My Colon Has Been Tracking the Moon

For years now, I have been tracking my bodily functions like a deeply unstable forest witch with Wi Fi. Not casually either. I mean apps, charts, patterns, historical data, the kind of commitment that makes you pause midlife and realize: I have enough poop analytics to brief a small medical conference.

And honestly? The app works.

At this point, my intestines have become less of an organ and more of an emotionally unstable weather service. I can tell how I’m going to feel emotionally based on how I’m pooping. That sentence alone should qualify me for either a wellness retreat or a psychiatric evaluation.

But it’s true.

If things suddenly go sideways physically, I already know there’s a strong chance my nervous system is about to start acting like a raccoon trapped in a dumpster. My body gives warnings. Not cute little wellness warnings either. No gentle whisper from the universe. No peaceful mindfulness bell. My colon bursts through the door like a medieval town crier screaming: PREPARE YOURSELF, WOMAN.

After years of tracking inflammation, stress, sleep, emotions, energy, digestive issues, pain, and hormonal shifts, I started noticing something deeply irritating. The patterns lined up with the moon cycle.

I KNOW.

Trust me, nobody was more annoyed than I was to discover my body apparently operates like a haunted tide chart. But the longer I tracked things, the harder it became to ignore, especially leading up to the full moon. That’s when everything gets louder. My nervous system gets twitchy. My patience evaporates. My emotions become suspicious. My body feels inflamed. And my intestines start behaving like they’re personally offended by modern society.

Then the full moon arrives and suddenly I’m standing in my kitchen three days later acting completely normal again like:

Wow. That was dramatic. Anyway.

The funniest part is that I’m not even approaching this from some vague “moon magic” angle. I approached it like a tired woman with chronic health issues and enough digestive problems to accidentally become a part time data analyst.

Before my surgical menopause, my cycle felt deeply tied to the moon. Not just physically. Emotionally. The emotional waves leading into the full moon were intense, sometimes overwhelmingly so, especially with PMDD. But there was also something strangely grounding about knowing where I was in the cycle. I had rituals. Intentions. Releases. The new moon felt like starting over. The full moon felt like emotional truth serum.

Sometimes it was beautiful. Sometimes it was absolute psychological warfare.

Usually both.

But there was rhythm to it. Even in the chaos, there was this feeling that my body was moving through seasons instead of randomly betraying me. And honestly? There was power in that. I knew the hard days would eventually pass because the cycle always moved forward.

With PMDD, I knew the rhythm. I had my two good weeks and my two “absolutely do not make life altering decisions or join group chats” weeks. It was awful sometimes, but it was predictable awful. There was comfort in knowing: Okay. This is the part where everything feels emotionally cursed. Hang on. It will pass.

Back then I could practically schedule emotional collapse like a dentist appointment. There she is. The monthly descent into existential irritation. Right on time.

After surgery, things improved massively. PMDD loosened its grip on my life in ways I am incredibly grateful for. The emotional extremes softened. The highs and crashes became quieter.

But also… less clear.

The old map is gone.

And honestly, part of me wonders if the body remembers.

Because even though I’m not cycling the same way anymore, sometimes it still feels like my nervous system expects the wave to come. Like my body spent decades learning a rhythm and isn’t entirely convinced the song is over yet.

Maybe that sounds ridiculous. But people talk about muscle memory all the time. Trauma memory. Nervous system conditioning. So why wouldn’t the body remember cycles too? Why wouldn’t it remember years of emotional rises and releases, tension and relief, expansion and collapse?

Sometimes I think my body is still speaking the old language quietly in the background while I’m trying to learn the new one.

And honestly, my poop app has been weirdly helpful in figuring that out because now the signals are different.

The funniest part is that my poop tracking accidentally became one of the most accurate emotional forecasting systems I’ve ever used.

Before surgery, the patterns clustered heavily around the Full Moon emotionally. After surgery, things became more complicated. The emotional intensity softened, but my digestive system started reacting more during the waxing and waning phases instead.

Not necessarily ON the moon events themselves.

More like during the transitions.

Which somehow feels deeply menopause coded.

Like my body stopped screaming and started muttering ominously under its breath instead.

I started noticing that constipation patterns often clustered around the New Moon and Full Moon for me, while the waxing and waning phases felt more unstable and reactive. Less “stuck” and more shifting. More movement. More nervous system weirdness.

Apparently even my intestines experience transitional anxiety.

Now I’ll notice a few days where my digestion suddenly goes sideways and I’m like: Oh. Interesting. The moon is in some transitional nonsense again and my colon has decided we’re all suffering together.

And the strangest part is that my emotional state often follows right behind it. My gut flares first. Then my nervous system joins the group project.

At this point I’m basically using bowel movements as an emotional Farmer’s Almanac.

And look, I’m not saying the moon controls women. I’m saying humans are clearly cyclical creatures pretending to be machines.

Nature runs on rhythm.

The Pink Moon arrives and suddenly the forests begin waking up. Tiny buds appear on branches that looked dead two weeks earlier. Frogs start screaming from ponds like tiny drunk uncles. Birds migrate. Coral reefs synchronize spawning events with lunar cycles so precisely it looks choreographed.

Entire species move by tides, light, gravity, magnetic fields, and seasonal shifts humans barely notice anymore because most of us live under LED lighting arguing with customer service chatbots.

Even the ocean physically rises and falls with the moon.

But modern humans somehow decided we are supposed to exist completely separate from all of it. Perfectly stable. Perfectly productive. Exactly the same every Tuesday forever.

Meanwhile every creature around us is responding to rhythm. The bears know. The birds know. The coral reefs know.

But the second a woman says, “Hey, I think my body follows patterns too…” everyone suddenly becomes a skeptical scientist named Brad.

Okay, Brad.

Personally, I think women have been noticing these things forever. We just stopped talking openly about it because modern culture likes women predictable, productive, and disconnected from their own bodies.

But when you spend years dealing with chronic illness, inflammation, hormones, and nervous system chaos, you learn to observe yourself closely. You have to.

And maybe that’s why I trust observational women so much, especially the ones who have spent years trapped inside bodies that forced them to pay attention.

Because after all this tracking, I know something for sure:

My body is not random.
My emotions are not random.
My energy is not random.

And if my poop app suddenly starts looking concerning during some lunar transition phase, I’m not making major life decisions. I’m hydrating, lowering expectations, and avoiding unnecessary emotional conversations until further notice.