I got my first period when I was running late to school one morning, so the little information I received was rushed. It was just my dad and me when I was growing up, so when I frantically called him from the bathroom to tell him I was bleeding down there, he called my aunt, who came over from where she lived next door to give me a pad and tell me all I would know about my period for a long time: how to hide it. She taught me to wrap dirty pads in toilet paper before throwing them in the trash so no one would have to look at them. She emphasized showering a lot more than I liked to at that age. And she delivered the terrible news that I'd have to go through this every month with no end point in sight.

I was immediately miserable. I felt inherently dirty and different, because none of my friends had gotten their periods yet. I had so many accidents early on, before I learned that I could track my cycle or to take regular bathroom breaks to check for leaks. My period just felt like a nuisance, a distraction from recess or class.

My dad wasn't involved at all, except for picking up pads for me on his way home sometimes. But once my body started changing, he became more overprotective. I could only wear long pants to school, never skirts or dresses—even during the summer. I think I learned to see my period and puberty through a male lens. I could get pregnant, more boys might be looking at me, and I was in danger. It made me view guys as predators and made me more aware of my body.

I didn't realize for a long time that anyone could feel anything but gross about their periods or puberty. But new research suggests that my experience probably had a lot to do with my socioeconomic background.

According to a paper published in the Journal of Adolescent Health this month, many low-income girls report negative experiences with menstruation. They felt unprepared to cope with their periods, and though in most cases moms offered some support, mothers themselves reported being ill-equipped to help their daughters.

A lot of the feelings expressed by the girls—like uncleanliness and shame—are similar to those of young women in developing countries, where they often lack not only information but sometimes even access to sanitary products or toilets.

Not all the findings were negative. Some girls said they saw it as a rite of passage and that they'd received positive messages about "becoming a woman."

And that's where I think there's an opportunity to change the conversation. Yes, we should offer girls more practical knowledge about their reproductive processes—my life changed when I realized my cycle was like clockwork or that I was probably feeling down because of PMS. But honestly, I just wish someone had talked to me more about what it meant to become a woman. For me, it just caused stress and discomfort. It meant not being allowed to be a kid anymore and having to worry about how guys saw me. But women should be able to process their own becoming without having to consider themselves in relation to a man. When we limit girls' activities for having periods, we damage their relationships with their bodies and teach them to feel shame. Not OK.

And considering that bullying or teasing by boys was found to be a main source of discomfort after girls got their periods, we need to make guys part of the conversation too. There's a "joke" I always heard growing up about women and periods: "Never trust anything that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die." That's a damaging way to view women's menstrual cycles. It plays into the trope of women as deceitful, and it makes menstruation mystical rather than a normal part of cisgendered women's biology.

Girls deserve to feel supported and informed as their bodies change. And it can make all the difference in helping them grow into confident women.