I have PTSD, which means I have a very personal interest in anything that might help my brain calm down long enough to let me sleep. Chamomile has helped me relax, and that is probably why I get a little more invested in a cup of tea than someone who simply enjoys a warm beverage before bed.
When sleep has been difficult for a long time, you start paying attention to the little things. What helps you feel comfortable. What makes the evening harder. Whether your brain is actually getting tired or has decided that now would be an excellent time to review every upsetting thing it has ever encountered.
Mine has some fairly strong opinions about that last one. I've done EMDR and CBT, and I know how much work recovery can take. My interest in natural remedies comes from wanting more ways to support myself through everyday life. Something small and manageable that might make an evening a little easier. I would love it if a flower could do all the heavy lifting, but unfortunately my nervous system has turned out to be a more complicated project than my herb garden.
Still, chamomile keeps my attention. Partly because I like it, partly because I like growing things, and partly because the idea that a tiny flower contains compounds scientists are studying for anxiety is exactly the sort of information that sends me down a research rabbit hole.
So what is actually happening in that cup? Is chamomile genuinely calming? And how much of the conversation about calming plants is supported by research, versus a very attractive label on a box of tea?
A Cup of Tea and a Clinical Trial Are Different Things
This is the distinction I wish appeared earlier in almost every article about herbs. When researchers study a plant, they often use a particular extract with a measured composition. They know what participants received, how often they received it, and how long the study lasted. Your tea depends on the flowers, how they were stored, how much you use, and how you brew them.
Those are related things, but they are not interchangeable. In a 2009 randomized trial, researchers assigned 57 people with mild to moderate generalized anxiety disorder to chamomile extract or placebo for eight weeks. The chamomile group had a greater reduction on the main anxiety rating scale. That is an interesting result, especially for something many of us mostly associate with a sleepy bear on a tea box.
It was also a small trial of an extract in people with generalized anxiety disorder. It wasn't a study of my evening tea, and it wasn't a PTSD treatment trial. I can be encouraged by it without deciding it proves something the researchers didn't test.
The sleep research is less convincing. A 2011 pilot study followed 34 adults with chronic insomnia for 28 days. Participants received chamomile extract or placebo, and the study did not find significant differences in its main sleep-diary measures. That included things like total sleep time and how long it took people to fall asleep.
That result matters to me as much as the promising anxiety result. I want things that help, which means I need to know where the evidence gets thin. My own experience of feeling more relaxed is real to me. Whether chamomile reliably treats insomnia in a larger population is a different question, and the answer is still uncertain.
The Flower Contains Actual Chemistry
German chamomile, usually identified as Matricaria recutita or Matricaria chamomilla, contains a mixture of compounds rather than one sleepy ingredient waiting to be released by hot water. Roman chamomile is a different plant, so even the word chamomile deserves a little attention when you're reading a label or a study.
One compound that comes up repeatedly is apigenin, a flavonoid. Researchers have investigated its interactions with systems involved in anxiety, including GABA-related signaling. GABA is one of the nervous system's major inhibitory messengers; broadly speaking, it helps reduce the activity of other nerve cells.
This is interesting chemistry. It does not establish that tea acts like a prescription medication, that an isolated compound behaves the same way as a whole flower, or that more of it will work better. Laboratory findings help researchers ask the next question. They don't finish the conversation for every person drinking chamomile.
I think that's where the internet sometimes gets carried away. A molecule does something interesting in a laboratory, and suddenly a product description makes it sound as though someone has discovered the off switch for anxiety. If that switch existed, I assure you I would have been very interested in its location.
What we actually have is a familiar plant, some preliminary research with people, plenty of unanswered questions, and a drink I personally enjoy. That's enough to keep me curious.
Other Calming Plants Deserve Their Own Questions
Once you start looking at chamomile, you very quickly meet lavender, lemon balm, passionflower, valerian, tulsi, linden, skullcap and kava. Apparently there is an entire botanical committee trying to help us settle down.
I understand the appeal. I like plants, I like learning what they contain, and I would much rather smell something lovely than stare at the ceiling getting progressively more annoyed that I'm still awake. But these plants have different preparations, different evidence and different safety concerns. Calling all of them calming herbs doesn't make them equivalent.
Lavender Is a Plant, an Aroma and Several Different Products
Lavender makes immediate sense to my sommelier brain because aroma changes the whole experience of something before you even taste it. A little culinary lavender can be lovely in tea or baking. Too much, and suddenly your cookie has become a very expensive bar of soap.
Some studies of a standardized oral lavender-oil product have reported improvements in anxiety. That does not mean putting lavender essential oil from an aromatherapy bottle into tea is the same thing. It absolutely isn't a reason to swallow an essential oil that wasn't made and prescribed for that purpose.
Research on lavender aromatherapy and sleep is less clear. I can enjoy the smell while being honest about that distinction. Pleasant is already a perfectly useful quality for a plant to have.
Lemon Balm Is the One That Smells Like Its Name
Lemon balm, Melissa officinalis, has that bright lemony scent when you rub the leaves. It belongs to the mint family, which helps explain why gardeners tend to develop fairly strong feelings about where it is allowed to grow.
It has a history of use in relaxing teas, and researchers have investigated particular lemon-balm preparations for mood and sleep. The studies don't establish a universal effect from every lemon-balm tea or blend. I think of it first as an herb with a flavor I can enjoy, rather than assigning it a job my nervous system may or may not let it perform.
The gardening side appeals to me too. I already spend enough time looking at leaves and wondering what they're doing. Having one that smells like lemon when touched seems like an excellent use of space, provided it doesn't decide the entire garden belongs to it.
Passionflower Has an Extremely Ambitious Appearance
If you've ever looked closely at a passionflower, you know what I mean. It looks like a plant that had a much bigger design budget than its neighbors.
Passiflora incarnata is used in some herbal teas and supplements. A small amount of research suggests possible benefits for anxiety or sleep, but the findings are limited and don't support promises that it will stop racing thoughts or work for everyone.
It can also cause drowsiness, dizziness and confusion, and it has important cautions around pregnancy, medicines and anesthesia. A beautiful climbing plant can still have effects worth discussing with a clinician. Those two facts are perfectly capable of existing together.
Valerian Doesn't Get a Free Pass Because It's Popular
Valerian root appears in a lot of sleep products, often with fairly confident packaging. The research on sleep is inconsistent, and there isn't enough evidence to treat it as a dependable answer to chronic insomnia.
The possible side effects include vivid dreams. As someone who already has enough happening in the nighttime department, that detail certainly catches my attention. I haven't personally tested every herb in this article, and I don't want a list of plants to read like a list of things I'm telling everyone to take.
Valerian is a good example of why the right question isn't simply, is it natural? I also want to know what was studied, what the results were, and what could make it a poor fit for a particular person.
Tulsi, Linden and Skullcap Are Part of the Conversation Too
Tulsi, or holy basil, linden blossoms and American skullcap all appear in traditional herbal approaches to stress or rest. They aren't interchangeable plants, and their long histories do not give us equally strong clinical evidence for each one.
There are preliminary studies of some preparations, but I wouldn't describe any of them as a proven treatment for PTSD or assign them to particular emotions as though grief needs one herb and anxiety needs another. People are more complicated than that. So are plants.
If I'm interested in one, I want the actual species and ingredients clearly identified. A common name on the front of a box tells me much less than I originally thought it did.
Kava Belongs in a More Careful Conversation
Kava has deep cultural roots in Pacific communities and has been studied for anxiety. It also has a safety history that deserves attention, including reports of serious liver injury associated with kava products.
I wouldn't put it in the same casual category as choosing a different flavor of grocery-store tea. It can interact with other substances, including alcohol and sedatives. If it's something you're considering, bring the actual product and ingredient list to a qualified healthcare professional rather than assuming an online description tells the whole story.
I'm interested in natural remedies because I want to feel better. That makes the less exciting details about safety pretty relevant to the entire point.
Why Making the Tea Still Matters to Me
Even after all those qualifications, I still like my chamomile. Having PTSD can make the advice to just relax feel almost comically unhelpful. Thank you, I hadn't considered simply informing my entire nervous system that it was being unreasonable. I'll get right on that.
What appeals to me about making tea is that it gives me something small and concrete to do. Heat water. Choose something that smells good. Wait a few minutes. Sit down and drink it. I don't have to be particularly successful at anything during those minutes.
That is my experience, rather than proof that a kettle is changing a particular hormone or that a warm cup can teach everyone's brain to feel safe. Sometimes a familiar, pleasant activity helps me settle. Sometimes I need much more support. Both can be true without turning an ordinary evening into another test I'm supposed to pass.
The smell matters to me as well. Wine work has made me pay attention to aromas that other people might barely notice: dried flowers, apple, citrus peel, fresh herbs, that dusty sweetness you get when you open a bag of dried chamomile. I like being able to put my attention somewhere specific and interesting for a moment.
It's the same part of me that gets distracted by the smell of fall, a tomato plant, or something unusual in a glass of wine. My brain is very good at going down rabbit holes. Occasionally I appreciate being able to choose a nicer rabbit hole.
How I Approach a Cup of Chamomile
For a normal tea, I follow the brewing directions on the package. With loose flowers, a teaspoon or two in a mug of hot water is a reasonable starting point for flavor, then I adjust the next cup to my taste. That is a kitchen preference, not a clinical dose or a promise about sleep.
Covering the cup while it steeps helps keep the aroma in. I strain the flowers and let it cool enough to drink comfortably, because burning my tongue is not generally part of my plan for a relaxing evening.
I like that chamomile can be gentle and apple-like without being sweet. Lemon peel changes the impression, and a little culinary lavender gives it a different direction entirely. I'm cautious with the lavender because I would like tea, not a mouthful of potpourri.
If I'm buying a blend, I read the full ingredients. A box with chamomile on the front can contain several other herbs, and some blends include actual tea leaves with caffeine. Chamomile itself is naturally caffeine-free, but that doesn't automatically describe everything sharing a tea bag with it.
The easiest version is often the one I'll actually make. I already keep these chamomile tea bags at home. For loose tea, these are the dried chamomile flowers I bought in bulk. Neither needs to become an elaborate project for the cup to be worth enjoying.
Of Course I Also Want to Grow It
Anyone who has read about my garden probably saw this coming. I like the connection between something growing outside and something I can use in the kitchen. Tomatoes, herbs, flour experiments, tea; apparently my preferred hobby is finding increasingly complicated ways to get a snack or a beverage.
These are the German chamomile seeds I used. The little white flowers with yellow centers are lovely even before you think about making tea from them. If you're growing herbs for food, start with a correctly identified edible plant and pay attention to anything used on or around it. A decorative flower from an unknown source is not automatically a tea ingredient.
For drying flowers, I want clean, dry material with good airflow, then an airtight container once it is thoroughly dried. Anything damp, moldy or questionable goes out. Having grown it myself doesn't make it exempt from basic food common sense.
There's also something satisfying about looking closely at a flower you might otherwise walk past. A chamomile flower is small enough to seem almost inconsequential. Then you learn that people have been drinking it for generations and researchers are still asking questions about its chemistry. Suddenly that little patch in the garden seems a lot more interesting.
Natural Still Means Checking the Details
Chamomile can cause allergic reactions, particularly in people allergic to related plants such as ragweed or daisies. It can interact with medicines, including warfarin, and there are concerns about combining herbal products with sedatives. Pregnancy, breastfeeding, medical conditions and upcoming procedures are all reasons to ask a qualified clinician before using herbs or supplements.
That becomes especially relevant if you're dealing with PTSD, anxiety or insomnia and already have a treatment plan. Tell your care team what you're taking, including the things sold as natural. A supplement doesn't become irrelevant to your medicines because the packaging has leaves on it.
I also wouldn't use a stronger tea or keep adding herbs in an attempt to force a result. If sleep is persistently difficult or symptoms are worsening, that deserves actual care. Wanting natural support and accepting professional treatment can fit into the same life. They certainly do in mine.
I Want Something That Helps Me Have an Easier Evening
I don't need chamomile to be a miracle for it to have a place in my kitchen. I've spent enough time dealing with PTSD to appreciate a little relief when it shows up. A cup I enjoy, a familiar smell, a few minutes doing something that doesn't demand very much from me. I can value that without pretending I've found a flower that erases trauma.
The science makes me more interested, even when the answer is we still don't know enough. There is something reassuring about being allowed to stay curious without having to believe every promise attached to that curiosity.
Tonight it can simply be tea. I have a small, slightly rediculous collection of interests competing for space in my brain, and chamomile has earned its spot among them. If it helps me put that brain down for a little while, I'll happily make another cup.
Related Reads You Might Enjoy
The Spice that Heals: How Cardamom Calms the Body, Mind, and Soul
The Meditative Mind: How Sitting Still Can Turn Back the Brain’s Clock
Magnesium and the Mind: How This Mineral May Slow Brain Aging
How to Talk to Your Houseplants (And Why They Might Be Talking Back)
The Healing Current: How Grounding Helps Calm Inflammation and Restore the Body
You Are the Switch: How Lifestyle Activates or Silences Your Genes
We Are Vessels of Light: How Sunlight Moves Through Us and Mends Our Vision
Works Cited
National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health. “Chamomile.”
National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health. “Lavender.”
National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health. “Passionflower.”
National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health. “Valerian.”
National Center for Complementary and Integrative Health. “Kava.”
