By Fleur Lilliott

One Friday evening, a friend asks: ‘Have you tried period knickers?’ My eyebrows raise. As bad as it sounds, the idea makes me squirm with anxiety. Memories of soaking through my extra thick pad at school seep into my mind, the shame and embarrassment I feel as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Why risk igniting those feelings by using just knickers? ‘Try them,’ my friend urges. ‘They’ve changed my life.’ 

Like most people that menstruate, my period – and the tide of sanitary products it brought in tow – changed my life. The symbol of adulthood, my period was a novelty. I enjoyed being on it, enjoyed asking for pads in the bathroom. It was as if I was the winner of a contest everyone wanted to get lucky in. That all changed rather quickly.

Period soon became a nasty word, one of mockery and taboo, wilting my womanhood into something shameful. Pads became tiresome, uncomfortable and unsexy. References to periods were used as an insult, and I certainly didn’t feel victorious anymore when I was curled up on the sofa with my stomach cramping and blood running down my thighs like tears when I forgot to put a pad on or didn’t change the old one in time. 

Leaking through my pad at school was the pinnacle of embarrassment. My friends had been mildly sympathetic, yet there was a sprinkling of judgement – as if it had never happened to them. Most of the boys were brutal, laughing and calling me dirty every chance they got. I layered two pads for months after that. Even into my twenties, I’d look in reflections to check for leaks, wearing black trousers on my period or wearing a pad days before I was due, just in case.

It took around two months and a pep talk from an ad on Instagram to find the courage to try period knickers. I wouldn’t reach for them automatically – the idea of free bleeding into knickers is too daunting – and until my friend mentioned them, they hadn’t been on my radar.

Like any stable relationship, I’d stayed loyal to pads. They served me well for nearly sixteen years (that’s longer than most marriages), only letting me down occasionally. They felt protective and secure, like a warm hug. Sure, over the years I’d leapt onto the bandwagon of tampons and moon cups, but I’d quickly realised that they weren’t for me. Despite their flaws, I couldn’t imagine using anything other than pads.

I’ll be honest: the knickers felt weird at first. I was nervous, constantly rushing to the toilet to check that I wasn’t leaking, and each time it was a pleasant surprise to find that I wasn’t. After a few days, I’d been converted. I felt good. Relaxed. I didn’t have to worry about changing my pad every few hours or the sinking feeling of realising that I had none in my handbag (pads made from tissue are a faulty quick fix). I felt sexy, liberated from pad rashes on my thighs and awkward wedgies.

Period knickers can absorb as much as four tampons and are wearable for up to ten hours. They come in different absorbency levels, just like any other sanitary product. It didn’t take me long to find the perfect fit, and I wear them day and night while I’m on my period. Not only are they comfortable and boost your confidence, but they’re also great for the planet, make period sex easier, and ease anxiety for those who can’t wear tampons. They’re also great for a night out or date – no more dashing to the bathroom when you twerk too hard or when things get hot between you and your honey. 

I let other people’s opinions about periods constrict my experience. I’m not bashing other sanitary products (they’ve got me through years of bleeding), but these knickers really are the way forward when it comes to feeling your best at a time when we often don’t. When the breakouts and cramps are kicking our arse, knowing we have protection that’s not going to leak or be a nuisance helps ease the anxieties around the time of the month. It’s been a considerable relief sticking my middle finger up to judgement and embracing period knickers. Let it flow! No one can stop us now.