“Who here has a vagina?” I projected my voice as best as I could from my position up on a table in front of approximately 200 girls in a Ghanaian secondary school. I got wide-eyed looks and a few stifled giggles, but nobody raised their hand. “Huh,” I continued, “that’s interesting. Out of all the girls at this school, not one of you has typical female body parts?” The girls looked at each other, gauging what would be a socially appropriate response. I started to see some nods. “Well,” I said, sticking my hand up in the air. “I do.” I saw some smiles in the crowd, more nods. I shrugged. “Can we try that again? Anybody here also have a vagina?” One by one, the entire room of girls raised their hands. “Oh phew,” I grinned, “for a second I thought I was talking to the wrong crowd.”

Almost 7 years ago, I got to spend a semester of my senior year in college working in rural Ghana. I completed a research-turned-education project for my International Health degree, which involved teaching girls and young women about female health and menstrual hygiene management at the local secondary schools. Before arriving in West Africa, I had learned that many women in developing countries (and also in the US!) were experiencing what has been termed “period poverty,” which means they cannot access menstrual products on a monthly basis. This was seriously holding them back from participating in normal activities, and even causing health issues when they were forced to improvise sanitary products. On top of this, I realized that access to women’s health education was majorly lacking, and there were huge knowledge gaps when it came to girls and women understanding their own anatomy and physiology. Now, I certainly don’t have a PhD in women’s health, but I was lucky enough to receive pretty comprehensive health education and have family members who made sure I knew what to expect as I matured (anyone else read American Girl’s The Care and Keeping of You like it was the Bible?). I do remember going to the infamous “body talk” in 5^th grade, where they split up the boys and girls and gave a run-down of the things that would be happening to us in the next few years. I found it so unbelievably mortifying at the time, but looking back I am grateful that I had that session.

Anyway, back to Ghana. It became immediately apparent that there were so many misconceptions and taboos surrounding women’s health, and I decided that in the 14 weeks I had there, I was going to smash as many of them as I could. I got off to a rocky start. I found that even I had some lingering shame that had been associated with menstruation in our society, and when I caught myself one day trying to pass off my menstrual cramps as a stomachache from something I ate, I knew I needed a radical change in my mindset. If I couldn’t embrace my body as a complex yet fascinating, messy yet beautiful, ever-changing yet powerful entity, how could I expect the girls I was teaching to do so? So, friends, I went radical. Like, shouting from tabletops about vaginas radical. Let me tell you, it was LIBERATING. I have found that the best way to go beyond your comfort zone is to run, not walk, right up to the end, hang your toes over the edge, and dive headfirst right out of it. You’ll get a shock not unlike diving into a cold body of water, but man it’s a freeing feeling.

Today, I am much better at “walking the walk.” I am definitely not perfect, but as a pediatrician it is crucial that I am able to guide growing children to be comfortable in their bodies and understand what they are experiencing. I had an 11 year old girl in the endocrinology clinic recently that absolutely refused to talk to me when I asked about signs of puberty that she might be seeing. I didn’t take it personally; the color that rose in her cheeks and the squirming back and forth revealed that she was embarrassed and uncomfortable about the changes she was experiencing, and I could totally relate to that. I took a different approach. “G,” I said gently, “when I was 11, I felt really awkward talking to the doctor about my body and things about it that seemed really personal. Is that kindof how you are feeling?” She nodded, still avoiding eye contact. “You know what? That’s okay. We can talk about it when you are ready. I do want you to tell me this though…who is your favorite female celebrity?” She looked up for the first time, confused, and said “um, Emma Watson from Harry Potter.” “Oh great choice, I love Emma Watson too,” I gushed. “What if I told you this? Emma Watson basically had to go through puberty on the big screen. I mean, if she can handle getting her first period, so can you, right?” G picked her head up and shrugged, and I saw the statement registering in her brain, the faintest flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. We still didn’t get through the whole health history that day, but I hope that I normalized what that girl was going through, even just a little bit. I hope I showed her that the doctor’s office is a safe place, and that she is in charge of her visit just as much as she is in charge of her body.

The point is, human bodies are weird. At the same time, they are AMAZING, and we need to break out of the layers of shame that we have internalized because of the society we live in. No matter where in the world you are, I want you to have the knowledge to feel empowered in your own skin. I want you to teach your children to love and care for their bodies, as they are the only ones they will ever have. We have a lot of work to do to dismantle the taboos surrounding women’s health, but it’s bigger than that. The relationship that any human has with their body is the foundation of how they feel about themselves, and I believe education is the first step to fostering a healthy relationship. Share what you know, friends, and ask about what you don’t, because knowledge is power.