Wednesday, March 25, 2020

It's Not a Silver Lining - It's a Revolution

I have an acupuncturist that doubles as a therapist.  Let me explain.  

Her appointments are approximately 90 minutes.  For the first 45 minutes, you talk to her.  Like a therapist.  For the second 45 minutes, you lie on a bed with needles all over your body, the location of which I presume is based on your conversation with her.  I'm not sure, because I've never asked.  
One of my closest friends had been seeing her for years, and had been trying to convince me to go, but I was hesitant.  I've done therapy, and I wasn't particularly in need of more at the time (little did I know).  And I'd much rather get a massage than lie on a bed with needles in me for 45+ minutes. To me, that just sounded boring.  

But it was one of my 2020 resolutions to try new things, and so I made an appointment.  The appointments take place in her home, in one of two rooms she has set up with two chairs, and then the bed for the acupuncture.  The first session was standard and not particularly noteworthy.  The first 45 minute "talk" session was slightly awkward, and I wasn't quite sure what I was supposed to talk to her about.  I gave her a general overview of my life history, and when she asked why I was there, I was stumped.  I actually wasn't sure why I was there, or what it is I wanted to get out the whole thing.  I think I muttered something unauthentic and generic like "anxiety" and "trouble sleeping."  Which doesn't make me all that different than the rest of the population.  

She put the needles in and I laid there for 45 minutes and that was it.  I went on with my day.  And then something weird happened.  

I started getting anxious.  Super anxious.  And I hadn't even been anxious prior to the appointment! I had just said "anxiety" as a BS answer that seemed explanatory enough for why I showed up at this woman's home for therapy and acupuncture.  And over the next few days, it got worse.  This general feeling of unease and disorientation as to what the fuck was happening to me.  I would start crying at odd times.  My heart would start racing which was only exacerbated by the heart monitor on my Apple watch, which would actually provide evidence that it was doing just that.  And in a cruel twist of fate, I started having trouble sleeping.  Go figure.

By the time I ended up back in her home the following week for my second treatment, I was a blubbering mess.  A crying, blubbering mess.  The kind of cry where you are crying so hard you have to cover up your face with your hands because you're embarrassed about the ugly contortions your face is making.  

She didn't seem surprised.  Instead, she seemed pleased, and said something like:  This means the treatments are working.  Your heart is starting to open.  This is part of the process.  

I didn't take solace in that, and I couldn't even pinpoint what it was I was sobbing hysterically about. But in retrospect, I think I was just really scared.  Because something was shifting, or at least beginning to shift.  

She gave me a tissue to hold while I went through the second part of the session, the lying with the needles.  And I needed the tissue.  I cried for 45 minutes straight, by myself, on the heated table on the second floor of this stranger's home.  It sounds strange, but it was this weird, poignant moment. And it felt good.  Being in a room, by myself, lying down, and just letting the tears fall.  Even if I didn't know what they were about.  

After that I felt lighter.  Better.  Hopeful. The anxiety symptoms went away abruptly (though they would eventually return, intermittently).  I just felt at peace.  

This was in January, and I have gone back every week since.  

I don't know what it is this woman does, but it's something that taps into something deep.  I've had various groundbreaking revelations in my talks with her - more so than I've ever had with any therapist.  I'm not going to go into detail about those revelations at the moment, because I'm still processing them myself.  But suffice it to say that I always feel good after my appointments with her - ALWAYS. 

I think she came into my life at the exact perfect time.  I was ready.  

She isn't doing sessions at her house anymore, for obvious reasons coronavirus related.  And when the world basically shut down, not being able to see her was one of my biggest sources of sadness and disappointment.  I mean, how can you do acupuncture virtually?  

You can't, but you can talk virtually.  And since that was half of our time together anyway, I jumped at the chance to continue working with her doing phone appointments.  My first one was today.  

Suffice it to say, I feel lighter.  Better.  Hopeful.  

I was discussing with her some of the silver linings of this whole mess.  The fact that I'm spending more time outside.  That we are doing more family dinners together.  That I'm face timing people I haven't spoken to in years.  That I'm texting less and talking on the phone more.  That I'm feeling gratitude for small things - for pizza delivery and outdoor workouts and good music and the fact that my kids still like to cuddle with me.  That yesterday, while driving home from an outdoor workout, I had an overwhelming urge to write on this blog again and did just that.  

She listened to me for a while, and then she said:  It's not a silver lining - it's a revolution.  

What an absolutely perfect thing to say.  And how true.  

I truly believe that the ramifications of this weird world we are living in - this scary reality - will be long lasting.  And maybe they will be good ones.  Having your world turned upside down, and having everyone you know have a similar experience, changes you, and will change the way we operate.  Why do I text friends instead of talking on the phone?  Why don't I always schedule a couple of hours a day to enjoy the fresh air?  Why am I so afraid to reach out to people I haven't talked to in a while?  Why don't we do more family movie nights?  Why didn't I ever hike the Billy Goat trail, when it's only a couple of miles from my house?  Why don't we always eat dinner on our back deck, just the five of us, when it's nice out?  Why did I find the idea of spending just one entire day at home, without leaving, such an awful prospect? 

I, like many of us, have largely been "fed from the outside" (her words) in order to find contentment and satisfaction.  I thrived on being busy.  On going out.  On being out.  On consuming.  What do we do when that outside has been taken away? 

That is all of our challenge, I think.  And it truly is a revolution.  



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Tuesday, March 24, 2020

I Used to Write a Blog

For six years or so, I wrote a blog, on a pretty regular basis.  Over the years more and more people started reading it, and on occasion I would get recognized when I was out which was surreal and awesome.  I LOVED that people read it, not because I wanted to be famous or well known (I mean, not that many people read it), but because it made me feel connected to something at a time when I was feeling really alone - stuck at home, changing diapers, dealing with postpartum anxiety, raising three children, trying to find my identity.  Writing into the internet void, and knowing someone out there was reading what I wrote, and maybe related in some way, made me feel part of something bigger than myself.  I needed that then, so much.  It saved me really.

Then the children got older.  And Donald Trump was elected.  I'm not sure why these two scenarios resulted in my abandoning my blog altogether, but a day came when I was just done with it.  Where it felt like a duty and not a joy, and just another thing on my plate.  I felt somewhat empowered by my choice to stop writing, like I was really taking charge of my life and doing what it is I needed, as opposed to what others wanted from me.  I never wrote a "goodbye" post, because I wanted to keep the option open to return, once I had the urge to write again.  And then a couple years passed by, and I never had the urge.

For me, my desire to write goes in cycles, which tend to last a few years.  I've heard a lot of writers say this (and no, I don't consider myself a real "writer," yet).  When its there its strong and I can bang something out without even editing it.  It comes from somewhere deep and vulnerable and honest.

But the last couple years of this blog I wasn't really being honest anymore.  I was trying to be funny and witty and write about things I thought people wanted me to write about.  As my kids got older, I stopped being as vulnerable, worried that they would someday actually read the things I wrote.  And with the election, and the general state of the world, I didn't want to go deep anymore.  I just wanted to keep things surface level.  Maybe it was a survival tactic, or maybe it's just what I needed at that time in my life.

I have been skating along the past couple of years, and I've actually been really happy.  Having come up for air from the baby stages, I made a lot of friends and have had a really active social life. I turned 40.  I traveled a lot - to London, Italy, India, Costa Rica, and almost to Japan (where I am supposed to be right now - a topic for another post).  We built a house in Cape Cod and spend our summers there now.  I spent two years serving on the Executive Committee of our school's Parent Association. Marijuana was legalized and I took full advantage.  I got in the best shape of my life and continue to go to the gym daily.  I recently completed training in child custody mediation, and I've been working for the DC courts doing just that.

It's been all good.  But it's been surface.

Then, in 2020, things got deep.

Way before this global pandemic, by the way.  It got deep early in January.  I can't pinpoint why, and the term "midlife crisis" is so cliche, but I think that's what it was.  My anxiety came back.  I bought a pack of cigarettes (just one.  I promise).  I began questioning my place in the world and what my purpose was and what the hell I was going to do with my life.  I signed up for a novel writing class (which I quit, when I realized my novel sucked.  Absolutely sucked).  I started getting acupuncture and found a new therapist who I was seeing two times a week.  I started meditating daily (way harder than it sounds).  2020 was already a really weird year.

And now.... It's crazy fucked up.  For everyone.

Ironically, I find myself in similar situation to when I started this blog nine long years ago.  Lonely, stuck at home, dealing with anxiety, trying to find my identity, writing into the internet void searching for some kind of connection.  The things I have used to distract myself these past few years - friends, the gym, volunteering, work - those have all been taken away from me in the midst of this coronavirus pandemic.  Quarantines and social distancing and the dread of waking up in the morning to read the news.  It's a crazy time to be alive.

For better or worse, I'm ready to go deep again.  I'm ready to start writing again.  So if anyone out there is still reading, Hello! It's been a while.



 
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