Damiana Plant Profile

Mar 11

Latin name: Turnera diffusa
Also known as Mexican damiana, Mexican holly, oreganillo
Local to Mexico, Caribbean, and the Northern American Southwest

Parts used: aerial parts
Actions: circulatory stimulant, diffusive, dispersive, diaphoretic, nervous trophorestorative, diuretic, emmenagogue, antiseptic
Affinities: nervous systems, especially cardiovascular; pelvic region

Taste: pungent, aromatic, bitter
Energetics: warming, tonifying, drying

Preparations: hot tea infusion, wine infusion, tincture, oil, salve, soak, bath, smoking blend, incense, sexual lubricant

Cautions: safe for all, though may want to use gingerly if working through trauma (see below)

Reflection

Last year, I saw a physical therapist for a tailbone injury. I’d put off getting help with it for months until the pain made me take care of myself. Sitting didn’t feel good. Laying down didn’t feel good. Standing didn’t feel good. Moving between these positions felt awful. So I made an appointment.

When I went to my first physical therapy session, the therapist told me my pain was no longer because of my tailbone, which had healed. What?

Instead, muscles near the tailbone were the culprits. They were very kind culprits actually — they had created a tight shield to keep the tailbone steady and protected while it healed. It was a good idea at first but now that the tailbone was in a better state, those muscles no longer needed to clamp down. We needed to coax those muscles into a more relaxed, flexible state and let them know it was okay to let go now.

Already, this is a perfect metaphor for emotional trauma. We experience a pain and the body, thankfully, goes into protection mode. But over time the protection mode becomes the problem and we have to teach ourselves we are (if we are) safe again. How do we do this?

The metaphor continues. My physical therapist didn’t approach my pain directly. She could tell that would be too much. She worked on tissue nearby, gently and slowly. It’s not as if the bracing I was doing around my tailbone was the only part of my body impacted by this injury or by the subsequent tension. She could work around the edges.

She was also intent on empowering me and reconnecting me to this part of my body. She taught me exercises that helped me get more comfortable with any sensation in the area again. She helped me see that it wasn’t just the muscles involuntarily staying in this tense place — I was emotionally tense about my injury too. I was afraid of the pain, worried that any touch would make the problem worse. I had even adjusted my posture without realizing it as a way to avoid putting a lot of weight on my tailbone.

On my last day of therapy, the therapist was able to massage just about anywhere without any pain. She asked me if I wanted to know how lightly she was touching me the first few weeks, so we could compare. I couldn’t believe it. Her touch was light as a feather. When I first started, that sensation alone — barely grazing me — my body had read it as a threat and tightened further, causing me more pain. But after working in a sustained way with her, I could tell it was a feather. I felt the sensation rather than the panic. My boundaries were softer and my nerves seemed more curious than protective.

Damiana is a lot like my wonderful physical therapist, whether it’s a physical or psychological injury, or, as it is in most cases, both. Yes, damiana is fantastic at getting blood moving in the pelvis; it can help with a stagnant period; it can heal wounds if the issue is that not enough nourishing blood is getting to the area; it’s a reliable carminative and tasty bitter — I don’t mean to hand wave any of those actions. But to me, damiana’s gift is as this supportive, warming, gentle guide that brings you back in touch with yourself — your body, your sensations, your vital force, your very aliveness — after you’ve gone into deep-freeze to protect yourself (thank you, body) but the source of the pain has long since passed.

When I was going through physical therapy, I actually said aloud to my body, “Thank you, body,” and patted myself, “you did a very good job protecting us, but I think we are safe now.” It felt silly but the gratitude I felt was real. Damiana helps us feel that safety and turns up the dial on our senses. Damiana helps us live at the very edges of our skin. For me, this experience may be more exaggerated than for others because I run so cold and my circulation is sluggish, so damiana really brings me to my periphery.

When you are feeling as if you are somewhere other than in your body, that you’re not really here in the present, damiana can be a beautiful friend. However, here I’d like to quote one of my teachers Rebecca Altman. She writes a important disclaimer about damiana:

This isn’t always what a person wants after trauma — one of the reasons we withdraw from ourselves is so that we cannot feel: with feeling comes pain, often deep, searing, soul-level pain. Alongside that often comes pleasure. Sometimes experiencing pleasure can be worse than experiencing pain. It’s not anyone else’s place to say whether a person needs this or not, so please never force this on someone. It is not our jobs to tell anyone else when or how to process their lives.

Damiana is gentle and works at the edges, but because it does make you more aware of your body it may not be the herb to turn to right after trauma or when things are very fresh. Please proceed with care. I’ve known people who felt strong resistance and agitation when working with damiana. I also know someone who really enjoys it but doesn’t work with damiana before bed because she find it makes her too aware of her body to sleep. Every little sensation demands too much of her attention: the texture of her sheets, the sound of a clock ticking, the feeling of tension in her neck, and so on. She saves it for the mornings or just before creative work.

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In my online research, I found so many posts about damiana riddled with goofy promises of libidos skyrocketing and sex lives changing overnight. Maybe all herbal aphrodisiacs are fated to star in these types of blogs.

Instead, I like jim mcdonald’s framing for thinking about herbal aphrodisiacs. He says an herbal aphrodisiac “encourages greater sensation, presence, and enjoyment of sexuality.” He goes onto say he likes this definition because “it doesn’t even need to involve another person, it’s about your relationship with yourself.” If you need to turn off your work brain and tune into your body, damiana might be an aphrodisiac for you. If you feel sluggish and can’t find the energy, then even though damiana is not a zippy stimulant, it does have this awakening, exhilarant action — and it may be an aphrodisiac for you. If you are too stressed out to think about pleasure, then damiana might be an aphrodisiac for you. If you run so cold and tense that your edges tend to lose their feeling and go numb, damiana might be an aphrodisiac for you.

If we took jim’s definition and made it even more inclusive, we could swap out “enjoyment of sexuality” for “enjoyment of sensuality,” and that might describe damiana even better. Damiana can unlock all sorts of creativity and play.