Queeriods: Stories of Bodies, Blood, and Belonging is a photo story project that aims to capture the diverse experiences that queer, trans, non-binary, and intersex folks have with-and without-the menstrual cycle.

By centering stories that are often overlooked or marginalized, this project challenges conventional narratives around menstruation and invites us to expand our understanding of bodies, identity, and cycles. The project will also serve as a means to directly address period poverty among gender-diverse youth in Montreal, using the project to raise awareness and, through Monthly Dignity, distribute free reusable and disposable menstrual products. 

Through a series of candid portraits and accompanying narratives, “Queeriods” explores what menstruation—or the absence of it—can mean within different gender identities and expressions. The project reveals how experiences with bleeding, or not bleeding, can intersect with dysphoria, euphoria, visibility, and personal identity. We anticipate these images will reflect joy, discomfort, resilience, and authenticity, honouring the ways people navigate societal expectations and their relationships with their own bodies.

The pictures and accompanying testimonies will be used to raise awareness about gender-diverse experiences of menstruation, culminating in a display at an event on menstrual equity and period poverty in the spring (which will include a workshop on 2SLGBTQIA+ experiences of menstruation, inclusive zines, and a fundraiser for menstrual products for queer and trans youth), and a display at a menstrual equity symposium hosted in partnership with Concordia University and Monthly Dignity on May 30th, in honour of Menstrual Health Day. The hope is that this is a first phase of a wider project, and that these testimonies can serve to enrich the small but growing public discourse around 2SLGBTQIA+ experiences of menstruation and period poverty. 

Ultimately, “Queeriods” aims to break stigmas and raise awareness about the spectrum of menstruation experiences, encouraging empathy and inclusivity. It’s not just about who bleeds, but how we all experience cycles, change, and selfhood in a world that too often imposes rigid definitions of gender and menstruation. This project celebrates fluidity, complexity, and the power of representation, reminding us that every body—and every experience—is valid.

The results :

Jane, she/they/he, genderfluid, 16 years old

“When I first got my period, it didn’t interfere with my sense of self. I already knew I was queer, and menstruating didn’t change that. But as I grew, I understood myself better, and at 16, my relationship with my period feels frustrating at times. My pain is often dismissed by those who don’t menstruate. Being queer, people assume I’m weak or overly sensitive, and my period gives them another excuse to label me that way.

Through it all, I’ve learned not to stay quiet. Yes, I experience pain, but those I love should know my struggles. Needing support isn’t weakness—it’s human. I’ll keep speaking out because that effort matters.

Sometimes, my period makes me feel worse about my gender. Being separated in health class or feeling dysphoric because of clothing limitations—like not being able to wear a skirt or high-rise pants—can make me feel vulnerable. While it doesn’t always bother me, it does remind me that menstruation isn’t just physical—it affects identity, too.”

Jo, any pronouns, queer, cis, 26 years old

“From a young age I was always told to never talk about my periods it felt like such a huge shame put on all the women of all age I couldn’t even discuss it with fellow women that were living and struggling with menstrual cycles cramps and the occasional accidents, even when asking for the bathrooms we had to resort to telling the teachers that we were having an emergency rather then communicating our natural need, but I have always been someone who questions social expectations and challenged their narrow perspectives, by telling my truth and being unapologetic about anything that happened to my body I couldn’t understand the shame while blood flows in our bodies and bleed from many minor injuries as we play as kids we only shame the blood that comes from the major instruments that brought you to life due to shameful social standards is beyond me.”

Alyra & Lilly, she/her & she/her, transwomen, 30 & 23 years old

“As a trans woman, my experience with hormone cycles is rooted in habit. Every 5 days, at midday, I inject 0.25ml of Estrogen Valerate to the upper mid thigh while Pink Pony Club blasts on the TV.

Always on the hook; deep breath, stab, plunge.

Before it was a habit, it was a dread. I hate needles, and that’s not a bold or especially brave assertion to make because who doesn’t? Though over time I’ve come to find joy in it, it became a comfort, a sacred ritual even, of celebrating my newfound bodily autonomy and the courage it took to get me here.

But what has truly made it magical is being able to share in that ceremony, in all its unfurled vulnerability with my beautiful partner, who makes every 5 days at midday, feel like an effortless dance.”

Drew, they, Transmasc, queer, 25 years old

“I don’t necessarily feel dysphoria about my period itself—I just see it as something my body does every month. But when I think about why I menstruate, that’s when dysphoria sets in. The thought that my body is capable of pregnancy is what unsettles me. It’s not something I want, and because of that, menstruation feels pointless to me.

As I move through my transition, I know my feelings about my period will evolve. The more I become who I truly am, the less I’ll want to menstruate—and the more dysphoria it may bring. Eventually, it will stop, and I know I won’t miss it.”

Silas, he/him, transgender man, 25 years old

“My relationship to menstruation has always been varied. Growing up, my debilitating period pain was dismissed by medical providers and the adults around me, and I struggled to scrape together enough money to buy myself period products. Now, as someone who doesn’t have a period, my relationship to menstruation has changed, but still plays a significant role in my life. Particularly in relation to today’s political climate, where trans people’s access to healthcare is under attack. Reactionary policies strip away gender-affirming care, while medical providers remain undereducated about trans bodies. Menstrual products and gynecological care are still framed as exclusively “women’s health,” leaving trans and non-binary people excluded from vital services. Economic inequality, criminalization, and anti-trans legislation further endanger those already marginalized. It is crucial for me to continue to advocate for free and accessible menstrual products for all, trans-competent gynecological care, and an end to medical gatekeeping. My bodily autonomy is not negotiable—healthcare must be inclusive, affirming, and protected from political agendas that seek to erase us.”

Hayley, she, queer, cis, 26 years old

“Before coming out, a lot of my relationship with my menstrual cycle revolved around explaining, justifying, and minimizing my cycle and the impacts it has on my life to the non-menstruating people around me. I had to try so many different contraceptives, and I’m grateful that I had the resources and support to do so, but for me it was impossible to disentangle those choices from the pressure to make my cyle invisible. But I have found solace in coming out. My queerness brought me back to myself, back to a body that no longer had to apologize for existing cyclically. Now, I embrace my period for what it is—complex, messy, and wholly mine. It’s no longer something to be managed or minimized but something I can honour as part of my journey home. My queerness has given me permission to embrace all that my body does, on its own terms.”

Pash, she/her, queer, cis, 28 years old

“For me, I consider myself lucky to have grown up in a family where menstruation was considered normal and where I received advice, especially from my mother. Yes, it was a slightly more sensitive and/or taboo subject with my brother and father growing up, but they never made me feel shame or other unpleasant emotions related to menstruation. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to understand that my experience is different from that of many people, and that the shame they feel can affect many areas of their lives, including their perception of themselves and their sexuality during menstruation. I agree that we don’t necessarily feel at our sexiest when we’re in our week, but that doesn’t mean it’s disgusting. On the contrary, someone who wants to feel pleasure, menstruating or not, is attractive (and menstrual blood can act as a natural lubricant; I’m just saying). 😇”

Lamia, she/her, mostly lesbian, 27 years old

“As someone who has never menstruated, it always felt taboo to talk about periods – like it was disrespectful to the ones who bled and suffered. I felt like I was missing something, being told that to bleed is to be woman, to be feminine and be part of a magical sisterhood.
As a transfemme, part of me even hoped to join the “lucky” few who develop a monthly pain cycle with hormone replacement therapy. But no, nothing: The only hormone that’s ever brought me pain is the one I’ve since left behind.
I’ve realized that I don’t really feel like my lack of periods negates my womanhood. I still am a woman. I still am feminine. I’ve molded my flesh closer to my ideal self, through elixirs and bloody rituals. Much more than periods could have, that gives me euphoria and sisterhood.
That’s real magic.”

Rex, he/him, trans man, queer, 34 years old

“My periods were always painful, but as I aged it felt like it was getting worse. I would lose a lot of blood for upwards of a week, with some days where I would go through the most absorbent tampons within an hour. I’d gone to my yearly check-ups with gynecologists and everything was always normal, until one day they did a test for endometriosis and instead found a massive ovarian cyst (7x10cm). The cyst had killed my ovary and I was scheduled for surgery 3 months later. A biopsy revealed it was precancerous, so they needed to do a second surgery to check if it had spread anywhere else. Luckily it hadn’t so I’m allowed to keep my last ovary for now, which gives me some extra protection against osteoporosis and heart disease as a trans man.”

Sophia, she/they, genderfluid, 27 years old

“My period has always been something that is fundamentally in opposition to myself and my ability to live a full life. Between endometriosis, and the interaction with my adhd, I always felt like my life had to stop when my period came. Doctors told me it was normal and so every month I struggled through pain, anxiety and a looming sense of dread for a full week. After years of dreading that one week each month I decided to refocus on how to live in harmony with my periods – I looked into alternatives to pharmaceuticals like teas and heat pads. Now I can say that while it still tends to be the worst week of my month, I no longer am fighting against the experience – I hold space for myself and my reality and make sure to focus on gentleness and care during those days which has truly shifted my experience!”

Nikaela, she/her, queer, cis woman, 27 years old

“I got my first period at 12. My mom took me straight to the doctor and insisted on hormonal birth control. She said it would help with cramps and PMS—and, importantly, prevent teenage pregnancy, which was unacceptable to my second-wave feminist mom. We left the pharmacy with tampons, birth control, and a firm message: the world doesn’t care how bad your period is, so take a Tylenol and deal with it—privately. It was harsh, but I know she was trying to prepare me. She knew the world, and my four older brothers, wouldn’t be sympathetic.

For nearly 15 years, I took birth control religiously, controlling my cycle and symptoms. Recently, I stopped, curious how my body would feel without it. Turns out—my period is that bad. But now, my circumstances and ability to care for myself have changed. I’m learning to listen to my body, give myself more space, and respect how I feel—not just during my period, but all month long. I wouldn’t say I love my cycle, but I’m learning to respect it.”

Viko, she/her, lesbian, cis woman, 32 years old

“I come from a very patriarchal country, and growing up, society programmed me to see my menstrual cycle as something to hide and be ashamed of. Even in school, we were encouraged not to speak about it with our male counterparts. Because of this, I grew up despising my period—its smell, my blood—labeling them as “disgusting” and “dirty.”

However, when I came out as a lesbian, I embraced feminism even further and began having relationships with women who understood the struggle. This helped me destigmatize my period, be open about it, let go of my disgust, and explore new ways to manage my cycle. I started using a menstrual cup, and everything has been better since.

In a way, my love for women helped me love myself beyond the male gaze. It allowed me to embrace my period and be unapologetically loud about it.”

Ambre, they, queer (homoflexible), 26 years old

“I was lucky enough to grow up in a sex positive family and became aware of periods through my mom. I grew up knowing what they are and how it affected my mom. Even though, they were still a foreign concept to me i’d never experienced them as a trans-fem person. There was a time early in my transition where I truly wanted to have them, a lot of envy was flowing through. It shaped my early transition and expectations. I believed having them would make me more of a woman. A lot has changed since then !”

Cyd, he/they, queer trans masc, lesbian, 30 years old

“When I was younger I was always walking with arms crossed because I didn’t want people to be able to see my boobs. I was not able to be in bras in front of my best friends. I hated that my chest made a division between me and the boys. That they take away from me the same rights that the boys had. Each month, my period was a reminder of how much I hated my body and how much I was not seen as the person I could feel I was.
Each month was painful because I was forced to look at myself in a way that I did not like.
Since I have been taking testosterone, I need to inject myself every week. It’s something. But it’s something that make me feel good. Each week is a reminder of the luck I have to be able to love my body as it is now. Each week is a reminder that I’m allowed to feel good with how I look and how I feel. Since then, I could be naked in a crowd and feel proud, because my boobs do not have the same meaning. They are not making me someone that I don’t want to be. People are not looking at me with the same certitudes. My boobs do not have the same definition as before. They don’t make a woman of me, they make a proud trans masc person. While showing my body was full of shame before and gave me the urge to hide it at any cost, every time I show my boobs now I am full of pride and-nobody can take that from me.”

About the animators:

Drew Hallé (they/them) is a queer and transmasc photographer originally from Baie-Comeau. They specialize in concert photography and have worked for a variety of queer and trans artists worldwide. They are passionate about elevating queer voices and art as a means of activism and ensuring queer and trans folx are represented in their field. They are also completing their degree in management and marketing at Concordia University.

You can check their work on instagram @drewwhalle and on their website!

Hayley Newman-Petryshen (she/her) is a queer community activist who currently serves as the Co-Executive Director of Monthly Dignity-a grassroots community organization that aims to alleviate the causes and consequences of period poverty across Tiohtià:ke. She has worked to distribute hundreds of thousands of menstrual products to community organizations and collectives across Canada, including many organizations serving 2SLGBTQIA+ youth. She also recently led the development of a workshop on gender-diverse experiences of menstruation, delivered free to any organization in the community.