When I was young, we were very poor. My aunt handed me a roll of toilet paper the first time I got my period. She showed me how to fold it to protect my underwear and how to wrap everything discreetly so no one would ever know what was happening.
As I’ve grown, I’ve realized—that moment wasn’t only about secrecy—it was about scarcity. And the truth is, too many people still rely on whatever is available—paper towels, toilet paper, socks—because they can’t afford proper period products.
I share this story because talking about periods openly is the first step toward changing the systems that make them shameful or unaffordable. Every young girl and woman deserves dignity to handle their periods.
- Anonymous
When you're living on the streets, every day is about survival. Finding a safe place to sleep, figuring out your next meal, staying warm—those become the priorities. So when my period came, I wasn’t prepared. I didn’t have pads. I didn’t have tampons. I didn’t even have consistent access to a bathroom.
You can’t ask someone for a pad the way you can ask for a dollar or a sandwich. People look away. People don’t want to talk about periods. I skipped meals and saved coins to buy a small pack of pads, and even then, I rationed them—wearing one for far longer than anyone should.
No one should have to choose between staying fed and staying clean. No one should have to use wadded-up paper or old clothing as a substitute for menstrual products.
Periods don’t stop because someone doesn’t have a home.
I share my story because silence keeps this problem invisible.
Periods are natural.
Access to products should be, too.
No one deserves to feel ashamed of their body—especially when they’re already fighting just to survive.
- J.McKenzie
My mother was not in my life during pivotal moments, and growing up with an old-school father who believed certain things were “for boys” and others “for girls” meant I didn’t have anyone to guide me when I got my first period. I remember buying a little period starter kit at school after our final health class before summer break, not realizing I would need it just weeks later at the age of 11.
I used the pad from the kit, but I didn’t understand how often I needed to change it or what to do when I was done. After wearing it far too long, I tried to flush it—causing a disaster. My older brothers rushed in to “help,” but not without teasing and embarrassment. I felt ashamed.
My dad eventually helped clean up the mess. He showed me how to throw the pad away and ended the lesson by saying, “A man should never know you’re on your period.” That sentence stayed with me. For years, I planned my life around my cycle. I hid. I stayed home. I felt “dirty.”
Looking back, I realize the problem wasn’t my period.
It was the lack of education, support, and dignity.
Period poverty isn’t just about the cost of pads or tampons—it’s also about access to products, access to information, and the freedom to live without shame. Too many people still struggle silently, improvising with toilet paper, socks, or nothing at all because they can’t afford period products or were never taught how to use them.
No one should feel embarrassed, unsafe, or unprepared for something so natural.
That experience shaped me. It’s why I started this foundation—to make period products affordable, accessible, and to ensure that education replaces shame. Because dignity should never be a privilege.
- Founder of The Riley Girls Foundation