Stagnant

March 13, 2023

I haven’t had coffee in so long. It’s been weeks. The strength of caffeine is too intense for me while pregnant. But this morning, when I woke up early to drive my partner to the train, the smell of coffee was permeable and nostalgic. I needed a cup. So I made a weak re-pour over of his leftover grounds. It’s not … good, but I don’t need much, more of a taste of a memory to kick start my brain into writing, into trying to write.

I want to write more. So, naturally I want to read more. Ironically Naturally, I am a terrible disorganized reader. I don’t know why. I struggle to maintain a relationship with any book I’ve begun. I am currently reading or listening to at least five books. One is fiction, “Kindred” by Octavia Butler. Two are self-help / psycho-social books by Gabor Mate (“The Myth of Normal,” and “Scattered Minds”). One is a pregnancy herbal, by Aviva Romm. One is a critical feminist book titled “Vagina Obscura,” which is hella interesting but I haven’t made it past the first chapter. I’m the type who rents out books at the library and has to renew them for a few months at a time. You’d think I’d try one at a time, but that’s not as exciting. You’d also think I’d sit and read way more than I do considering how much time I spend sitting or laying around with the nausea and fatigue the last few months. But I don’t. I haven’t been.

In truth there’s also been a lot of low-level depression. Perhaps it is simply feeling sick that keeps me unmotivated. That’s fair, I suppose. Perhaps it is clinical or chemical — a more or less “natural” state of my being. Perhaps it is less in my head and more in my gut. I am constipated, often bloated well beyond my waistline. In herbalism, this is related to stagnation, which is most definitely a constitutional state I am familiar with. Stagnation is a stuckness-- often described as a boggy sensation, like the still waters of a swamp, unmoving, stale, perhaps even toxic. In herbalism, stagnation is definitely related to, or even causes depression. It can be empowering to accept that the state of my gut leads to the state of my brain and mental health, for that means it can be potentially reversed or remedied.

Stagnation is most definitely how I feel. It is the dominant perspective I have had and been having for months. I feel so boggy, stuck, mucky, a bit trapped, frustrated, irritated, and utterly unmotivated-- and I've definitley been constipated. And I absolutely must admit to myself that when I get more exercise and movement, when I force myself to do the self-care I know I need, I do feel better. I feel more lifted, more agile, more motivated and inspired. My mind begins to move through various thoughts and reflections (or defacto judgements) about where I’ve been and how I’ve been acting toward myself, my child, my partner, this life.

I am now seeing two herbalist friends. I am trying to implement a “hologram” as gleaned from the micro book of the same title wherein experts and non-experts alike come together to support a person holistically. I am awaiting their assessment, but ironically I feel as though I already know what they are going to say, and I know they’ll be right. Either way, I know that I need to move more. I need to go to the gym more often, walk at least 20 minutes a day, take my magnesium, and eat less cheese. The latter feels like a punishment since I am craving it almost more than anything else. Tricky candida cravings, no doubt. Truly, vegetables have never been so hard to consume. Cooking has never been so daunting. But as I enter week 10 of this pregnancy, I am hoping the unceasing fatigue and nausea reduces and that I start feeling more like myself — hopefully more like my motivated “follicular phase” self. Lord knows I’ve much to accomplish, and much I’d like to tend to.

I want to write. I just know that I need to. I wake up each night between 2 and 4 am — to pee, naturally. And 90% of the time I cannot go back to sleep right away, though I’ve been trying to train myself to do so. Mostly, though, my brain turns right on, like switching on a TV with loud volume in the middle of the night. I hear my thoughts clearly. Sometimes I am ticking off the things I need to do. But usually I am thinking of something to write… something I should be writing right then. Sometimes it is a reflection on parenting, and what I should do differently, or my health journey. Sometimes I am in a recording studio making a podcast with one or two other people, and I am funny. But mostly I cannot even remember what I come up with or had been thinking about by the next day. It eludes me once I go back to sleep and dream something fantastical.

So, I know that it’s trying to get out of me — whatever is in me that needs out. But I loathe the idea of turning on a screen, or even hand writing anything to transcribe later, in the middle of the night. That’s a habit that just seems counterproductive to my sleep health. Plus, it won’t be possible or helpful when the baby is here. Perhaps I can do a quick voice recording of what I am thinking about and write it later? Perhaps I should just lean into that for a few months and see what comes out?

Furthermore I don’t really know what I "should" be writing. This, for example, is a basic journal entry. I struggle to imagine any audience, or purpose, to my writing. Sure, there are a few educational things … my health journey, for example, and sharing more about PMDD and mental health. But that feels utterly daunting and even confusing. Where to start? Plus, I only had 2 cycles of awareness of PMDD before becoming pregnant. I am far from an expert. Then again, I’m always stopping myself, and I mean always, because I am not an expert. FUCK experts. Or at least, fuck perfectionism and being stuck (stagnant) creatively because I imagine I’m not good enough to do the work. This attitude is most definitely preventing me from being who I want to be, and from doing a better job at being an education facilitator with my kiddo (who is, by the way, a brilliant writer — truly, college level at fifth grade— and we would know since we have graded many a college student paper).

In the end I know this "stagnation" — a sense of futility, worthlessness, fear, and self-judgment — is what keeps me inert. I know that the immediate remedy is the simple act of motion. Walking. Moving. Stretching. Writing, even. Dancing. Singing. Showering. A routine of chores and self-care. Movement in any direction — upward, downward, around, forward, side to side. More fire; less earth+water. All the next steps to move ideas out of my head, off of paper, and into the world. Persistence and commitment to just doing the next (right) thing, and the next, and the next. Perhaps, eventually, finding a rhythm, but also not worrying about the end result, the sound of it all, the patterns, or the chaos... just to move.