At forty-two, my menstrual cycle changed. Not gradually. Not quietly. It became something I had to manage, anticipate, and plan my life around. My periods became heavy. The bleeding was intense, and blood clots became a regular part of my experience. I never knew exactly what to expect, so I learned to prepare for the worst. I carried extra menstrual products everywhere. I thought about where the nearest bathroom was. I worried about sitting too long. I worried about standing up. I worried about bleeding through my clothes. I worried about being caught somewhere without enough protection. And slowly, something else changed. My wardrobe. I had always loved wearing colorful, vibrant clothes. But those colors began disappearing from my closet. I started choosing dark, dreary clothing not because I suddenly stopped loving color, but because I was afraid of what might happen if I bled through my clothes. Black became practical. Dark colors became protection. My clothing choices ...