panties? I’m female. I’ve had blood coming out of my vagina once a month for over 25 years now. Sometimes it gets on my clothes. My blood, my clothes, my business.
And frankly, I don’t think it’s that big a deal.
If I was getting someone else’s blood on my stuff all the time, that might freak me out. But on the other hand, that’s the life of the surgeon, the paramedic, the ER doctor, the midwife. They find a way to cope.
And I spent two years with someone else’s poop, pee and vomit on me. I didn’t appreciate the sogginess, but on the whole it did not diminish my quality of life. I’m glad that part is over but it was not terribly terrible.
We live in bodies, people. Right after I had Small—when that night of blood and sweat and amniotic fluids and tears and snot and poop was still still roaring in my head—I walked around the streets of our little town thinking, everyone came into the world like that. Of if not, through surgery—an even more brutal rending of one body into two.
We are born messy and naked and animal through a bodily transformation more powerful than any other act of nature. Think earthquake, tsunami, landslide. That is the power of the birthing woman. And that laboring woman bellowing from the center of her being, squatting to spread her pelvis, rides in every woman, whether or not she is a mama.
Why on earth are we walking around with manicures and stacked heels and lip gloss? Who are we kidding?
And perhaps more important, who does it serve to act like we are without bleeding genitals, stinky armpits and fearsome physical strength? Who would be scared to face what we really are?
So it won’t surprise you that my eye was caught by a television ad that began with a clothesline full of panties. To me, that’s a pretty good hook.
But you might be surprised to hear the venom that poured forth from my mouth when I figured out what the ad was about.
The product was birth control pills. And the pitch was this: These birth control pills eliminate mid-cycle spotting. So you won’t get any stains on you underpants!
(Oh, and please over-look this last paragraph the lawyers are making us read about the possible side-effects of this medication including stroke or death. Didn’t you hear: No stains on your panties!)
Now, you might point out that I’m a lesbian and as such have no need of birth control. Which is why I’m not weighing in on how women choose to balance the side effects of various birth control methods with their active heterosexuality.
That, in fact, is none of my business.
What I am addressing is the pea-brain advertising executives who think that, “No stains on your panties!” is a better pitch than, “No unwanted pregnancies!”
It’s such a blatant example of the distain our culture has for women’s bodies and minds. It makes me mad and sad to think of the ways this body-hatred is internalized by so many women.
Really? I’m supposed to get wound up about stains on my panties? I’m female. I’ve had blood coming out of my vagina once a month for over 25 years now. Sometimes it gets on my clothes. My blood, my clothes, my business.
And frankly, I don’t think it’s that big a deal.
If I was getting someone else’s blood on my stuff all the time, that might freak me out. But on the other hand, that’s the life of the surgeon, the paramedic, the ER doctor, the midwife. They find a way to cope.
And I spent two years with someone else’s poop, pee and vomit on me. I didn’t appreciate the sogginess, but on the whole it did not diminish my quality of life. I’m glad that part is over but it was not terribly terrible.
We live in bodies, people. Right after I had Small—when that night of blood and sweat and amniotic fluids and tears and snot and poop was still still roaring in my head—I walked around the streets of our little town thinking, everyone came into the world like that. Of if not, through surgery—an even more brutal rending of one body into two.
We are born messy and naked and animal through a bodily transformation more powerful than any other act of nature. Think earthquake, tsunami, landslide. That is the power of the birthing woman. And that laboring woman bellowing from the center of her being, squatting to spread her pelvis, rides in every woman, whether or not she is a mama.
Why on earth are we walking around with manicures and stacked heels and lip gloss? Who are we kidding?
And perhaps more important, who does it serve to act like we are without bleeding genitals, stinky armpits and fearsome physical strength? Who would be scared to face what we really are?
Labels: birth, feminism, underpants, vomit
posted by Lynne Marie Wanamaker at
2:34 PM
4 Comments:
It's all very Garden-Of-Eden, "Who told you you were naked?" It's good to have a reminder to question what we really should and shouldn't be ashamed of. Shame is a powerful tool ... but one that requires the victim's permission.
Cheers,
D.
I totally agree with the bulk of this post, but I was just on a new birth control pill that had me spotting for two and a half weeks, and I was damn annoyed to have to deal with that many pairs of fouled up underwear. Also, they ALL prevent pregnancy, so distinguishing factors become the selling points. I don't doubt the ad is done in a creepy fashion- the whole advertising industry pretty much revolves around shaming people into feelings of inadequacy-, but I think this is completely legitimate information for an Ob-Gyn to dispense and highlight. The pill is altering natural cycles- there's nothing organic about two and a half weeks of spotting, to my body, anyway- so I think there is something unsettling about having your menstruation cycle all sent askew. It really made feel out of sync, because it just wasn't behavior I'd come to expect from my body.
I hear you samanthab, and I know I have absolutely no business weighing in on anyone's birth control choices. I hope you're able to find something that works better for you.
It's interesting to me that you and Pale Mother both used the word "shame" ("the whole advertising industry pretty much revolves around shaming people into feelings of inadequacy")--I think I was talking around that in the whole post. I love how the blogging conversation helps me to learn more about my own thoughts.
And also--the ad isn't so much creepy as completely vapid. Not like it's dispensing valuable information to help a woman make informed choices about medication, but as if it's addressing a girl's top priority: cute panties! It's just so superficial and insulting to women.
Thanks for stopping by!
Lynne Marie
I've been away too long. you make me laugh--even when you're pissed. And you're right, too.
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