Sorry I'm Not Sorry: I'm In My Luteal Phase

I've been kicking back for the past couple of weeks, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

First there was vacation. Then a psilocybin facilitator retreat- which, yes, is its own kind of deep work, but also involves a lot of stillness. And then I came home and I wanted to paint. I wanted to rest and recharge. A recharge after the recharge. Ridiculous, right?

Except it's not.

I'm in my luteal phase. My body is literally signaling me to slow down, turn inward, get dreamy. I'm tired, I have brain fog, I'm loungy, I'm interested in my inner world more than my inbox right now. This is not a malfunction, it’s biology doing exactly what it's supposed to do.

And still (because I am a woman who has been swimming in the same productivity culture as everyone else) I experience guilt, and even whisper of shame when I'm not producing. That judgemental voice in my head that loops on, "what did you actually get done"?

The world was largely built around a 24-hour cycle. Work, rest, repeat. That rhythm maps pretty neatly onto the male hormonal experience. Women operate on a 28-day cycle, and for most of history- and, let's face it, most of our careers- we've been expected to perform like we don't. When's the last time you took a day off for menstrual cramps and boldly let your job know "I'm on my period and I am taking a sick day"? If you have, I applaud you. It's the one and only thing I wish I could go back and do during my corporate career.

The Four Phases Are Not a Suggestion

Our cycle isn't just about bleeding and not bleeding. It's a whole architecture of shifting hormones, energy, cognition, and creativity,  and each phase has something distinct to offer, if we actually work with it instead of against it.

Menstruation is the time to rest, reflect, and release. Not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. This is when the veil between what's working and what isn't becomes thin and clear. It's not a coincidence that many women have their most piercing insights during this time. It's also why I insist my daughter stay home on the first day of her period when she has cramps and bloating. Not because she's weak, but because she's in a powerful, inward phase that deserves to be honored and not gutted through in a plastic chair under fluorescent lights. If we started teaching girls this from the beginning, imagine who they'd grow into. (and, I do let the school know with certainty that's why she's staying home. With her permission, of course).

The follicular phase is the week or so after bleeding stops- is when estrogen begins to rise and everything starts to feel possible again. Energy returns, clarity sharpens, social appetite increases. This is the time to pitch, plan, start new projects, have the hard conversations you've been putting off. Your brain is literally more receptive to new information during this phase. I love this part of my cycle. It feels like a fresh start. I experience a glimmer of new ideas for my own artwork, I want to walk in the forest, everything seems brighter and more beautiful.

Ovulation is peak expression. Confidence, charisma, communication are all elevated. This is when many women feel most magnetic, most articulate, most creative in an outward and expansive way. Schedule the speaking gig here, film the video, lead the workshop. Your body is built for visibility in this window and you probably feel attractive and ready to take on the world.

The luteal phase, which where I am right now, is the long, winding descent before menstruation. Progesterone rises, then both hormones drop. The nervous system becomes more sensitized and the inner critic gets louder. And the call to slow down, nest, create quietly, go inward is wisdom encoded in biology. It’s a phase for deep work, editing, finishing, reflecting. The creativity here is introspective. It can also feel exhausting and the brain fog can take over. Just let yourself rest.

It's Time to Stop Accommodating and Start Demanding

We've spent decades learning to apologize for our cycles, hiding them, pushing through them, managing them into invisibility. Honestly, gaslighting ourselves that there's something wrong with us versus the expectations the world has of us. And I think it's time we stop just acknowledging our cycles and start demanding that the world make room for them.

That means workplaces that don't penalize women for working cyclically, schools that let a girl rest when her body is in revolt, calendars that are built around 28 days, not 24 hours. It means talking about this openly as basic biological literacy that half the population deserves to have normalized. NOT as TMI or some liability.

It’s really not radical at all. It’s just overdue.

My Body Was Never Working Against Me

For most of my life, I thought my body was the problem. The unpredictability, the bloating, and the discomfort (periods have always been so painful for me). The days where I couldn't think straight or couldn't stop feeling everything at once- I thought I was failing some standard of consistency I was supposed to meet.

What I know now is that my body has been protecting me all along.

It was telling me when to push and when to rest. When to create and when to integrate. When to be seen and when to go underground. I just didn't have the language for it, and nobody had given me permission to listen.

Listening to my body has become a genuine game changer. Not just for my sense of wellbeing, but for the quality of everything I make and do. My creativity deepens when I work with my cycle, my memory is sharper when I'm not running on fumes from forcing myself through phases that were asking for something different. My energy is more available when I stop waging war on my own biology.

The word I keep reaching for isn't productivity. It's aliveness. I feel more alive, more effective, more creative, more like myself when I live in alignment with my cycle instead of in spite of it.

So no, I didn't get everything (or much of anything) done this week unless you include painting, resting, and self work. And I'm not sorry about it even if some small part of me is still learning not to be.

That’s the work, too.