Stop Calling Pain Normal

I got my period in Grade 5. I was 10 years old. I remember feeling young. Younger than the pamphlets made it seem. Younger than the other girls in my class. But what I remember even more vividly than the uncertainty of it was the pain. Debilitating lower back pain.

Abdominal cramps that made me curl into myself. Cycles that meant at least one missed day of school every single month. And the first thing I was told? “It’s normal.” I was told it was normal because my grandmother had painful periods too. I was told some people just “have it worse”. I was told this was part of the process. So I accepted it.

The “Rite of Passage We Don’t Question”

Period pain is framed as a milestone. A badge of entry. A shared experience.

You get a heating pad. Maybe some ibuprofen. Maybe a story about how your mom or aunt used to faint in high school but “she survived”. We laugh about it. Bond over it. Meme about it. But rarely do we interrogate it.

For people with uteruses, pain is normalized early and often. We’re socialized to tolerate discomfort in our periods, in our relationships, in our bodies. The message is subtle but consistent: Everyone goes through it. It can’t be that bad. You’re just sensitive. This is what being a woman is.

And when everyone says it’s normal, you stop asking whether it’s not. But, there’s a difference between reassurance and dismissal. Normalization becomes gaslighting when severe symptoms are minimized, when patterns of dysfunction are brushed off, and when your lived experience is reframed as exaggeration.For eight years, my pain was categorized as “just cramps”. The back pain? Also normal. Missing school monthly? Unfortunate, but normal. Various types of medications not working to the point where my bedside drawer looked like I ran a small pharmacy? Also, normal.

The moment that shifted everything for me was almost accidental. I mentioned the back pain again to my family doctor. Casually. The way you do when you assume it’s not important. She paused. Looked at me. I asked, “That’s not normal?” She paused and thought, before replying, “You don’t have scoliosis.” That was the first time someone treated it like a red flag. And that moment shook me. Because if it wasn’t normal… what had I been living with?

Delayed Care, Delayed Answers

It wasn’t until I was 18 that I finally accessed a gynaecologist, and even that took persistence. In Canada, you need a family doctor referral to see one. My initial referral was lost for six months, and I had to push to get it written in the first place. Add on the fact that I attend post-secondary school three hours away from home, and you have a perfect storm of delayed care: a recipe for silence, delay, and falling through the cracks.

And I can’t separate that experience from being a young Black woman navigating the healthcare system. I’m 21 now, almost 22, but I’ve already learned how quickly Black women’s pain can be minimized. How easily we’re perceived as “strong.” How often strength becomes an excuse not to investigate. 

By the time I finally sat in that gynecologist’s office, I had already internalized that my pain didn’t warrant urgency. Since then, I’ve been back and forth between different forms of birth control; oral contraceptives, Nexplanon, hoping something would make it manageable. Adjusting hormones. Adjusting expectations. Still without a clear answer about what’s actually causing it.

When “Normal” Hides Pathology

When severe period pain is dismissed, conditions like endometriosis, adenomyosis, and uterine fibroids often go undiagnosed for years. On average, endometriosis alone can take 7–10 years to diagnose. That’s nearly a decade of pain reframed as exaggeration. The delay isn’t just medical — it’s cultural. When we assume pain is inherent to having a uterus, pathology hides in plain sight.

Being in pain is one thing. Not being believed about your pain is another.

You begin to question yourself: Maybe I’m dramatic. Maybe I just have a low pain tolerance. Maybe this is what everyone else handles better than me.

That internalization fractures trust — not just in healthcare systems, but in your own body.

Period Pain Is Sexual Health

We often reduce sexual health to STI screenings and pregnancy prevention. But sexual health is also being able to move through your cycle without debilitating pain. It’s feeling safe and comfortable during intimacy. It’s experiencing pleasure without fear.

When period pain is severe, it doesn’t stay confined to a few days a month.

- It affects pain during sex. Pelvic pain conditions like endometriosis can make intercourse painful, leading to avoidance, not because of lack of desire, but because of anticipation.

- It creates fear of intimacy. When your body feels unpredictable or fragile, intimacy becomes anxiety-inducing.

- It creates disconnection from pleasure. You can’t feel fully connected to your body if you don’t trust it. And pleasure requires trust.

Sexual health is about autonomy, agency, and comfort, not just infection status.

Relearning How to Trust My Body

The hardest part hasn’t been the pain. It’s been relearning that my experience is valid.

That my body isn’t dramatic. That missing school wasn't a weakness. That ten-year-old me deserved investigation, not dismissal.

Advocacy, for me, has meant documenting my symptoms, tracking patterns, asking directly “What else could this be?”, pushing for imaging and follow-ups, and seeking second opinions when needed. It has also meant shifting my mindset from “Maybe it’s nothing” to “If it’s disrupting my life, it matters.”

If you’re navigating something similar, advocacy might mean bringing written symptom logs to appointments, asking “What conditions are we ruling out?”, requesting imaging or specialist referrals, asking how long symptoms should persist before further investigation, and refusing to accept “it’s normal” without explanation.

Better questions create better conversations. And better conversations create better care. We are taught early that pain is part of having a uterus. But pain that disrupts your education, work, relationships, or sense of self is not a rite of passage.

You know your body. If something feels off, persistent, or debilitating — it deserves attention. Normalization should never silence you. Because when “pain is normal” becomes the default response, what we’re really doing is training young people to doubt themselves.

And there is nothing empowering about that. Reclaiming bodily authority starts with one radical act: believing yourself.