Why I’m Not Turning Red Over My Daughter Seeing the New Disney Movie

I was in seventh grade, sitting on the couch watching 90210 when I felt the worst stomach pains of my entire young life and ran to the bathroom to discover blood-soaked underwear. My mom was at a PTA meeting so I returned to the living room to tell my older sister my new secret. She said I was lying and that I’d used ketchup to trick her. And that was my introduction to womanhood.

To be fair, I think menstruating was included in “the talk” I had with my mother a few months before but I blacked out from embarrassment so I can’t be sure.

It was a bigger deal at school than at home. But not for reasons that you may think. I was one of the first to get my period in my class. There were two popular girls ahead of me so I saw it as a sign of maturity. I felt cool when the other girls and even some brave boys asked me about it.

I was far more embarrassed on my 16th birthday when my friends surprised me with a singing telegram in the form of an ape, who pulled me on stage during the whole school assembly and sang to me in front of my upperclassman crush. Talk about turning red!

Flash forward thirty years…

You may have heard that Disney released a new movie, by the same name, about that magical time of the month. If you haven’t, I’m envious of your Instagram feed. Mothers across the country are mighty miffed about the period piece. (Sorry, I couldn’t resist). And I understand their point of view. Now that it’s been brought to my attention, at least. I was too tired and zoned out to really catch on during the first viewing. I got the gist, of course. I’m not a total idiot. But I didn’t grasp the gravity until I started reading comments on posts from parenting platforms. Or maybe I didn’t realize “the magnitude” because it didn’t matter that much to me?

I watched Turning Red with my almost 9-year-old daughter and 5-year-old son. It went over both of their heads. My daughter is a bright, pensive, curious girl. Not much gets past her. And, still, she didn’t flinch. She was more interested in the excruciatingly painful boy band song that has since replaced “We Don’t Talk About Bruno” in the ever-running loop in my mind. If it wasn’t lost on her, she’ll ask me about it later, like she does everything else. And when that time comes, we’ll have an honest, age-appropriate conversation. Until then, I’m not drawing attention to it. I’m a big believer that our kids respond to our reactions, in kind. I’d prefer it subliminally sink in. Periods are normal, natural and a rite of passage, not something to flip out about.

I know that I need to have a proper talk with her somewhat soon because, as much as it kills me, we’re not too far from her own first experience. In that aspect, the movie will be even more helpful. While I don’t want her to think that she has to be terrified and shut herself in a room or that her overbearing mother will show up at school with some maxi pads, she’ll have watched the movie so much (10 times and counting!) that it’ll be a natural conversation starter.

She’s already aware that periods exist. One, because my children have zero respect for their mother’s personal space. And two, because they’ve asked about the tampons they see me buy and use, to which I answer honestly. I’ve never been one to hide it. I toss a box in my cart without care of who sees me and place it on the belt with abandon regardless of who the cashier is. I’ve had my husband purchase tampons since we started dating and my seventy-year-old father has also picked them up for me when I’m in a bind. I even posted a picture of them on Valentine’s Day. Like many times before, my husband ran out to get tampons for me as my sister’s boyfriend delivered her flowers. So, naturally, I immortalized the moment on Instagram. Me with a bright pink Playtex box and her with a bouquet of red roses. Equally romantic, in my eyes.

I know not everyone is as comfortable though. My friend joked to me recently that she rolls on the floor Mission Impossible style to conceal tampons from her 9 and 6-year-old girls when they try to open the bathroom door. And when I posed the question on Instagram, while 75% of my audience thought the outrage was absurd, the remaining revealed they would not be showing the movie to their children.

While I didn’t have an issue with the film, I was a little irritated at my daughter’s 8 year checkup. I love and trust our pediatrician and believe we’re in very capable hands with her. However, after the standard routine, she launched into a speech about how my daughter would soon be experiencing changes to her body. She didn’t go into explicit detail, but it took me by surprise and left me feeling unprepared and out of control.

For me, it was different than sitting in the comfort of our living room, with her parents and brother, dancing around so much that she only caught parts of an animated movie. This was a formal, sterile place, flooded with fluorescent lighting and a one-on-one conversation with someone other than her mother when she was already in a vulnerable state. While I realize doctors have a responsibility to prepare children- and their parents- of things to come, I had no idea it would happen so soon. And I really wish they would’ve mentioned it when I made the appointment, during the confirmation call or simply sent a standard form letter via email prior to our visit. 

Her doctor then suggested we read The Care and Keeping of You, a book by American Girl that talks about all of the changes she’ll soon be experiencing. My daughter, who is a big American Girl fan, couldn’t wait to get her hands on the book. Once home, she asked me every few hours if I’d ordered it yet and finally wore me down. I planned on intercepting the package and skimming it first before I signed off on the messaging. But it arrived at 10pm while we were already in bed. The next morning, my husband announced that there was a package at the door but before I could get to it, she did. I didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it so I watched nervously as she began to read. She quickly skimmed the face-washing and teeth-brushing chapters before she grew bored and put it down. The next day, when she was at school, I surveyed it myself. While most of it’s benign, there are some topics I’d like to wait to discuss.

It wasn’t the period chapter that I had issues with, it was the body image section. “Fat or Thin? People say I’m thin, but I think I need to lose 15 pounds…” It also spoke about how some kids are “body bullies” making fun of both flat and large chested girls. I don’t want a book planting the idea in her head that she should be analytical of her body- or others- before she’s prone to. There will be plenty of talk about it school and in the media but, so far, she and her friends are oblivious. I put the book on the top of my closet and she hasn’t asked about it since. One day, I’ll break it back out. When I feel we’re both ready.

So while I understand the argument of wanting a warning about potentially sensitive subjects, I believe it’s on us, as parents, to watch movies and read books before if we’re concerned. It’s not Disney, any studio or publishing house’s responsibility. Having said that, Turning Red has a PG rating, which is higher than most of their G-rated movies and those deal with violence and death. That right there should clue us in.

Speaking of those other films, why the uproar about this one, in particular? Where’s the outrage over a young woman giving up her voice to be with a man? Or needing to be saved by a prince. What about Stockholm Syndrome? Or consensual intimacy? What are those themes teaching our children? I’m more concerned about the messaging in the older titles than a teenage girl getting her period. One is a an absolute. The others are antiquated ideals.

And Turning Red is about much more than periods, or even adolescence. To me, it’s about choosing who we want to be, at any age. About being brave enough to go against our families and listen to our own voice. About embracing our emotions and owning who we are. And that by honoring ourselves, we help others do the same.

So for those reasons, I’ll continue to let my kids watch it. Over and over and over again. Even though my ears are bleeding. (Pun intended.) After all, it’s better than 90210. At least, in age-appropriateness. I’ll take Luke Perry over a panda any day!