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‘That’s not living, it’s surviving’: When period pain takes a quarter of a woman’s life
Doctors warn that chronic period pain is often a symptom of underlying conditions such as endometriosis and adenomyosis. Normalising suffering, they say, delays diagnosis, worsens outcomes and costs women their health and livelihoods.
What you need to know:
- For women like Emilia Nanjala* and Whitney Njeri*, menstruation is not a monthly inconvenience but a recurring medical crisis. Severe pain, heavy bleeding and disbelief from employers and society have shaped their lives for years.
- Nairobi County’s decision to grant women two paid days off during their periods has sparked hope among those living with debilitating menstrual pain—offering recognition, rest and dignity where there was once silence.
- Normalising suffering delays diagnosis, worsens outcomes and costs women their health and livelihoods.
Every month, for nearly a quarter of her life, Emilia Nanjala* exists in agony. The pain begins deep in her pelvis, then spreads into a backache so severe that sitting, sleeping, or even the simplest movement becomes impossible. For years, she believed this was simply what being a woman meant. She was wrong.
Emilia was 23 when her periods shifted from uncomfortable to unbearable. The cramping grew so intense that she began making monthly trips to the hospital for pain injections just to get through the week.
“The pain completely takes over my body,” she explains. “My menstrual bleeding can last seven to 10 days, with the first four being the worst. During those days, the flow is extremely heavy. I have to use both a tampon and a pad at the same time, and even then, I can't keep them on for more than 30 minutes before needing to change.”
The pain starts a day or two before her period and persists for about four days—constant, exhausting, and draining. “I deal with severe pain every month. That's a quarter of my life spent in agony. That's not living—it's surviving. Painkillers don't work anymore,” she says.
Work days during her period are a blur of distraction and endurance. Functioning feels impossible. “Many people assume you're pretending or exaggerating. Imagine having to explain to your boss every month why you can't come in because of cramps. That kind of doubt is exhausting in itself.”
Finding a job that allows her to work remotely has been a lifeline. But socially, the condition has pushed her into isolation. She has cancelled plans so many times that some friends have stopped inviting her altogether. “Some months are manageable, while others are completely debilitating. There's no way to plan for that,” she says.
In 2022, after years of suffering, Emilia was finally diagnosed with adenomyosis. She has since undergone two surgeries and now uses Mirena, a hormonal IUD, to suppress the condition. While the device helps medically, the hormonal side effects have been frustrating.
Before the diagnosis, she managed the pain through a combination of strong painkillers, injections, hot water bottles, rest, and careful planning around her menstrual cycle. Even then, relief was often limited. Some months, nothing works. Her employer has been supportive, particularly her line manager, who has daughters facing the same struggles.
For years, she believed she simply had a low pain tolerance—that she was being dramatic. What changed her mind was a conversation with a friend. “It took years—years—of suffering before I began questioning whether what I was experiencing was normal. What finally pushed me to seek medical help was a conversation with a friend who casually mentioned that her periods were 'uncomfortable but manageable.' That moment was a shock. If she could function normally while I was often bedridden, then something was clearly different.”
Whitney Njeri's* story began even earlier. She was only 14, travelling from Mombasa with her father to start high school in Western Kenya, when she experienced her first period. In primary school, she had learnt that puberty would bring menstruation. She had watched other girls go through it. But when it happened to her, she did not recognise it.
“When I started, I didn't know what was happening to my body. I remember telling my dad that I had a weird stomach ache because the pain was in my abdomen,” she recalls. “It was intense.”
Her father bought her medicine to ease the discomfort—mostly diarrhoeal drugs. It was only when she went to relieve herself that she realised what was happening. That was the beginning of pain that has never stopped. “I survive on medicine when my periods start,” she says.
Whitney describes the sensation as feeling like someone is forcefully detaching parts of her abdomen. Her period lasts five days, but the pain begins three days before it even starts. “It makes you less functional. It's unbearable. I sometimes try hacks like using a hot water bottle, but that doesn't work for me. I take very strong painkillers.”
When the pain becomes too much, she takes time off work—usually just a day. The rest of the time, she pushes through on medication. Both Whitney and Emilia felt a sense of vindication when the Nairobi County government announced a new policy guaranteeing women employees two paid days off each month if they are on their periods.
For Emilia, such recognition from all employers would be transformative. “It would allow me to care for my health properly, instead of forcing myself to function through intense pain just to meet expectations,” she says. “It would remove the constant anxiety of choosing between my body and my responsibilities. I wouldn't have to push through meetings, deadlines, or social expectations while barely able to sit or think clearly. Knowing that rest was officially recognised would reduce both physical and emotional stress.”
More than anything, she says, it would mean being believed.
Dr Joseph Njagi, a consultant gynaecologist and laparoscopic surgeon, was at the operating table when he heard about the Nairobi County policy. “I was elated. You should have seen me,” he tells Nation.Africa.
Dr Njagi explains that dysmenorrhea—chronic period pain that persists and often worsens—is different from ordinary cramping. Cramping occurs when uterine muscles contract, causing discomfort that most people can push through without major disruption. Dysmenorrhea, however, is debilitating, often leading to dependence on painkillers.
“This is common among women who have endometriosis, and data shows that 80 per cent of women with dysmenorrhea are likely to have endometriosis,” he says. “Dysmenorrhea is a symptom; it's not a diagnosis on its own. That pain means there is inflammation or tissue injury happening. It's the body communicating that something is not right.”
The problem, he explains, is that menstrual health has long been shrouded in taboo. Only the patient truly understands her pain—and too often, she is not believed. “Women are told, 'If you cannot withstand the pain of your menses, how can you withstand the pain of giving birth?' We end up normalising the pain, and that has been the problem.”
Data indicates that one in every 10 women is affected by endometriosis, but Dr Njagi notes that most of this research is Western. Gathering local data remains a challenge because women continue to be gaslit. “I hear most women saying that they lost their job because their boss just couldn't understand,” he says.
He applauds the directive from City Hall, calling it “the right direction,” and identifies three conditions he believes have been neglected: endometriosis, heavy menstrual bleeding, and post-menopausal symptoms. “I have seen that pain first-hand through my patients. This is just the beginning, and more needs to come. We need to improve our diagnostics. We need to empower women. We need to create awareness.”
*Names changed to protect identity.
