Phytolacca decandra – on motherhood, exhaustion and recoveryAnyone who has ever seen a pokeweed bush in full bloom will not soon forget the sight. Deep green leaves frame long clusters of white-pink flowers, which slowly turn into glossy, purple-black berries. Phytolacca decandra, known in English as ‘pokeweed’, is an impressive sight – blooming profusely yet deeply toxic. Among the Cherokee and other indigenous peoples of North America, the plant was used medicinally: as an anti-inflammatory, for breast problems and swollen glands, but also for ‘internal poisoning’, as they called it – when the soul became entangled in unprocessed emotions. A purifying remedy, which also serves as a warning: do not give everything away.
Alex Leupen, homeopathic doctor in Utrecht That symbolism lives on in the homeopathic remedy Phytolacca decandra. It came to mind as I looked back on a case from my 35-year practice. June 1996: a young mother (32) enters my consulting room. Eleven months earlier, she had given birth to her first child. Her hoarse voice, dull gaze and weary body tell the same story: I can’t go on. For seven months she has been struggling with flu-like symptoms. A sore throat, a swollen tongue, swollen lymph nodes like small marbles in her neck. She has had pneumonia and was on the verge of an ear infection. Her body is exhausted, yet continues to send out signals.
Time and again, new infections; time and again, that feeling of failure. She barely sleeps – always on the alert for her baby – and is trapped in a lingering gloom. Work, motherhood, her partner, the household – it’s all too much. Her reserves have evaporated.
Guilt
What struck me most was her deep-seated sense of guilt. Guilt towards her daughter, because she sometimes feels too ill to care for her. Guilt towards her employer, who has ‘invested in her’. And guilt towards herself, because she feels she is falling short in every way. The energy she had has flowed in every direction – except towards herself. Her whole being was screaming for help, but in a whisper. Her medical history provided further clues. Chronic sinusitis. Regular white spots in her throat, often sore gums.
Symptoms even during pregnancy: bleeding, pain in the tailbone, tingling fingers.
The birth was difficult – a vacuum extraction – and the adrenaline that followed kept her awake for weeks. Breastfeeding was a struggle. She fed her baby for four months, but on several occasions she was at risk of mastitis. High fever, muscle pain, particularly in the lower back and upper legs. Her body was begging in every possible way for a break, rest, recovery. When I saw her sitting there like that – small, hunched over, with a face that was at once empty and overflowing – one remedy came to mind: Phytolacca decandra. Not only because of the physical complaints – the throat, the breasts, the glands – but above all because of the psychological and emotional pattern that spoke so clearly from her story.
Even her dreams Phytolacca is the archetype of the mother who loses herself in caring. Who systematically puts herself last, not because she doesn’t know what she needs, but because she believes her own needs don’t matter. She nurtures, cares for, organises, perseveres – until she can’t go on any longer. Just as the flower clusters of the pokeweed give away their nectar unreservedly to every insect that passes by, so she gives her energy to her baby, her partner, her work. And then, suddenly, the well runs dry. Even her dreams underscored this image. In one dream, a friend gives birth to a child without an arm – a powerful symbol of helplessness, of something missing, something incomplete. In another dream, she is falsely accused of adultery whilst visiting with her child. Both dreams revolved around motherhood, guilt, and betrayed trust – themes that resonate deeply with Phytolacca.
Surrender to the other
Jan Scholten’s description (see www.qjure.org) confirmed this picture. Phytolacca is a woman who ‘gives herself away’. She wants every child to receive equal love. She wants her work to be perfect, so that she can support the family financially. She also wants her partner to want for nothing. In this surrender to the other, her own boundaries disappear. She no longer senses when enough is enough. Physically, Phytolacca presents with sharp, stabbing pains, often on the right side. The throat is dark red, burning, with pain radiating to the ears. The tongue is coarse, swollen, sometimes with a yellow stripe down the middle. The breasts are tense, hard, painful, with swollen glands and fever. The symptoms are consistent with mastitis, glandular inflammation, throat infections and muscle pain. The body as a mirror of the inner conflict: I must care for others, even when I can no longer manage.
Course of treatment
What has always stayed with me is how quickly things turned around.
After taking Phytolacca 200K – a single dose – she felt slightly clearer after just a few days. The fever subsided, her throat cleared, her breasts softened. But more importantly: her gaze became more lively again. Space opened up. Space to rest. Space to ask for help. In the months that followed, she remained remarkably stable. And years later – I spoke to her again during a relapse – the same remedy worked once more.
DiscussionNot everyone is ‘a Phytolacca’. But many women – certainly young mothers – recognise themselves in this pattern. The desire to ‘do well’ is wonderful, but when it goes too far, it turns into self-denial. Then motherhood becomes a struggle, work an obligation, a partner’s love a burden. And then the body begins to protest.
Phytolacca is an invitation to these women – and sometimes to men too – to return to the core. To their own needs. To a healthy self-interest that is not selfishness, but a necessary foundation for loving care. Care must be able to flow. But if the source dries up, it naturally stops. The young mother from 1996 learnt that the hard way. But she found her way back, step by step. Not by giving less love, but by giving herself.