With my back straight, shoulders relaxed, and elbows resting on my desk, I intensely stare at my bright computer screen, with the words ‘Nothing can stop me’ written distinctly across my face. My fingers begin sliding across the keyboard like I am playing the piano, the repeating “click” sound echoing through my ears. The cursor in the browser aggressively blinks at me, impatiently waiting for me to type. It stops as soon as I write “How to start a nonprofit organization” and use my right pinky finger to press “return.”
I spend hours reviewing and searching through dozens of articles only to walk away from my computer more confused and frustrated than before. How am I going to receive funding? Who is going to help me? How do I spread the word? Hundreds of questions deluge my mind like a flash flood, as I have a conversation with my sister, eat my grandmother’s delicious home-cooked dinner, and complete pages and pages of homework. When I close my eyes, hoping to easily doze off after a long day, those same questions pop up in my mind. Not being able to exterminate them, I fall asleep with them lingering in my head like an old woman’s strong, pungent perfume. Unsurprisingly, I wake up with no answers.
After learning about period poverty at school, which is, in simple terms, not being able to access menstrual care products such as tampons, pads, and menstrual cups, I want to do something in my community to help. This urge to help others in my community is, however, not new for me. Ever since I could formulate sentences, I have wanted to do something meaningful; I have wanted to make a difference.
That weekend I decide to hand out flyers regarding my cause in an effort to collect donations. After about three hours giving out flyers around my neighborhood, I return home, my cheeks a bold shade of red with sweat dripping down the sides of my face. Once I grab a glass of ice-cold water and my favorite snack, a crunchy, sweet red apple with a side of creamy peanut butter, I open up my computer and wait patiently for emails that would notify me once anyone has donated to my GoFundMe page.
I never do receive a notification. Not even one.
Puzzled, I search for answers as to why I was not able to collect any donations. It is an important cause, people should care about it, and their donations would greatly help. Is that not enough?
After my failed endeavor, I decide to reach out to friends and family for donations. I persistently remind everyone until I have a total of $50 in my pink, monkey-print velcro wallet. With this money, I proudly walk into a nearby Dollar Tree like I am a famous actress striding on the red carpet. With a smile on my face, I exit the store with a bag full of exactly 50 boxes of pads and tampons.
A few days later, my mom and I drive to a homeless shelter nearby to drop off the pads and tampons. Then, just like that, I am out of donations. From this point on, I cannot think of a plan on how to receive more money. I know that I can not help a large number of menstruators solely from the donations of my family and friends.
Finally, I come up with a fantastic idea that will solve all of my problems: a donation box.
On Monday morning, I walk into school with not only a heavy backpack full of textbooks, folders, and supplies, but also a cardboard box that is bigger than me. I leave the box inside the main office building, a place where almost everyone would pass by. This, without doubt, is going to be successful; it has to be.
Every morning, before heading to my first class, I run inside the building, and peer over the giant box, hoping to find boxes of pads or tampons. For weeks, I excitedly sprint to the box only to leave the building feeling disappointed.
Then, one night, I jolt out of bed, an ingenious idea swirling around in my brain. I begin researching different menstrual care product companies. After creating a list of more than a dozen brands, I write to all of them a long, detailed email, explaining how I want to collect products to donate to impoverished menstruators in my community.
The first thing I do in the morning, before making my bed or brushing my teeth, is check my email. No new messages have been sent; no companies agreeing to help me. Throughout the next couple of days, I begin to receive emails, but not the ones I had hoped for.
Hi Sophene,
Thank you for reaching out. We are so impressed with the work you are doing. Unfortunately, we are not able to send you products at this time. Good luck!
Kindly,
The Impact Team
Similar messages of rejection appear over and over again in my inbox. All I want is one company to give me products. I wait and wait, but it never comes. Then, one morning, I receive an email expressing that one of the companies I had written to is going to be sending me products. Overjoyed and thrilled, I jump up and down like a young child.
After coming home from school one day, I find a large package on my doorstep with my name written on it. I race to my room and start opening up the box like it is a birthday present. Inside, are approximately 1,000 pads and tampons. That afternoon, I could not stop smiling.
As time went by, my initiative became more successful, receiving a large number of donations on a monthly basis. With 4,000 pads and tampons in the trunk of the car, my mom and I drive about thirty minutes away to a homeless shelter.
The exterior of the shelter is a faded, olive-green color, and is heavily decorated. A foot map with “WELCOME” written across it in bold, capitalized letters lies before me. The weather is sweltering hot, but despite the scorching heat, there is an array of flowers and bright colors outside.
A woman stands outside of the shelter, waving at us. Carrying the boxes of products, we walk to the woman and place the donations on the ground, right next to the front door.
“Hello, my name is Kathy. It’s so nice to meet you,” says the woman.
I respond by introducing myself and explaining what products I have brought. The woman looks me in my eyes, gently smiles, and says “thank you.”
She explains that, recently, the shelter stopped receiving period products from their former partners and that ever since then, the shelter has been having difficulty providing products to their clients. As she continues talking about how my donations are helping all of the women in the shelter, I cannot help but grin.
“Your donations are going to make a big difference here,” says the woman.
On the drive home, a thought hits, overwhelming me with a sense of purpose. I have done something; I have made a difference, and I will continue doing so.
