Posts tagged therapy
Uprooted

It was dark outside. The type of dark that hangs over you, not the peaceful dark that lulls you to sleep with a chorus of crickets. It was a darkness that seeped through the windows, a silence. I lay staring at the ceiling. My brain was white noise; my thoughts were there but I wasn't really participating with them. It had been a painful day.

When I was younger, if I wasn't at school or playing sports, I was traipsing around the woods until the sun went down, sometimes even after the sun was long gone. I'm pretty sure I spent most of my adolescence in the woods. The woods were my solace, my resting place. I would memorize the mushrooms along the paths I took and watch their lifespan from birth to completion. I knew where and when to find the family of deer that frequented the area I visited. I knew which patch of wheat held the most privacy to lay and watch their stalks sway and talk in the wind. I also knew which wheat patches to avoid when the geese began their nesting. I knew which trees were most comfortable to accompany me for my homework, or my favorite tree from whose limbs I could dangle my feet just over the surface of the rippling water and the one that had the most comfortable limbs for napping. I felt at peace in the woods; understood and safe even in the darkness of twilight. I knew which path I wanted to take based on the day, the weather and the sunlight. I memorized each turn, each step I needed to take to get where I was going or to go back home. I knew exactly where every divot, root and hole existed along my path and the trees were my guide.

As I lay staring at the ceiling, the darkness hovering, I placed my thoughts in the limbs of those trees. I replayed the sunset and worked on sending myself to sleep. *pop* *POP* Two deep bursts alerted my ears accompanied by a few slow, deep cracking noises. Then, *crack* .... and flurry of snapping and crackling that seemed to increase in pitch as smaller and smaller branches of the tree snapped in succession. Finally, amongst the highest pitch, a muffled thud as the tree met the earth. The silence broke.

I'd heard the sound of trees falling many times before, as both the homes I'd known were surrounded by woods. I'd walked past, climbed over and through the map of broken limbs of newly fallen trees on many occasions. Occasionally, a tree would fall across one of my usual paths. This was nothing new but I anticipated finding the tree that had fallen. When I came home from school the next day, I set out to do just that.

I began out on my typical route and then headed in the direction I believed to have heard the tree fall. As I walked, sweating from the hot summer day, I thought about how odd it was that a tree should fall with no wind. It must have been an old tree, relenting to it's age and rot, finally giving in. It didn't take me long to come across the tree. I stopped in my tracks.

There it was. My beautiful tree; it's deeply riveted bark splayed with splashes of colorful moss and beautifully textured lichen. It's strong thick trunk now lay across the ground, limbs crippled and shattered, fresh sap oozing from its wounds. The dampness of fresh dirt met my nostrils, so strong I could taste it in my mouth. My tree had been uprooted. It's roots mangled, snarled and broken as it had tried desperately to remain where it had been planted - a place that it's seed had once found as welcoming and nurturing now rejected it. I was angry and hurt. Out of all the trees, why did it have to be this one? I sat down amongst the broken limbs, fresh dirt and sap and cried. I felt like I'd lost a friend, like someone important to me had been ripped away without my permission and I could never change it; things would never go back to being the same. That day the forest and I shared a similarity that I did not yet understand. Our landscapes had both changed.

Fifteen years have passed and I haven't thought about that tree in a very long time. I've moved, gone to college, gotten married, started my own business and, in between the peaks, I've experienced loss, death, betrayal; I've experienced pain and I've caused it. I've been an active participant in this whole "life" experience. Then, today, almost out of the blue I thought about my tree. 

Last week I attended a class on "Native Ferns of North Carolina." I partially went because "Fern" is part of my business name and I was geeking about it but, I mainly went because I wanted to learn how to better care for my ferns and keep them healthy and luscious. I've been learning more about ferns, digging into their care, their growth, the different types of ferns, sporing patterns, personalities and this was a great opportunity to be a bit more hands on.

The speaker was a jovial woman who is passionate about plants and conservation. She made the rather scientific terminology sound appealing and relatable and, as she spoke, I kept having these moments of parallel. "Ferns are pioneers in disturbed habitats," she said. My brain went into max absorption mode as she continued, "fern seeds seek bare earth, such as where a tree has been uprooted." My mind flooded as she began to talk about how ferns are hearty and adaptive, that they hybridize in order to survive and can exist in a variety of habitats, from rainforests to deserts; that fern seeds need fungi and "gross" dirt to nourish their growth and can often be found growing amongst other decaying plants. There it was, plain as day, these fern patterns reflected in our human journeys. 

How often it is that we find ourselves uprooted, painfully removing portions of our life which no longer fit. Sometimes we realize what's bogging us down and impeding our growth and sometimes we don't. They can be habits, people, places, emotions, memories, experiences. Whether we decide to remove these hinderances or whether they are removed for us, once they are gone, the soil of our lives is ready for new growth. In our growth, we may make decisions that don't make sense to anyone but ourselves, like a tree falling without wind or age. We may walk away from people, friendships or jobs which will instigate people to view us differently. Most importantly, we will begin to view ourselves differently. Just like the roots and branches of my tree, this removal can be painful and disrupting but it's part of expanding and becoming the stronger, better versions of ourselves.

I skipped an important part of the story about my tree. You see, my relationship with that tree didn't end when I found it broken. I spent time with it as it decomposed, breaking down into the soil and giving room for life. I watched birds carry it's leaves and small twigs to make their nests. I watched mushrooms and fungus take root and thrive, weaving themselves through the deep rivets of the bark creating beautiful patterns and homes for little bugs and creatures. I even watched as a tiny forest of ferns made a home in the fresh, open earth where my tree's roots used to live. Until the day I uprooted and moved from that house, I watched the tree that had once supported me, held me safe as I slept, given me a new perspective to see beauty, and been my confidante transform from it's pain and become breathtakingly beautiful in a way I could never have seen if it hadn't have fallen first.

We have the strength to adapt to our situations and surroundings, to survive and fight to live. We can create growth in our landscapes - whether they are deserts or forests. We can take a dark, gross situation - all covered in fungi and death - and cultivate flourishing beauty. Whether we made the decision for removal or not, we have the opportunity to create new growth, sustain our surroundings and create something that is beautiful. This growth is painful but it will be peaceful as we begin to recognize our true potential - our most beautiful selves.

Sundays
"Today, part of my self care was opening a book that took me three years to crack the cover and has taken me two years to get to the midway point. This book is both thrilling and unnerving. It's the source of both joyful and disquieting self-examination. In the oddest of ways perhaps..." | Self-Care Blog | Mental Illness | Struggling with Bi-Polar | An honest look at Mental Illness | Running a business with Mental Illness | Mental Disease, A Blessing and An Obstacle | Self-Care with Manic-Depression | Jasper & Fern, Winston-Salem, NC 27101 | The Beauty of Being Yourself | Creativity and Mania | Balancing Life | Winston-Salem Entrepreneur | Woman Entrepreneurs | Self Care Rituals | Self Acceptance Journey | Women's Portraits

I do my best to keep the practice of not working on Sundays. There's a reason the seventh day was made for rest, after all. For the past few months, I've been making time on Sundays for refilling my body and soul; I am making efforts to get in a better routine of self care. That means anything from spending time with family, napping, cuddling with my puppies, napping, making good conversation with my husband without distractions, walking, napping (I like naps), taking a hot bath, creating and (another favorite) sitting in silence surrounded by nature. I'm stepping outside of my habits today to share part of my self-care journey with you while it is fresh on my heart and I have the words to say what I mean.

Today, part of my self care was opening a book that took me three years to crack the cover and has taken me two years to get to the midway point. This book is both thrilling and unnerving. It's the source of both joyful and disquieting self-examination. In the oddest of ways perhaps, it is a source of self care.

You see, the woman who wrote this book, as an autobiography and memoir of her own struggle with bi-polar disorder, seems like she wrote MY biography. Her experiences, her actions, her struggles - they resonate with me on a deep level. For so long I've felt alone in my bi-polar. I've felt alone in the darkness of my depression. I've felt alone in the joys of my mania, never sure which loneliness is worse - not having someone who understands the depth of the pain in the darkness or the emptiness of seeing the most beautiful moments and experiencing the highest levels of joy and having no one to share that experience with. Now, don't get me wrong, I have wonderful people in my life whom I am incredibly thankful for that love me and share space with me and share deep relationships with me but, the pain of being alone in my experiences with my bi-polar... that is a loneliness I struggle with.

That's where Kay comes in. I've never met her but I feel like I've known her my whole life. I feel like she's me - the me that knows every nook and cranny of who I am, the me that gets my existence. The Me that can relate and explain to me in my struggles what's going on, where I need to be careful and how to take care of myself. On many levels, reading this book allows me the opportunity and perspective to care for myself. It reinforces my confidence that I am not alone; it helps me watch for signs no one else may see but I may notice and helps me know how to care for myself during these times. It helps me accept me for me - especially when I'm struggling.

Through my own journey, I've come to learn that self-care can come in many forms. Accepting and learning about You is a big part of that care. Setting aside time for your mind, body and heart to recover is an integral part of that routine as well. So, after turning a few pages while cuddled with my pups and giving myself the opportunity for introspection, I'm going to take a nap and continue this #selfcaresunday routine.

Massage : It's not just for pampering. It's a healing process.

For the longest time, I thought massages were just for pampering. Now, don't get me wrong, pampering is an important element of self care. Honestly though, I just didn't get it. I heard people rave about their massages and I appreciated their encouragement to go and get one myself but, I never really saw a massage being for me. Massages only sounded like an expensive, awkward experience where you are in minimal clothing and vulnerable and you walk away sticky.

Then I had my first massage.

Let me tell you, my world CHANGED. I never knew just how much pain I was waking up and existing in. That first morning after my massage was illuminating. I didn't have to stretch for 30 minutes before getting out of bed. I didn't have to tenderly and slowly roll over to let all of my joints crack and bones settle with the fear of throwing my back out before my feet even hit the floor. I didn't have to limp to the bathroom barely putting pressure on my left foot. I didn't have to take slow deep, purposeful breaths to slowly loosen my shoulder pain that usually made it difficult to breathe. In fact, I didn't realize I wasn't in pain until I was halfway to the bathroom. Then, when I did, I squealed so loud I scared my poor beagle, Sadie, but I couldn't help it. I was absolutely flabbergasted at the amount of pain I had ignored and the freedom that being nearly pain free gave me.

Now, I'm a firm believer that if you say you don't want a massage or don't think they are necessary, you just haven't had one yourself. Or, at least, you haven't had a good massage. Not only do I now believe in the need for massage but many of my fears of getting a massage have been eliminated. 

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Christina gave me my first massage and she is the main reason my fears were eliminated. The first step was very medical - which, I wasn't expecting but, it made sense. I filled out a form detailing my medical history and where I was currently experiencing pain; Christina had even created the form as a sensitive way to inquire about previous abuse. To some, asking about previous abuse may sound intrusive. To an abuse survivor like me, it meant that Christina cared enough to know there are potentially sensitive boundaries and she wanted to respect not only my body and mind but she also didn't make the question intrusive and ask for details or anything that would have potentially made me uncomfortable. Once I filled out the form, Christina took time to read each answer to herself and ask questions only where she had them. She then welcomed me to keep on as many or as little clothing as I was comfortable with and then to lay down on her table. She stepped out of the room and I slipped under the sheets.

The bubbling of a peaceful stream met my ears and was accompanied by the smell of essential oils. Intended to calm my mind, these atmospheric elements worked like a charm. The sheets were soft and warm and, to my surprise, there were a large number of blankets I had to crawl under too! The blankets weren't heavy or hot but they allowed just enough pressure for me to feel cocooned and covered - an effort for atmosphere I greatly appreciated. Then, Christina knocked quietly and made sure she could enter. Her demeanor was always soft and reassuring and I could tell how attentive she was to where my body felt pain and when it had had too much pain. And, yes, there were parts of the massage that caused slight pain as Christina worked out the strain in my muscles but it was never unbearable and it was truly therapeutic. The painful part of the massage coupled with the painlessness I felt the next day caused me to realize exactly how necessary and therapeutic regular massages are. It's why I am now a believer!

All in all, my first massage experience was incredible. Christina was amazing and the results were phenomenal. Which, is why I am SO excited for everyone who comes to Jasper & Fern because the miracle worker who has helped me so much with my pain is moving in!!

I hope you are dancing with excitement over this, because I most certainly am! Christina is one of the many blessings that have come our way since establishing and building up Jasper & Fern. She couldn't be a better fit for our community because she has such a pure, sweet and loving heart. She wants to help you feel better, live a happier life and to not be restricted by pain.

I truly hope you choose to try adding massage to your self care. Massage can change your life!
 

P.S. If you want to book with Christina, she's happy to help you out! 
Email : mckenzie.christina2012@gmail.com
Phone : 828-423-6281