Last month, I had a patient walk into my clinic with a sheepish smile and a small bottle of castor oil in hand. “Doctor, my stomach has stopped listening to me,” he confessed, like a betrayed lover. “Three days, no motion. I’ve tried bananas, I’ve tried hot water, and even this bottle of torture—nothing!”
I smiled, motioned for him to sit, and said, “Tell me, what else is stuck? In your mind?”
He blinked. “Mind?”
Yes, my friend. The gut and the mind—they speak in the same language: silence, resistance, and when finally provoked, explosions.
I’ve come to realise that constipation is rarely just about the bowel. It is often about the burdened brain, the unspoken truths, the held-back tears, and the dreams put on pause. It’s the emotional traffic jam that backs up to the colon.
You see, constipation is like a metaphor for modern life. We’re constantly inputting—news, emails, WhatsApp forwards, reels, gossip, stress—but we rarely take time to digest, assimilate, and most importantly, eliminate. Just like your inbox, your intestines need an ‘empty’ button too.
I once had a patient—let’s call her Shalini. She was a 48-year-old woman who worked as a bank manager and was impeccably dressed. “Doctor,” she said, “I haven’t had a good bowel movement in weeks. Everything feels… stuck. I feel stuck.”
We spoke for half an hour. She hadn’t taken a holiday in years. She hadn’t cried in years. She hadn’t yelled, danced, doodled, or even sighed deeply in years. She was constipated in every possible sense.
I gave her no laxatives. Instead, I gave her a homework assignment.
1. Eat a spoonful of ghee at night.
2. Sit quietly for 10 minutes every morning and write one page—whatever comes to mind.
3. Do 20 deep belly breaths.
She returned two weeks later. “Doctor, I’m pooping every day and writing two pages now. I’ve started sketching again. I think it was all in my head!”
Exactly. The colon is the diary where your brain writes what it doesn’t say aloud.
The gut and brain are connected through the vagus nerve—a busy two-way street that carries both emotional and digestive signals with equal efficiency. That’s why a nervous interview gives you the runs and a heartbreak gives you acidity. Your colon is not just a pipe; it’s a partner in your emotional well-being.
There is an Ayurvedic concept called Apana Vayu. It governs the downward and outward flow—stool, urine, menses, even childbirth. But Apana also governs mental elimination—the capacity to let go of guilt, fear, old regrets. When Apana is blocked, neither your mind nor your bowels can release.
A typical patient in my clinic is the overthinker. “Doctor, I plan everything. I even plan my dreams.” These are usually people who delay decisions, suppress emotions, and linger over every conversation long after it’s over. Their bowels follow suit—delayed, withheld, resistant.
One young techie told me, “I go to the toilet at 7 am every day, like a robot. But I sit for 20 minutes with nothing happening. My wife thinks I’m meditating.”
I asked him, “Are you carrying yesterday’s code bugs in your head?”
He laughed. “Every day, doctor.”
I prescribed him triphala, warm water with lemon, and a breathing exercise called Anulom Vilom. A month later, he returned and said, “Now I leave my bugs in the office and my motions happen before the coffee finishes brewing.”
There’s a beautiful simplicity in Ayurveda: digestion is not only about food. It is about processing life—emotionally, mentally, spiritually. We digest relationships. We digest grief. We digest trauma. And yes, we even digest boredom.
I had a retired schoolteacher once tell me, “Doctor, after retirement, I stopped passing stool regularly. My routine went away. I miss the noise of children, the chalk dust, the complaints to the principal.” Her body was holding onto the past like a Memento.
I told her, “Start writing letters to your old students. And drink warm jeera water.”
She came back with a stack of handwritten letters and a smile that said, “Everything is flowing again.”
What’s the cure for a constipated mind?
Start by breathing. Shallow breaths lead to a shallow life. Deep breathing massages your intestines, awakens your parasympathetic nervous system (your rest-and-digest mode), and gives your overworked brain a break.
Eat real food. Your gut flora are like roommates—treat them well, and they’ll keep your house clean. Feed them fibre, fruits, fermented foods, and seasonal vegetables. Avoid dead, stale, processed packets that promise convenience but deliver discomfort.
And write. There is something profoundly cathartic about putting pen to paper. It’s a private therapy session where the therapist is your hand. Write about what made you angry, what made you laugh, and what you wish you’d said. You’ll be surprised at how many emotional bricks your bowels are tired of carrying.
Even crying is a form of detox. I once told a man, “You need to cry, boss.”
He said, “Doctor, I haven’t cried since my mother died.”
I said, “Maybe your colon is still grieving with you.”
The following week, he came back red-eyed and smiling. “I watched Taare Zameen Par and cried like a baby. That night, I had the best motion in months!”
Let me tell you—no fancy detox retreat or imported probiotic capsule can replace the relief of an honest cry, a real laugh, and a fearless poop.
If you find yourself feeling heavy, slow, bloated—not just in your body but in your mind—pause and ask, “What am I holding on to?”
Have you postponed a decision for too long? Have you stopped sharing your thoughts with friends? Are you living in a cluttered mental inbox full of drafts, unsent letters, and unexpressed emotions?
Your bowel is trying to tell you something.
Listen.
If you want a healthy gut, don’t just fix your food—fix your feelings.
Write. Breathe. Forgive. Cry. Laugh. Let go.
And then—go.
That’s the real journey to freedom: from the head… to the heart… to the toilet.
Let your motions be daily, and your emotions be honest.
Let it go, and life begins to move again.
