flailing about

I catch myself sighing as I put my socks on because it’s just too much effort. Like wading through syrup, every action feels the drag of self-doubt, purposelessness… a heavy emptiness that aches. A scream of frustration and a sob of despair snigger together just beneath the surface, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting husbands. My being buzzes with their eagerness but I restrain them because they guard something else. A vast abyss where something enormous lurks. Or perhaps the lurker is the abyss itself? A vacuum that, without its temperamental sentinels, would let everything in. That feels dangerous.

This morning, my 20-minute train ride felt like an emotional rollercoaster. As the sliding doors opened, I noticed some people going out of their way to avoid the carriage closest to me. I smelt the alcohol and saw the woman asleep in her seat. She didn’t look homeless. Her hair was exaggeratedly disheveled, and her ankles were painfully grazed. Concern caught in my throat, and I hurtled down my first stomach-wrenching dip. At the bottom, I found memories (or lack of memory) of humiliatingly out-of-control drunken nights in my wobbly youth. I wished her well, passed by, and took my seat. I was slowly cranked upwards as I watched a wiry old man in an adorable hand-knitted jumper work his jaw as he painstakingly worded his message. His smile broke like a wave when the reply arrived, and I crested with it. It looked like the kind of joy that celebrates the joy of others. What the Buddha called ‘Mudita’. I wondered if I could ever capture that feeling in paint and felt immense gratitude and fondness for humanity. A sudden descent as I watched a lady fretfully applying layer after layer of mascara, triggering a little explosion of sadnesses for girls and women who attach so much importance to appearance that they forget to be curious about the world. My 17-year-old niece in Colombia, another 9-year-old ‘TikToker’ niece. My 17-year-old self who thought that interesting haircuts made her interesting. I reached another small peak as she put her headphones in, and her feeling of contentment and peace reached out from her features to lift my own mood. Whoosh! A vertical drop as a homeless person walked by with his begging cup. The lady opposite me moved away from the aisle so he wouldn’t brush her as he passed. The weight of my disappointment carried me down down down. I hit rock bottom as I saw the expression on the man’s face. Most homeless people on the trains tell a story to gain their audience’s sympathy. This guy’s disillusionment looked so complete that he wouldn’t even waste one word.

This is what PMS feels like for me. Of course I experience minor peaks and troughs all the time, but it feels a lot more bumpy at this point in my cycle. I was conditioned to see this as either something to ignore or a problem that needs to be eradicated. These narratives have not been helpful. More than anything, they have produced feelings of guilt and shame that exacerbate my ‘symptoms’. I feel angry with myself for not being able to ‘function’ in this state of vulnerable openness.

But what seems more broken? Is it a heart that is wide open to the suffering and joy of others? Or is it a system that demands that we ignore those feelings to be an acceptable part of it?

This question prompted me to do some research into the possible evolutionary purpose of PMS. I read this online article and was surprised by my angry reactions to it. I lost interest in the subject matter because of the implicit narrative that is (probably unconsciously) communicated. I have included a few quotes below that particularly triggered me.

‘Premenstrual syndrome (PMS) affects up to 80% of women, often leading to significant personal, social and economic costs.’

‘Under this view, the prevalence of PMS might result from genes and behaviours that are adaptive in some societies, but are potentially less appropriate in modern cultures. Understanding this evolutionary mismatch might help depathologize PMS, and suggests solutions, including the choice to use cycle-stopping contraception.’

‘The frequency of menstruation in modern humans may be maladaptive. This situation most probably arises because patterns of reproductive cycling in modern cultures are evolutionarily recent, but we still carry the genetic toolbox of our hunter-gatherer and agricultural ancestors. There is a solution to this dilemma, suggested many times in the literature. The adoption of cycle-stopping contraception would mimic our ancestral state (Strassmann 1999a,b,c; Thomas and Ellertson 2000). It would have the additional benefits of ameliorating the symptoms of PMDD (Halbreich et al. 2003) and lowering the incidence of some reproductive cancers (Schindler 2013).‘

All quotes from Gillings, M. R. (2014). Were there evolutionary advantages to premenstrual syndrome? Evolutionary Applications, 7(8), 897. https://doi.org/10.1111/eva.12190

As a privileged anti-capitalist who has a habit of ‘blaming the system’, I was particularly triggered by the assumption that it is menstruating bodies that need to change to accommodate modern values rather than the other way around. For an article that claims to want to ‘depathologise’ PMS, it leans heavily towards a medical treatment that not only eradicates PMS but the entire menstrual cycle. Language such as ‘inappropriate’ and ‘evolutionary mismatch’ also imply that it is an inconvenient problem rather than a life giving natural process. For me, this encompasses the dominant narrative around PMS and menstruation. It is of vital importance to maintain the system of separation and control over nature so let’s make menstruating women feel ok about stopping their natural cycles completely.

The following questions arose for me:

• Would the ‘costs’ of PMS be so high in a system that does not prioritise productivity and monetary value over all else?
• Are the more severe experiences of PMS really a ‘mismatch’ or could they be a ‘response’ to our evolutionary moment? Perhaps a resistance to a society that is diverging from nature?
• Should we really try to deceive our bodies into imitating living as hunter-gatherers?
• Could we instead listen to them as intelligent parts of the eco-system that sustains us?
• Perhaps more rest and respect for natural cycles are behaviours that would lead us towards less destructive individual and collective habits?

It also led me to wonder if perhaps I could shift my own conditioned narrative away from this rejection of nature? Towards a narrative that could help me through this emotional time every month. One that is more in line with my values…more beautiful and useful to me…

I always liked the idea of ‘the red tent’. This was a space in which menstruating women could gather together. It apparently existed in many ancient cultures in different ways. The one that I first heard about originated in the first nations of North America so I decided to see if I could find out more. During my search I stumbled across this interview with Ecko Aleck, who is descended from the Nlaka’pamux first Nation of Canada. Listening to her speak about the rituals and traditions of her culture was quite emotional. It felt like a sort of grief or yearning for something that I have never had.

This is part of a series of interviews conducted by Madeleine Shaw for periodaisle.com titled ‘Re-indigenizing Menstrual Health’.

3.23 ‘Prior to colonization, we didn’t often feel shame and guilt. It wasn’t a part of the ways that we lived. There were teachings and protocols for everything. Every stage of our life that we would go through, every cycle that we would move through…there was someone to guide us and teach us so that we were never in a state of being confused or left behind…’

4: 36 ‘Our cycle is a very very powerful time. From my teachings, this was a time when our women were nurtured, they were cared for. They did not have responsibilities within community, they were able to sit in ceremony, by themselves or with other women who were also on their moon time. They were fed. They did not have to feed their families because everyone else within the collective community would step in and take over that role during that time so that they could look after themselves.

5:14 ‘I have been taught that this time, our moon time, is when we are our most powerful. Which is why we have to work extra hard to protect ourselves.’

5:45 ‘It was meant to be a time where we return ourselves to the earth. We connect to the earth.’

7:08 ‘It’s also a time to protect others… we can also hurt others when we aren’t aware of our power.’

13:14 ‘The greatest challenge with this is, in the olden days, we had a community around us right? Who would step in, who would support us during this time. It was an understanding on a village level.’

26:47 ‘As life-givers, our bodies are the portal to the spirit world. And that moon time is a part of that process. It’s a huge honour.

I would have loved to have grown up with the conviction that during menstruation, I am spiritually powerful. That I deserve to rest and be taken care of and to be free of guilt and shame. I would love our society to have evolved to allow this level of connection to nature and respect for the female cycle. I would love for my whole community to understand that I need rest every month, without being told. Unfortunately, this is not my background and I cannot superimpose a new cultural identity onto my existing context. It would feel unauthentic and probably increase feelings of guilt and shame around my conditioning of separation and capitalism. However, what I can do is be guided by what I yearn for.

These will be my guiding questions as I consider my next steps:

• How can I shape a narrative around my PMS that can support the type of change that I would like to see?
• Can I make an effort to be extra present in this time in a way that is accessible to me? To embrace my connection to wider nature and perhaps recognise which emotions are a direct result of conditioned values imposed by a system that no longer serves me?
• Can I use this knowledge to join the movement towards a type of feminism that doesn’t demand women to act like men but that allows menstruaters to listen to and respect their bodies?
• How can I build a context in which it is easier to live a narrative that serves me rather than perpetuating a narrative of colonization?

Some immediate actions that I can take:

• Set a reminder 10 days before my period starts so I can take time to reflect, write, meditate and listen to my body.
• Search for a ‘red tent’ group or something similar in Hamburg so that I can feel supported and build community around this new awareness.
• Keep writing from the middle of the mess so I can maintain awareness of the bigger picture.

I will report back soon!

Caveat: This is a hugely complex topic that could encompass many themes such as reproductive choice and women’s (relatively recently won) right to work. Both of these issues are important to me but I have not explored them here because I would end up writing a book. I would also like to make clear that I know some menstruating women have very different and much more difficult experiences of PMS. As always, I write from my specific intersection of conditioning, culture and privilege. I do not suggest that others should adopt my ideas.