Sabrina Barnes | Period poverty exists and language matters

IN RECENT conversations around access to menstrual products and healthcare, a provocative claim has surfaced: “Oh, period poverty doesn’t exist. People can buy things. Poor people boasty. Call it something else because period poverty sounds bad.”

Let’s unpack that.

Period poverty refers to the lack of access to sanitary products, menstrual hygiene education, toilets, handwashing facilities, or waste management. It’s not just about not being able to afford pads or tampons, it’s about the broader systemic issues that affect how menstruation is managed with dignity, safety, and health.

The argument that “people can buy things” oversimplifies the issue. While some may have access to basic products, many cannot consistently afford the monthly cost of sanitary pads or tampons, especially in households that already struggle to afford food, rent, or transportation. In many developing countries, and even in developed countries like the US and the UK, there are documented cases of individuals using socks, toilet paper, newspaper, or even rags during their periods, because they simply can’t afford menstrual products.

LACK OF ACCESS

Access isn’t only about affordability. In rural communities, products may not even be available. For school-age girls, this lack of access often means missing several days of school each month, which contributes to a gendered education gap that persists into adulthood.

The claim that “poor people boasty” reflects a deeply problematic classist mindset. Struggling individuals are often forced to present themselves with pride and dignity to survive socially. Just because someone wears clean clothes or carries a nice phone doesn’t mean they aren’t choosing between that and other basic needs.

That appearance may be the very armour they need to shield themselves from a society that judges them harshly for showing visible signs of poverty. No one boasts about bleeding through their clothes. No one chooses to go without menstrual products to seem “boasty”. Let’s not confuse survival strategies with luxury.

The discomfort some feel around the term period poverty comes from how blunt it is. Yes, it sounds bad. But that’s because it is bad. Words like “period poverty” put the issue into focus. It combines two realities – menstruation and deprivation – that are often ignored or dismissed. Sanitising the language doesn’t make the problem disappear; it makes it harder to talk about. If we can say “food poverty” or “housing insecurity”, we can say “period poverty”. Being direct creates space for solutions, awareness, and policy.

This is not a “them over there” problem. Period poverty exists in every country, including right here. Girls miss school. Women miss work. Those who are menstruating face shame, stigma, and health risks all because society refuses to address menstruation as a human rights issue.

EDUCATING OURSELVES

To make a difference, we must start by educating ourselves and others and talk openly about menstruation and challenge stigma. Advocate for policies that provide free menstrual products in schools, prisons, and public facilities. Donate to organisations that distribute products to those in need. And, most importantly, listen and believe people when they say they’re struggling. Period.

To dismiss period poverty is to ignore the voices of those who live it. It’s not just about buying a pad, it’s about the systems that determine who can menstruate with dignity and who cannot. Let’s not be afraid of strong terms. Let’s be afraid of silence.

For me, this issue is personal. I am a 20-year-old student and my advocacy began, not in a classroom, but in my cupboard in Christiana, Manchester. What started as a small idea, a simple space where women could quietly access menstrual products, grew into a movement of compassion, dignity, and empowerment. That cupboard became a symbol of care in a community where asking for pads was sometimes more shameful than going without them.

Inspired by the groundbreaking work of Shelly-Ann Weeks and the HERFlow Foundation, I decided to turn my frustration into action. With the help of friends, sponsors, and community members, I have been able to donate over 1,000 menstrual care packages to students at UWI and young women in surrounding communities. Every package handed over is a reminder that access matters. That dignity matters. That silence helps no one.

Through my Period Poverty Passion Project, I’ve learned that change doesn’t always start big, it often begins quietly, with a single act of empathy. From packing pads in paper bags late at night to hosting conversations on menstrual health, I’ve witnessed how one simple product can change how someone shows up to class, to work, and to themselves.

The law student in me sees this as a justice issue, a matter of equity, rights, and respect. The woman in me sees it as an act of love; and the advocate in me knows that, until every person who menstruates can do so without shame, fear, or deprivation, the work isn’t done.

Because period poverty exists and language matters.

Sabrina Barnes is a youth advocate and bachelor of laws student at The University of the West Indies, Mona. Send feedback to columns@gleanerjm.com or follow her @sabrinabarnesjm.