A room to oneself


I sit in my new little room–freshly painted last week, that is now my place of escape. I am so excited for this new thing in my life, as I’ve not had a room of my own that wasn’t like a prison, where I could be with just myself–to write, read, craft and perhaps once it gets all decorated even take a quick nap. Though most of all, I am excited that I have a place where I will be able to meet clients and perhaps get into my new yet old work–Shamanistic healing.

I have so much to ponder, and I’ve not had anywhere to be just to think, to be alone in my introverted way–to be quiet or to cry, speak to others, whatever it is that I wanted to do–alone.
I love my partner and my kids, yet, it has felt claustrophobic for me in recent years to have nowhere to escape the noise, the TV, the weird music, the intensity. Already, I feel a sense of restfulness, of calm that I didn’t know I’d missed.

Virginia Woolf was one who thought that every woman should have a room of her own. I agree with her, I don’t know how I made it without. I know–I felt lost, I felt ungrounded, I felt like a refugee, in the way, out of place. But here I am, in my own little space, feeling safe, feeling strong, feeling good. I feel blessed.

Having gotten older, it seems there is so much to ponder. I remember when I was young, and so much was going on, so much was happening, and I often felt such a sense of bewilderment at all the change. It is very much the same now. My body is changing. I am becoming slower, now I find I have asthma and feel out of breath when the wind blows just so, and smoke, dust, pollution,, etc. are an assault to me. Then there’s the pain in my spine, the aching in my joints, the fact that awakening in the morning is a prayer, a thanksgiving, as well as a struggle, just to get onto my feet and become vertical.

My mind is not as it was. I was a college professor once, and I so enjoyed the academic discourse with my students, the joy of excercising ones mind, of learning, and of growth. My mind is still intact, but Goddess knows, I can barely remember my own name some days! I write things down endlessly, I found a little app on my phone to take notes, I don’t always know what my partial thoughts mean, but at least they’re there, and I can know that I can come back to them should I need to.

My emotions are all over the place. I face death at the most random times, and it’s painful to come to grips with a constant reality that people come and go and that those whom I’ve loved will someday be gone–as will I. I have developed a new kind of anxiety, that I don’t remember having before. The world was never really safe, but this time in history feels particularly unsafe, and it feels as though we are constantly living as if to stay out of harms way. To live now, means that if one has their heart open, there is a constant breakage. To watch the cruelty and lack of humaness from the leaders of my country is hard.

Yet, through it all, my spirit feels strong and intact. Each day I am grateful to my Gods for all that I have, and I know that I am certainly luckier than some–I have a home, I have food, I have income of sorts and I have much love in my life in the form of my children, their partners, my partner, my friends and those of my family who still are able to see and love me. I have a small community of like-minded spirits who see me and honor my elderness, and my desire to be of service and offer my wisdom for as long as I breathe breath.

So I will sit here a little longer, enjoy the quiet, enjoy my aloneness, enjoy my place to be. I feel blessed.

Theory of the Spoons

First, I’d suggest that you go to this post and read this article by Christine Miserandino:

The Spoon Theory written by Christine Miserandino

Then, there is a website where someone has created a “game” you can play to understand how life is for people with disabilities, and how the “spoon theory” works for us:

http://thespoontheory.tumblr.com/game

I actually learned about this theory from one of my dearest friends Paula, when she was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. I started my journey with arthritis when I took a fall down some cement stairs back in 2001. I bashed my head, and in  the process of doing so, my neck was injured. A few years later, I was diagnosed with Multi-level Degenerative Disk Disease of the C5, C6, and C7 of my vertebrae. Over time, it has become progressively worse. Like other members of my family, and my ancestors, I have also had to work with arthritis in my knees, hips, hands, shoulders, and of course in my neck.

Most people look at me, and don’t see me as having disabilities. It doesn’t help that I came from a long line of African American women who modeled for me the need to always appear strong, no matter what you are feeling, or what sorts of pain you are carrying. You don’t let on that you are suffering, you don’t show it–no matter what.

Saying the above reminded me of some of the rules of the natural world, wherein wounded creatures learn to stay under the wire and off the radar of predators. Rabbits teach their young, early, to run in a zig zag sort of pattern in order to avoid those who might be chasing them.

Yet, even with all that in mind, I have found that as a therapist, it’s often helpful to clients, and ultimately to myself to be able to be real and genuine about what’s going on for me, in order to model that even if I “bare my throat” as it were, I don’t have to be afraid of doing so. In doing so, I might create a sense of hope for my clients, as well as showing ways that they are not alone.

I’ve been dealing with chronic pain for the last 13 years. It started out as just some pain in my neck from the fall I took. Over time, this pain has become at times, nearly debilitating.  While I am comfortable with sharing what’s going on for me, I also have learned to be practical, accepting, and real with myself. In the last few months, my neck issues have, due to the nerves involved, moved to other parts of my body–my shoulders, arms, and various joints in my hands, I also have headaches that are so severe, I cannot think, or focus very well.

Then, while in the course of writing this article, I had a car accident, that further exacerbated the pain, by adding whiplash to the mix. At times now, pain is near to unbearable. Thanks to  acupuncture, a chiropractor and an amazing massage therapist friend of mine, I’m getting through it in a much better way than expected.

Dealing with all this is similar to the stages we go through when we experience a trauma or a death. At first, I didn’t want to believe that this was happening to me, I spent a few years in disbelief, thinking that it would just get better and go away. It has not.

Then, I became angry about the whole thing, I thought about all sorts of ways that my body was failing me, or how my body had become my enemy. I went through various stints with physical therapy, chiropractic, pain medications, etc. etc. etc. While all of these things helped in various ways, they couldn’t change what was happening. I had to just let go of the anger and face things–mind you, it wasn’t as easy as that sounded.

The “bargaining” phase for me has arisen a number of times. I think, what if I’d just known sooner how this would effect me? What if I’d done a few things differently in the beginning? What if I could just…what? What happened has happened. The knowledge of what was going on for me physically came a few years after the original accident, I couldn’t have known or predicted that it would go this way. If I had done a few things differently perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as it is now…what if…? It is no use, what is, is.

A year ago last Spring, the depression hit me–hard. I became very overwhelmed with not only what was going on for me, but the fact that I felt I was getting “old”, and that life was passing me by. At that time, I was alone (as in not in an intimate relationship), living in a house with roommates. I fell into some patterns of behavior that were less than helpful. I’d also been taking Hydrocodone for the last few years, and I went through my days in a sort of cloudy haze. Along with this, I’d become much spacier than usual, I missed appointments, double booked myself, and felt that my work as a therapist was suffering.

Given that I have been working for myself for a number of years, this was really scary. I began to lose clients, and my self image began to falter greatly. I wasn’t what I would call suicidal, as I knew that wasn’t the way to go, given that my twins were just getting into adulthood, and needed to still have my love and guidance. I got through days and nights without feeling much of life. Yet, I have remained on this side of the veil.

Because I am an introvert, very few people have known of the “saga” I have had in my life over the last 3 years. I won’t go into all of that now, I’m here to say that as I have come to the place of acceptance, things have began to feel lighter. I am facing the realities of aging. I’m aware that I’ve been overweight most all of my life, and I’ve always known that losing weight could alleviate some of the pain. I eat healthfully, and my weight is going down. I know that there are choices I could have made along the way, but, here I am, what’s past is past. I have to accept where I am in my life, and make better choices now that can benefit me (hopefully) in the long run.

So, part of my life now is just being who and how I am now. I have always striven to be loving, warm and kind. I refuse to allow my pain to take away the things about me that I love. This is who I am, I have worked at becoming who I am. I love the work I do in the world, though I’ve had to cut back some to preserve my strength.

Which brings me to the spoons. Each day, I start out with a number of spoons. I’ve never really put a number on how many I have, as each day is different. If I get a good pain free night of sleep, I have more spoons. If I have trouble sleeping, the next day may find me lacking. Either way, it’s helpful to me to have a way to understand and further accept my limitations, and in a way that feels good and holistic. I also feel that it gives me permission to take better care of myself, to put myself first so I can still show up in my world.

 

 

 

Poetry–Joy Harjo

Poetry has always been healing for me. When I was young, it was the thing that I resorted to for comfort–to get my feelings out, to feel sane again, and as safe as a young African American girl could feel in this culture. I would write in my room, alone, in my own special notebook, and I always felt so good when I’d write something I thought was especially wonderful.

A few years ago, I chose to go on what I called a moratorium. I read nothing but works by people of color, it has continued until today–that was the year 2000. It has been a rich experience for me to find new voices, to read the hearts and spirits of the people who look like me. Today, I will end  this writing with a lovely poem by Joy Harjo that a friend shared with me. It is time for me to be fearless…

I release you, my beautiful and terrible
fear. I release you. You were my beloved
and hated twin, but now, I don’t know you
as myself. I release you with all the
pain I would know at the death of
my children.
You are not my blood anymore.
I give you back to the soldiers
who burned down my house, beheaded my children,
raped and sodomized my brothers and sisters.
I give you back to those who stole the
food from our plates when we were starving.
I release you, fear, because you hold
these scenes in front of me and I was born
with eyes that can never close.
I release you
I release you
I release you
I release you
I am not afraid to be angry.
I am not afraid to rejoice.
I am not afraid to be black.
I am not afraid to be white.
I am not afraid to be hungry.
I am not afraid to be full.
I am not afraid to be hated.
I am not afraid to be loved.
to be loved, to be loved, fear.
Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash.
You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.
You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.
I take myself back, fear.
You are not my shadow any longer.
I won’t hold you in my hands.
You can’t live in my eyes, my ears, my voice
my belly, or in my heart my heart
my heart my heart
But come here, fear
I am alive and you are so afraid
of dying.

Making Medicine

When I moved to a new level on my spiritual path, I chose to follow the path of the healer. My choice found me at Naropa University in 1996, and what an education had there! The next 3 years found me studying to be a psychotherapist. In 1999, I got my Master’s degree in Transpersonal Counseling Psychology. Since that time, I have seen hundreds of people, and have helped them to follow their own path to healing on various levels.

Prior to that time, I was a student of Gary “MoonHawk” Butler, who taught me Reiki, and other Shamanic healing techniques. I was taught by his partner, Lynn Johnson, the 3rd level of Reiki and became a Reiki Master in September of 1994.

I feel that I have been blessed in this lifetime by having teachers in many different forms.  My path took a deeper turn, after my graduation from Naropa,  when I met my friend Jennifer who had been to an Herb school in Boulder. She taught me some of the art of making medicine. What I learned is that there are many  methods of making medicine from the many various plants that grow in the herbal garden.

I thought in might be fun, for you the reader to see some pictures from a recent day of making medicine, when I made a tincture of Marshmallow Root. The first two pictures show you what the root looked like before it was processed, it is sitting in the sink, waiting to get washed. It had been growing awhile, and is very large, it took me a good while to get the soil off of it, so that wouldn’t go into the tincture itself.  The third picture shows you what it looks like once I got it all washed, cut up, and into the jar where it will be brewing. I like to use canning jars, as they are much easier to come by and have a good sealing top.  Cutting the root up was quite a chore, as it was very tough skinned, and was very thick and dense in some places.  The last picture shows you the 3 bottles it took to get that Marshmallow going (the one in the front is another herb I processed that day–Yarrow). I like to use Vodka. If I were going to make it for those who might need to be alcohol free, I might have used vegetable glycerin instead. Some use Everclear, or Rum as well.

IMG_0333IMG_0334 IMG_0332IMG_0336

So, from there, I shake the mixture in the jar every day. It shouldn’t be exposed to bright light. The tincture will be done in 4-6 weeks, but tinctures can be in the jar indefinitely, that’s what makes them such a great way to have the medicine you need long after the plants are gone. They also retain their medicinal properties for many years.

When the “brewing” is done, I have a cool strainer that I use to drain the “menstruum” as the liquid that you drain off is called. It is funnel-shaped, and has a wooden stick that allows me to further macerate the root  in order to get as much of the liquid as possible out of it.

It is then put into small glass bottles with droppers to use, oh, and I always make sure to put labels on them, as once in the bottles it’s too easy to forget what they might be.  Depending on what  symptoms one has, they will be utilized as directed. I never would diagnose anyone’s illness, but would perhaps suggest various herbs to help with particular problems. Marshmallow happens to be an all around good medicine. It is said to be good for sore throats, stomach problems, and has a soothing effect on inflammation. One might wish to confuse it with the creamy sugary confection, and while it’s root was used to create the mucilaginous effect many years ago, but not anymore.