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Why Does It Always Feel Like I Get My Period While Traveling?


Every. Damn. Time, I think as I barricade myself in a bathroom stall and root around in my bag for—fingers crossed—an emergency tampon. Back at the gate, the plane’s beginning to board, and it’s getting to be desperate times: I’m about to get on a 12-hour budget flight from Berlin to Singapore, and my period has decided to surprise me—again.

It seems like I always unexpectedly get my period when I travel. After getting a hormonal IUD (love her) and dealing with a year of heavier-than-usual flows fading to intermittent spotting, I’ve gone largely, blissfully, without a period for nearly two years. But the random occasions my period does show up always seem to be the worst days possible, like this one when I’m rushing to catch a longhaul flight. It happens on around two-thirds of my trips.

It doesn’t help that I’m a travel writer, so, you know, traveling is sort of my job. On one trip-turned-horror-show, I was caught off guard yet again and had to spend a 10-hour transatlantic flight with toilet paper balled up in my underwear, afraid to get up and walk around in case my flow decided to truly burst forth. At one point, I realized I had tampons from no fewer than five different countries in my bathroom in Berlin, thanks to all the spontaneous flows that struck me while on a trip.

The travel period, it turns out, isn’t that unusual. “When anything is stressful, we know that can get in the way of having a regular period or someone ovulating,” says Lauren Streicher, M.D., a clinical professor of obstetrics and gynecology at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine. Traveling, even to the most magical of destinations, can be a minefield of stressors—weird sleep schedules, questionable foods, mad dashes to the airport—which can cause a spike in cortisol that can really throw off your body and the regularity of your period, says Leah Millheiser, M.D., director of the Female Sexual Medicine Program at Stanford University School of Medicine. This irregularity isn’t universal: “It certainly doesn’t happen to every woman every time they travel, but it may happen occasionally,” Dr. Millheiser says.

That makes it insanely hard to plan. Depending on where you are in the world, getting the supplies you need to cope can be a challenge. In some parts of Asia, for example, tampons are still a cultural taboo and can be difficult to find. But it’s not just there: I’m continually surprised by how many airport bathrooms aren’t prepared for women who find themselves beset with a surprise visit from their cycle. And the ones that are equipped with a tampon vending machine seem to have been designed by someone who’s never had a period. “There’s nothing worse than running for the plane and saying, ‘Where the hell am I getting two quarters or two dimes to get a crappy tampon?’” says Claire Coder, founder of Aunt Flow. “Toilet paper is offered for free—why aren’t tampons and pads?”

Coder’s mission is to make sanitary products a basic right for people with periods just like toilet paper is for the rest of the population. Aunt Flow is in talks with a dozen major airports and airlines to get them to offer gratis supplies in their bathrooms—and they’re finalizing a partnership with RSA Roomservice Amenities, a company that supplies hotels with toiletries, to get Aunt Flow’s company-made organic tampons and products into hotel rooms, which guests would be able to use for free. Personally I’d be OK with any free setup that doesn’t make me break out a bottom-of-the-purse emergency tampon, (should I be so lucky to have one) when my period surprises me while traveling.



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Postpartum Depression Treatment Made Me Feel Helpless—Women Deserve Better Options


When my son was born nine months ago, I was—like most new moms—a puddle of emotions. I was so eager to see my baby after giving birth, I tried to walk to the recovery room before my epidural had fully worn off. Spoiler alert: I collapsed on the tiled floor. But even on the ground, I was ecstatic. After hours of labor, I had emerged victorious. It felt like my greatest accomplishment.

But the new-mom high was short lived. My first attempts at breastfeeding were not so glorious, and when the unfriendly nurse on duty tried to “help” by grabbing my breast and shoving it into my son’s mouth, I started crying.

I didn’t really stop for the next two months.

I’ve struggled with depression my entire adult life, so I braced myself for the possibility of postpartum depression from the beginning. Most women experience the “baby blues” after delivery—mood swings, irritability, anxiety, sadness, and feeling overwhelmed—a therapist specializing in maternal mental health told me while I was pregnant, but if the blues lasted more than two weeks, it might be postpartum depression. I took note.

I made a mental health protection plan, monitoring my moods carefully, meditating frequently, and exercising regularly during pregnancy. Going into labor, I felt great.

After a smooth delivery and a standard 48-hour stay, we were discharged from the hospital. But I already knew in my gut that I wasn’t ready. As we were wheeling out to the parking lot, the scorching Miami sun suddenly felt unforgiving; tiny beads of sweat appeared on my nose, the humidity fogging my glasses. I held my baby, wrapped up in his layette set, to my chest. I was scared to put him in the car seat, so afraid that I’d break him. On the way home, I clutched his carseat on the verge of a panic attack, terrified we’d get into an accident.

The panic didn’t subside for months. Like all new parents, we documented all of the exciting firsts with our son—his first feeding, his first bath, his first diaper change. Often in these photos, I’m posing and smiling like I should be, but if you look closely, my eyes are pink and puffy and a stream of tears stains my cheeks. I really wanted to be present, but I felt myself starting to get lost.

Days of depression turned into weeks and then months. I felt as if someone had stuck a syringe into my enthusiasm to be a parent and sucked out every milliliter of joy and excitement until there was nothing left. I was empty.

My husband, being the supportive partner that he is, took on a large portion of the infant care and house work while I tried to tolerate just existing—a gargantuan task. Sometimes I lay in bed with an eye mask and headphones. Other times I would close the door, shut the lights off, and sit on the floor staring at a blank wall. I read articles about postpartum depression that left me feeling even more hopeless. I shut off communications with the outside world.

I became lost in the delusion that I was so incompetent as a mother that I was just getting in the way. I thought my family would be better off without me. I fantasized about packing a bag and flying to a far city and never coming back; I could send my family letters and maybe visit during the holidays. I needed to escape. I couldn’t tolerate what I was doing to my family. I couldn’t be the mom I had imagined myself being during the pregnancy. I felt like a failure. The negative thoughts became more insidious and blared on repeat in my mind, muting out any hope or happiness I had ever felt in the past.



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As a Pregnant Woman with a History of Anorexia, Comments About My Body Feel Like Slaps in the Face


Trigger warning: The following contains language describing eating-disorder behaviors.

My body has always felt open to public commentary. When I was 11, aggressive anorexia took hold of me, landing me in the hospital and halting my growth and development. In the decades since, the anorexia has come and gone in waves, and with it my body size has fluctuated somewhere between way too skinny and pretty normal—but I’ve always been small enough to invite an endless stream of public commentary.

These comments, though constant, never seem to get easier to process: a sloppily chosen adjective can make or break my week. Some comments have the power to send me into a spiral of self-destructive thoughts, like when someone describes me as “short” (a word that my distorted mind used to take as a synonym for fat). Others have the power to thrill me—or, rather, my anorexia. I’ve sought these out, remarking on how cold I am in the hopes someone would respond with “Well, you don’t have any meat on your bones!” I’ve suggested sharing clothing with average-size friends just to hear them vehemently reject the premise that we could fit in the same pants.

This is all to say that I’m accustomed to, even rely upon, people commenting on my body. I’ve worked hard to learn healthy ways to handle them. But now that I’m seven months pregnant, dealing with the constant comments about my body has become much more complicated.

It’s not news that pregnant women’s bodies invite a lot of unsolicited remarks. A meta-analysis of 17 studies exploring pregnancy and postpartum body image found that “women perceived their bodies as public property during pregnancy, with family, friends, and strangers touching their stomachs or making personal comments about their appearance.” In the book Gendering Women, the authors write that “almost every pregnant woman finds themselves subjected to ongoing commentary about their physical appearance.” But we don’t need stats or scholarly research to tell us this—it only takes observing pregnant women in the world around you to realize that this happens to pregnant women All. The. Time.

When you think about it, any comment about a pregnant woman’s changing body is pretty inappropriate; you wouldn’t place your hand on your friend’s stomach to remark that her obsession with the Great British Baking Show is showing, but that doesn’t stop many of us from doing it to pregnant women. It’s easy to see why people think it’s OK: because somehow this type of weight gain is “acceptable” while non-pregnancy pounds are not. Magazines and Instagram tell us that all women are thrilled by (and want to show off) their “bump.”

To be fair, pregnancy is straight up insane, and people often can’t curb their curiosity and amazement. I get that. But that doesn’t mean it’s OK to assume talking about a pregnant woman’s body is fair game. Unless she specifically wants to talk about it, assuming you can make her size and shape the subject of discussion violates her personal boundaries. You don’t know what emotions an innocent-sounding comment might elicit. For someone with a history of anorexia like mine, these comments are like triggers in a minefield, threatening to ignite disordered thoughts that might be laying dormant.

I, perhaps naively, didn’t fully appreciate this before I got pregnant. I assumed that since those close to me know my history with anorexia, there would be no potentially triggering comments. Man, was I wrong. Before I’d even started showing, a family member excitedly told me I definitely “looked pregnant.” Later a friend, feeling the sides of my belly, declared with fascination, “Oh wow, it goes all the way around!” Recently, the first words that greeted me upon entering another friend’s home were “You’re so big!” The examples go on, punctuated with unsolicited belly rubs that make me cringe at the thought of my expanding waistline.



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6 Winter Date Night Outfit Ideas That Feel Fresh


The cold weather might be enough to convince you and a partner to just stay in. (That restaurant you like to go to is five blocks too far.) But it’s fine to make an occasion out of a winter date night—especially when you’re actually excited about what to wear. Don’t want to leave the warm embrace of your favorite blanket? Grab a teddy coat. Is your all-black-everything wardrobe is starting to feel tired? Break up the monotony with a pleated skirt in a bold hue. Let these six outfit ideas inspire you to dress all the way up for a special outing with your loved one—and shop the look for $100 or less.



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17 Fleece Jackets Under $50 That Basically Feel Like a Warm Hug


In September, I turned 25 years old. To celebrate my birthday, my Aunt Terri sent me a lovely card that had a crisp $50 bill inside—“spend it on something nice,” she wrote. At first, I had sights set on the extreme: Why not I ~treat myself~ and put the cash toward a fancy massage, or maybe that Insta-famous bag everyone is posting about? But my sensible, just-entered-my-mid-20s side kicked in: I placed it in my wallet, and moved on. The moment will present itself, I thought.

A week later, it did: I was picking up an online order at a Uniqlo store (it’s free, people!), when I decided to meander around the racks of fall/winter clothes. I tried on a puffer coat, a cashmere hat… Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw it—a a tailored fleece jacket that I absolutely needed to have. (When you know, you know.) It was so cozy, but also neutral, so I could see myself wearing it with pretty much everything I own. My instinctual reaction was confirmed when I looked at the price tag: $39.90.

Without even thinking, I walked to the counter, handed over Aunt Terri’s $50 bill, and floated out of Uniqlo with $10 to spare. And I’ve been wearing the fleece jacket nonstop ever since, even when it’s not actually cold enough for fleece. I’ve had multiple strangers—and my dental hygienist—approach to ask about it, and I proudly respond with how much I paid for it. Now, I’ve started hunting for more under-$50 fleece to add to my closet, and have been pleasantly surprised with my findings. Check out some of my favorites (including the Uniqlo jacket that started it all, obviously), ahead.

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I Feel Bad Wasn't Written for a Woman of Color. Then Sarayu Blue Auditioned.


Sarayu Blue was debating a career change—or, at very least, a pivot—when the actress landed the part of Emet on I Feel Bad, NBC’s new comedy from Amy Poehler. “I wasn’t like, ‘Oh, I quit,'” she explains. “It was more of a really deep frustration with the industry and feeling like there was a cap on what, as a woman of color, I was going to be allowed to do.”

That’s not to say Blue isn’t proud of her résumé so far. She is! She’s had great experiences with roles on just about every hit procedural and sitcom you can name (NCIS: Los Angeles, Grey’s Anatomy, The Big Bang Theory) as well as a memorable part in this year’s Blockers. But after more than a decade auditioning for what she jokes are “four-line doctor roles,” Blue started to feel discouraged. She questioned her long-term plan. She thought, “I gotta figure something out to be able to not be broke at 85.”

Acting is like being in a dysfunctional relationship, she explains. Right when you’re ready to call it, you get just enough to keep going.

“In my experience, if it wasn’t written specifically for a woman of color…a lead role wasn’t going my way.”

“I turned to my husband and said, ‘I think I’ve got about one more pilot season in me,'” Blue remembers. “And he looked at me with heartbreak. I mean, he was so sad that’s where I was. It really broke his heart.” She tears up remembering this story, because, “it just makes it mean so much more now.”

That “it” is playing Emet, a mother/daughter/wife/coworker who’s just trying to keep it all together. When Blue saw the role, she knew she wanted it. Bad. She remembers shaking as she left the audition, thinking, Oh my God, I think I nailed it. After that came a studio test, then a network test, and a read with Paul Adelstein, who plays Emet’s husband David. Still, Blue knew well enough by now that roles can come and go at anytime, for any reason. It’s the nature of the business.

Another factor she considered: Emet wasn’t written specifically for an Indian woman. “I was the only woman of color testing for it,” she says. “It was one of those experiences where you go, ‘Oh, it’s either going to go that way or this way.'” In other words, she wasn’t really in competition with anyone for the part—she was auditioning for “the concept of me doing the role.”

PHOTO: Getty Images

PHOTO: Getty Images

PHOTO: Getty Images

But it worked: Blue got the part, and it had ripple effects for the rest of the show’s casting. “It brings this cultural specificity,” she explains. “You have to get Indian parents, you have to get biracial children.”

Blue compares this to a Cinderella story: Colorblind casting is still so unheard of in the industry that it’s a fairytale. A fantasy.

“There have been plenty of times I read for the leads of pilots, and I’ve called up my manager and said, ‘I’m not going to get this. You still want me to go in?'” Blue says. “Not to be cynical. I’m happy to go in; I love auditioning. But I had the awareness at that point that it was like, ‘They’re not going to do that.'”

“I’ve heard a lot of people when I got [I Feel Bad] say, ‘Where did she come from? We didn’t know you could do this!'”

When I ask her to elaborate, she says, “In my experience, if it wasn’t written specifically for a woman of color—and even more specifically, Indian—a lead role wasn’t going my way. It just wasn’t on the table. It wasn’t an option. There are plenty of lead roles that I think lots of women of color are fantastic for, but more often than not they’re creating that work for themselves. That’s what I’ve seen.”

She’s also seen people of color or other marginalized communities being limited to those aforementioned four-line doctor roles. “When you watch any story, there are characters that are fleshed out and there are functional characters. There’s nothing wrong with either,” she says. “But if you keep putting [people of color] in those roles, audiences aren’t going to know what those actors can do. I’ve heard a lot of people when I got [I Feel Bad] say, ‘Where did she come from? We didn’t know you could do this!'”

But that’s the point: She can do this. She has been doing this. She just finally has a platform to show it.

“The thing about the show that’s so special is how honest it is. None of us feel like we’re enough or doing enough or that we’re allowed to just take a break. We’re all just trying to get by,” Blue says. “I wanted to let Emet be the flawed human she is. Because I think that’s how we all feel, like treading water and trying to keep afloat. That, to me, is very human.”

I Feel Bad airs Thursdays on NBC.



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