Training Bras to Hot Flashes: Judy Blume’s Timeless Wisdom on Faith and Growing Up

Growing up as a Muslim-Jewish girl in an interfaith family in the 1980s, I felt like an outsider in a world that didn’t see me. Then, I discovered Judy Blume’s Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. For the first time, I saw a character grappling with the same questions of faith and identity that consumed me. Margaret wasn’t just a fictional character; she was a lifeline.

This year, I turned 52. I’m part of a fiercely loyal tribe of Generation X women who revere Judy Blume as our literary goddess. The novel was our North Star, our unofficial guide to growing up. I devoured Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret like it was my bible, even though I wasn’t Christian. Unlike Our Bodies, Ourselves, which my liberal hippie mom casually left on the coffee table for me to discover, Margaret spoke directly to my 11-year-old self, helping me understand my body and my world from the inside out. She was a girl who dared to question God’s existence while stuffing her bra, and that was revolutionary.

Judy Blume published Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret in 1970, at a time when young adult literature was just beginning to address the real issues that preteens faced. Blume broke new ground by openly discussing topics like menstruation, puberty, and the confusion that often accompanies growing up. Her candid portrayal of these experiences was groundbreaking, and it struck a chord with countless young readers who saw themselves in Margaret Simon.

Margaret became my window into the emotional turmoil of adolescence, the turbulence of transitioning from elementary school to middle school, the awkwardness of a changing body, peer pressure, and the brutal world of popularity contests. But it wasn’t just the budding breasts or the demystification of menstruation that made me reread Blume’s words a million times. Margaret was the first character who mirrored my life, growing up in an interfaith home. Jewish characters were rare in the 80s, and Muslim ones were almost nonexistent. Margaret’s story — one of being raised by a Christian mother and Jewish father — was the closest I had to a guidebook for navigating my own disparate worlds.

Unlike Margaret’s parents, my parents were divorced, which meant I spent time in both religions, separately. Their divorce was rooted in their conflicting faiths, and I was often caught in the middle of their religious tug-of-war. My mother never openly pushed her beliefs on me; but I felt an internal pressure, a sense of responsibility to uphold my Jewish identity, especially given my family’s history with the Holocaust. My father was insistent that I had to be Muslim to avoid the horrors of hellfire. As a young girl, I feared the possibility of eternal damnation.

Margaret’s own struggles with faith echoed mine. She confided, “I just can’t seem to decide what religion I am. I know I’ve got a long time to decide, but what if I never find out? What am I supposed to tell my kids?” This captured my own anxieties. In the 70s and 80s, I was caught in the middle of the Arab-Israeli conflict, but no one around me understood what I was going through. Now, in 2024, I find myself once again in the middle of the same conflict, still feeling the tension of my dual identities. My father left before I began elementary school, so none of my friends ever met him. To them — most of whom had probably never even heard the word “Muslim” — I was simply Jewish. The books we read in school featured Christian characters who celebrated Christmas, went to church, and lived lives completely foreign to mine.

Margaret was the first character who truly resonated with me, not just because she was Jewish, but because she was balancing two identities. I felt like the Muslim-Jewish version of Margaret, stuck in the messy middle, belonging nowhere. Judy Blume understood my challenges in a way no one else had. She spoke directly to me, and that was her brilliance.

I was about the same age as Margaret when my mother took me to Mervyn’s to get my first training bra. I can still feel the soft cotton against my skin, the extra space in the cups. Not long after, I found myself in the bathroom, the door wide open, when I noticed blood in my underwear for the first time. I screamed for my mom, terrified. She rushed in, saw the blood, and calmly said, “You got your period, honey. You don’t need to be scared.” She handed me one of her sanitary napkins, and I awkwardly placed it in my underwear. That moment, so vivid in my memory, was echoed in Margaret’s experience, making me feel less alone in my journey through adolescence.

Fast forward to May 2023. I walked into a movie theater alone, clutching a small popcorn with light butter, to watch the film adaptation of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. Nearly forty years had passed since I first read the book. I’d been married, had two children, and was divorced. My ex-husband was Muslim, so our boys grew up with two religions, just like Margaret, and me. Because of my experience, I’d kept religion low-key in our home, allowing them to choose their paths, much like Margaret’s parents did for her. I had first read Margaret’s story on the precipice of getting my first period, and now, four decades later, I was watching her on the big screen as I was entering menopause. Once again, I was facing the unknown, wondering what changes lay ahead. Would I get hot flashes? What would happen to my body? The same anxieties I had at 11 were resurfacing at 50.

The film adaptation, directed by Kelly Fremon Craig, captured the essence of the book, bringing Margaret’s journey to life for a new generation. Watching it, I felt like a schoolgirl again, especially since I had my period that day and had mistakenly worn a white skort to the theater. Halfway through the movie, during a scene where Margaret is with her Jewish grandmother at synagogue, I felt a gush and hurried to the restroom. Sure enough, I had bled through my white bottoms, just like the good old days of my tween and teen years. Some lessons take a lifetime to learn.

Reflecting on the forty years between reading the book and watching the film, I’m in awe. Those years encapsulated my entire fertility journey. Judy Blume had been there at the beginning, and now she was with me again as I prepared to bid farewell to that phase of my life. Blume was always ahead of her time, speaking about interfaith issues before they were widely acknowledged. And now, as we confront the devastating conflicts between Jews and Muslims, her message is more relevant than ever.

Margaret has been my touchstone from puberty to menopause. Her story gave voice to my experience as a girl navigating puberty and the complexities of an interfaith identity. From first bras and periods to grappling with religious tensions, Margaret’s journey paralleled my own tumultuous path. Now, at 52, facing menopause, I find the book’s relevance undiminished. In a world still fractured by Jewish-Muslim conflicts, Blume’s work shatters the notion of fixed identities, revealing faith as a deeply personal journey and life as a continuous evolution. She empowers us to embrace our multifaceted selves, to question without fear, and to wield our diverse perspectives as instruments of change. Just as Margaret found her own way between Christianity and Judaism, I, too, stand proudly in my Jewish–Muslim identity, bridging worlds that others see as irreconcilable.

And now, dear Judy Blume, could you perhaps write a sequel? I think it’s time for Margaret Enters Menopause.