Sepia has been called the Washerwoman's Remedy, and not without cause. Let's reproduce here the description of this wife/mother with whom we can all feel a connection, as mothers of many children:
(Source: British Homeopathic Society)
Picture her - the sallow, tired mother of a big family, on "washing day".
She is perspiring profusely: pouring under the arms. She cannot be shut in because of the heat and the stuffness which make her feel faint - yet the cold wind that rushes in at the open door is almost unbearable.
Her back aches fearfully. She wants to press it - to support it. She feels she MUST sit down, or cross her leg, as her whole inside seems to be dragging down, and coming out of her. She simply must sit down to keep it in.
The worry of the children is more than she can bear. Her Chamomilla baby wants to be picked up and carried, and wails and screams. The quarrels of the penultimate babies engaged in scratching out each other's eyes, are more than she can bear. And when her six-year-old starts drumming with a spoon on a tin pot, she cannot stand it no more. She snatches the tin pot and hurls it away and smacks her small son; which does not improve matters. He howls dismally, and she does not care.
Oh! How she wants to run away and leave it all, and have a little peace!
Her head aches. The pain is left-side today: last time it was on the right side, as she remembers dully.
She is so nervous and jumpy; she has to hold on to the edge of the wash-tub to prevent herself from screaming. If she could go away from everybody and everything, and lie down, alone, in the dark, and close her eyes!
Her husband comes in: she has no smile to greet his. Nothing but dull indifference, and weariness and suffering. He must leave her alone. She has her work to do.
Ptosis- ptosis everywhere. Veins - piles, all stagnant and dragging her down. Even her eyelids are too heavy to hold up.
If she could only lie down and close them! She knows even ten minutes sleep would make her a new woman!- but there are the soapsuds, the steam, the stuffiness, the terrors of her restless children, with their noise and fidgeting. Sleep is not for her.
Her little Pulsatilla maid creeps up. "Can I help you Mummy?" but she pushes her off. And the little maid creeps away, weeping, and mummy feels that she's indifferent to her tears.
The dinner is cooking - and the smell of the cooking makes her feel deadly sick. The children are hungry and her husband waits for his dinner. She is indifferent. Let them wait. She's irritable, indifferent, apathetic.
He looks at her sadly. Her dull face has lost its contour - its blooming, pleasing lines. Brawny bands or blotches are on forehead and saddle wise across nose and cheekbones.
She was a bright and bonny girl when he married her - now she's SEPIA.
Give her her drug, and he will come and bless you for giving him the wife he chose and loved. (This has actually happened: for out of ten, one sometimes returns to give thanks!)
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