"Cupping The Period": Why You Should Consider Using a Menstrual Cup

My menstrual cup and I have been in a committed, monogamous relationship for the last 4 years. We could probably give any power couple out there a run for their money. M.Cup encourages me to wear fancy, (or no) underpants, and generally does great things for my confidence. I, in turn, keep she/her sparkling clean. Period.  Okay, puns aside, the menstrual cup is, in my opinion, one of the niftiest and most underrated inventions (aside from air conditioners and dairy-free ice cream). As a woman who is constantly on the move – I dance and run my own content marketing agency – I don’t like anything slowing me down, be it traffic, or a sanitary towel. The first, I am still figuring out. The second is no longer a pain in the butt – literally. 

As a Zumba/ Salsa instructor (which I am), your posterior is perpetually on display. The movement may be in the hips, but your booty is where everyone’s eyes are going to go, especially in one of those paint-me-on tighter-than-tight slacks that every sports company appears to be launching. Loose clothes are NOT an option, because your students can’t follow your dance lines clearly. 

 

 

 

 

View this post on Instagram

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A post shared by DAASH (@daashwithus)

A heavy-flow girl, my jugaad was to opt for 2 pads instead of one. I loathe stains of any kind, particularly when they ruin a good pair of expensive workout tights. Coffee stains are bad, period stains worse. The trade-off for this seemingly easy solution was odd butt lumps and rubbery noises as those damned STs earnestly made love to my thighs and each other. I didn’t exactly get around to waddling like a toddler in a nappy, but that’s what I felt like most of the time. And even if my students didn’t notice, my inner saboteur did… and screamed it in my head till my confidence was shaken and my flow – pun intended – was disrupted. Let’s face it, if you’re not having fun in your own class, then no one else will! 

There are several other niggling issues about sanitary towels that have plagued me (as if the cramping and emotional rollercoaster rides weren’t enough, already): 

1. The uncomfortable granny panties we are forced to create room for in a corner of our lingerie drawer because they’re the only ones that can withstand the staining and are roomy enough to fit two pads in. 

2. Disrupted sleep from afore-mentioned awful underwear and potential stains – I sleep on white sheets and I refuse to compromise. 

3. To make matters worse I have a sensitive nose. BO is a huge turn-off and the idea that it might be coming from me – which it would after a particularly energetic session during a typically hot Delhi summer day, or after attending meetings – was more than I could bear. 

There seemed to be no light at the end of this recurring tunnel, until I came across a blog on menstrual cups. After having spent years in a sanskaari community of how penetration is taboo, the idea of a big silicon cup being slipped up inside my vagina was a bit daunting at first. Below are three simple points that convinced me:

1. A single cup lasts for up to 10 years (apparently). 
2. There are (obviously) no unsightly lumps. 
3. Annnnd drumroll… you can last for up to 10-12 hours if required before emptying your cup out (based on personal experience, don’t stretch to beyond 8 unless it’s an emergency)

The third one sold it. I mean, don’t we deal with enough pressure during 'that' time, without having to worry about changing as well? My wardrobe philosophy is simple: dress to go from morning to night, and you’re done. But when Aunty Flo came calling, I would have to hop up every two hours to check if 'Her Redness' needed anything, like a change or a quick perfume spritz. Being coerced to leave your workspace in the middle of a story to change in a bathroom that’s not your own is my version of ‘Snakes on a Plane’. Utter nightmare. 

My cup arrived all pretty and pink in a size M. I bought mine from Boondh. It was (and continues to be) pleasing to look at, and low maintenance. No fancy floral patterns – why do they have those on sanitary towels again – and no weird perfumes emanating from its pretty pink interiors. Just a little pouch and a set of instructions on sterilising and disinfecting it before and after usage in hot water.

Before you ovary act (overreact), I am not hating on sanitary towel or tampon users. The cup may not be for everyone.So, do your research before you opt for one. Things like size, and the quality of material count. For instance, not all cups are made from silicone. Some actually employ plastic. 

The most important thing? Know how to use thy cup. The last time I checked there were about four legitimate ways to fold your cup to fit inside your vagina (ignore fancy methods that are being spouted on YouTube, you’re not creating origami after all). Of these one or two will do. 

The trepidation of fitting M. cup inside was still prevalent. I used a little coconut oil and some warm water, although I’d recommend a water-based lube if you are really scared. FYI, virgins can use the cup. It may present a few challenges in fitting initially, but won’t trouble you. 

Blood alert: There will obviously be a little spillage onto your fingers when you are removing/ using the cup. I’m not grossed out by handling blood particularly when it is from my own body, but I can understand if you are. So, try to find a bathroom where you have access to a sink and water to rinse your cup out before you put it back in.  

P.S Squats are your best friend when you have to use the cup. Not only will they tone up your thighs and butt, but they’ll also allow the cup to fit in more smoothly. 

After a couple of tries, I was up, cup and away! It was true love from first fit. I can carry my cup around with me everywhere, so Aunty Flo can’t catch me unawares anymore, unlike other rishtedaars. Once inside your vagina, the cup unfolds to create a sort of vacuum that captures blood, meaning all granny chaddis have been discarded for good (yay!). 

I happened to do some basic math, and here’s what I figured: According to SwachhIndia, one sanitary pad alone takes 500-800 years to decompose, and a woman could collect up to 125kg worth of non-biodegradable waste during her period. Compare that to one tiny cup that will last you for at least 5-6 years if not 10? Wow! Also, packet of sanitary pads – especially the XL with all the wings and fripperies that I’d opt for cost approximately INR 300. I’d end up using at least 2 per period, which means in 10 years, I’d have spent 72,000 on pads alone. A cup costs approximately INR 600. Imagine how much dairy-free ice cream or alcohol you could buy with that?   

In addition to these compelling points, it’s been a pretty comfortable ride. The blood doesn’t dry, so you’re not subject to BO, and menstrual cups allegedly reduce your chances of contracting staph or other infections. The menstrual cup has changed my life for the better, and been a staunch supporter, especially during Covid (I didn’t have to order or step out to buy STs). As soon as I consider it safe to step out, I plan to propose to her in Goa. Shhh. 

Before you go, let's decode the myths from the facts, shall we? Since my stint on the cup, I have given a couple of talks on the menstrual cup, spoken to many women, and (to my delight) some men. Here are some myths I have busted after 4 years and constant talk:

1. The menstrual cup does not stretch your vagina. (Eye roll). 
2. The menstrual cup does not interfere with your peeing abilities. (your pee holes are located elsewhere, seriously get a mirror and discover your own body, no?)
3. The menstrual cup is not entirely fool-proof. There can be stainage, but it’s about 5% of what I faced with sanitary towels.
4.  You don’t need to replace your menstrual cup every year. Keep it clean, and it will look after you.
5. Your period is actually about a thimbleful of blood, not an ocean. Yes, the menstrual cup will catch it all. No, it will not spill. 
6. Based on the previous one, cup sizes are not based on your period flow capacity. They’re based on other more relevant things like childbearing history and the length of your cervix.

The author Aashmita Nayar