The Morning Her Childhood Ended

Shabnam was a little girl with big eyes. She was a lively girl who enjoyed outdoor activities, and she loved playing with her friends, a girl with a beautiful smile who was laughing with all her heart. In the mornings, she woke up to the sound of her mother and the soft sunlight shining through the window. Sometimes, she woke to the sound of the rain. Mornings like these, she would go to the window and watch quietly as every drop of rain fell. Then she was headed out, chasing her twin brother and her friends, feeling the cold whisper of the wind through her long, brown, curly hair, talking and laughing, her voice growing louder and louder.  

Sometimes, she wondered what it was like to grow up. She was also excited about it, not knowing what adulthood can bring with it in societies where girls are forced to say goodbye to their childhood long before it is over. 

To her, growing up seemed like freedom, but she never imagined it would mean something like this.  Her twin brother was never told to sit properly or to lower his voice just because he was a boy, and she never thought growing up would mean this in her society.  

That morning began differently for her. Unlike other mornings, she woke up with a strange pain in her stomach. It was sharper, like something inside her was tightening. She sat up slowly,  pressing her hand against her lower belly, looking confused. 

When she stood up, she felt something warm. She felt something unfamiliar to her. She looked down. There was blood. She was confused about what had happened to her, and for a moment she could not breathe. She was thinking that she was sick, but what kind of sickness was so unfamiliar to her and made her shake out of fear. For a moment, she even thought she was dreaming and that her mother would come and wake her up, or maybe it would rain again and she would wake up to its sound. No one had ever told her about this before, no one had ever prepared her for this. Her hand began to shake as she rushed to the washroom. The fear was with her; she was thinking there was something wrong with her. She did not know how to say it to others; all she was worried about was what others would think of her.  

Later that morning, her aunt came. Her aunt was educated in her family. When she saw that Shabnam looked pale and frightened, she immediately understood. She gently closed the door behind them and sat beside her. 

“Shabnam,” she said, “listen to me.” 

Shabnam couldn’t look at her. “Something is wrong with me,” she whispered with tears in her eyes. 

Her aunt pulled her close. “Nothing is wrong. Your body is changing. This is called menstruation. Every girl goes through it when she begins to grow up.” 

Shabnam looked confused. “But… I never thought growing up would mean this. No one told me  this.”

Her aunt smiled, which was a sad one and she said again. “My dear, it is natural. It means you are  becoming a woman.” 

Shabnam felt relieved for a moment, but then her aunt’s voice was echoing in her ear, saying “You are becoming a woman! You are growing!”, giving her a strange feeling.  

After that day, things were gradually changing for her; she was feeling that. Growing up came to  her before she was ready with: “Don’t laugh so loudly.” “Sit properly.” “Don’t go outside  often.” “Don’t play anymore, you are grown up.” 

Sometimes, she would think what if she were a boy too. Sometimes, she wished to be a boy so that she could freely ride a bike to school just like her brother. Sometimes, she would silently watch the children playing outside. She would feel something heavy in her heart, a feeling that she could not name, that she just knew she had so many whys unanswered in her head.  

When the cramps came, she would curl into herself quietly. She had learned by now that pain is something she has to hide. Even she had to suffer silently. The society changed her as they wanted her to be, not as she herself wanted to become. She was told to be this way long before she was able to find her true self. But she was still that little Shabnam in heart, she still loved to chase butterflies, still wanted to run with her braided hair, and was still not ready to forget her childhood. Yet, the world looked at her differently. 

Yes, for some, growing up means learning how to hide parts of yourself just to be accepted. 

This article is part of the HerVoice initiative, published by NSHSS in partnership with EmpowerHer, an NSHSS student partner organization. EmpowerHer supports Afghan girls and women through mentorship and storytelling opportunities that help them find their voice and create change in their communities and beyond. Learn more on the EmpowerHer partner page.

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