Five years ago, I made a radical decision: not to work on the first day of my period. Yes, a hard pass. No emails, no meetings—just me, a heating pad, and drugs.
The reason? Menstrual pain. I’m talking about the kind that makes you want to curl up under a blanket and set an out of office alert just to get through it. For a while, I managed this quietly, shifting my schedule without any formal announcements. But I lucked out with a PhD supervisor who actually gets it. Now, I can say, ‘I’m taking today off for my health’, and it doesn’t sound like I’m inventing a sudden case of the sniffles.
Now, I know some of you might have a mixed reaction to this: ‘Wait… you just… take the day off?’ Maybe it seems a bit entitled or spoiled. Or maybe you’re thinking, ‘must be nice’, especially if you’ve spent every painful period powering through your day job. Or perhaps it makes complete sense, and you’re wondering why this isn’t standard practice. Whatever your reaction, it’s worth asking: why does this choice still feel like a luxury or even a weakness?
In many workplaces, taking a day off for menstrual pain can feel like asking for a favor. Some may view it as an indulgence, a sign that you’re somehow not ‘tough’ or ‘responsible’ enough, or that you don’t get what it’s like to have a ‘real’ job. These lingering biases suggest that pushing through pain is a badge of honor rather than a health hazard.
However, some countries have started to recognize the impact of menstrual pain on work and have implemented national paid menstrual leave policies. Spain, for instance, recently became the first European country to offer paid menstrual leave, allowing workers to take time off for painful period symptoms.
Why does choosing to take a day off for menstrual pain still feel like a luxury or even a weakness?
Menstruation isn’t just a ‘women’s issue’. It affects anyone with a menstruating body, including transgender and non-binary folks. Creating a workplace that’s inclusive means we’re not just offering sympathy—we’re offering solutions.
Fortunately, the institute I work with (Institute for Science Education and Communication) has a local menstrual and menopausal policy that allows for rest-friendly working conditions. Options like working from home, staying in a quiet area of the workplace, or even taking a paid day off without having to explain it to a supervisor are all on the table.
But policies like this are rare. Most workplaces still expect employees to ‘power through’ menstrual pain in silence. And what does that lead to? Reduced productivity, increased absenteeism, and—perhaps worst of all—the need to pretend you’re fine when you’re anything but.
There’s a growing movement toward menstrual equity, which calls for accessible menstrual products, honest education, and workplace policies that make sense. Imagine a simple policy, functioning across workplaces, allowing people to say, ‘Today, I’m focusing on self-care’, without guilt or raised eyebrows.
There will be concerns about fairness, potential misuse, and the age-old fear of ‘enabling’ people
But let’s be realistic: rolling out menstrual health policies isn’t easy. There will be concerns about fairness, potential misuse, and the age-old fear of ‘enabling’ people. This is where education becomes key. Addressing misunderstandings and reinforcing that these policies aren’t about coddling but about care can make menstrual health a straightforward part of the workplace.
A significant barrier to this is the persistent dismissal of women’s pain. Historically, women were often excluded from medical research, especially studies on pain and reproductive health, resulting in serious gaps in understanding conditions like endometriosis and PCOS—known to cause intense period pain. The exclusion of women from clinical studies has left menstrual and reproductive health issues under-researched, poorly understood, and, as a result, often dismissed.
This oversight has led to what’s known as epistemic injustice: the tendency to devalue or dismiss individuals’ knowledge and experience of their own menstruating bodies. A culture of medical misogyny has persisted, where health complaints are often minimized or ignored.
To combat this, it’s crucial to promote inclusive research, educate healthcare providers on menstrual pain, and push for policies that recognize period pain as a legitimate health and human rights issue—as the World Health Organization finally acknowledged just two years ago.
What I wanted to say is, this policy is making a world of difference and I am grateful for it – every 28 days. Hopefully, others in leadership positions at the UG will take a cue and implement similar practices, so that everyone can work with comfort and dignity.
VALERIA CERNEI