There is an unfortunate narrative about PMS that paints women as temporarily irrational, unreliable, and emotionally-driven. From an outside perspective, and without a clear understanding of its purpose, it can certainly seem this way. In my experience, the reasons for these changes are clear and not at all irrational.
I notice a clear correlation between suppressing my voice and experiencing a slow build-up of tension and irritation as I approach my moontime. I have experienced many times that if I resist the urges of my body and continue to swallow my words, I can actually prevent my blood from flowing, until I open my mouth and let the truth out.
I see PMS as a powerful holistic tool for discerning the truth, opening the throat chakra, and allowing energy to flow in preparation for moontime (sacral and root chakra opening, and arguably, an opening of all the chakras). The wisdom that settles in to those freshly-cleared spaces is like nothing else, and its available to childbearing-age women every single month.
My Ode to PMS:
Along the winding, spiraling path of Mother, Partner, Teacher, Sister, Friend
There is an ebb and flow that dances with the moon
And each month, the magma in my caldera churns up the feminine fire that lies dormant in my blood until the Moon is full
Then, my skin becomes hot and prickly
My tongue sharpens and my perfect aim battles with my soft heart, begging it to be gentle
The fresh heat in my blood draws up all that has become restless under the current of my awareness
It rises up my throat like hot steam
All the words swallowed, tongues bitten, suppressed emotions and undervalued opinions
Burn hotter and hotter until their steam burns an opening at the top of my throat and I must open my mouth and SPEAK
With firey truth, I speak all that has been unspoken
With the pressure released, like lifting the violently rattling lid off an overflowing stockpot
An atmospheric change whispers in through freshly opened windows
The spirit of the Medicine Woman asks to inhabit my body for these four days of release, and I bow to welcome her in
I realize that the uncomfortable electricity of my skin, the bloat of my belly, and the sore ache of my inner thighs and hips is present to plunge me into solitude
And so I lock the doors, prepare the tea, clear the space, and I sit
Tall spine, energy flowing
Womb throbbing, deep knowing
Writing like a river, I don’t know where my pen is going
I take my monthly seat in the High Priestess throne
Offering this mother a glimmer of the Wisdom that will flow when she gains the honored title of Crone