It’s Wednesday evening and Felix is asleep.  I sit in the kitchen overlooking fruit trees in bloom in the total stillness that precedes a storm and try to pull my words together.

My mind is as fuzzy as a London fog and underground emotions are making my skin crawl.

Up until two weeks ago, I was cheerfully recovering from the prolonged winter healing crisis, regaining lost weight, gardening like a fiend and feeling like a green shoot ready to grow again.  When something changed I didn’t immediately notice it.  It took several days of being emotionally shut down, over-eating constantly, having increased joint and muscle pains and losing my new-found energy to finally force me to pay more attention.  The climax came yesterday when I found myself with a mouthful of dark chocolate and organic whipping cream—now plugging up my left ear, which has gone deaf except for the sound of my heartbeat.  I’m embarrassed, but it’s a little funny…the naturopath drinking whipping cream…grin…

To top it off, I’m still not clear about what caused this downward shift.  There was a lot of family stress and drama recently: a nervous breakdown, hospitalization, fights, a sudden move.  Then I’m feeling anxious about producing a REALLY GOOD referral list and summary of practice tips for my patients when I retire.  Felix is now with me full-time for a while, so my recharge time has disappeared.  And this weekend is the second shamanic course held at my home, which is rather messy.

Yes, that’s more than enough to send me into stress mode: contracted, seeking comfort, withdrawing from people, tired.  It will pass.  Keep talking, don’t pretend to be ok, cut corners to rest, get through by the skin of my teeth and then regroup and feel stronger.  I keep remembering that my physical symptoms are growing pains, not “normal aging” nor a disease and feel SO blessed to have this understanding and the profound hope that it brings.

Felix has been picking up on my stress and acting out to get the heart-felt attention that is missing, having anger fits and accidents, all the while looking forlorn.  Last night he crawled into bed with me and tucked his head into the crook of my neck.  I let him stay.

Now I’m off to bed to read a novel, meditate into the crawling emotions and tap off the hard edges.


Thursday morning, sunny.  My whole body hurts, on the verge of a flu.  Mind is more focussed and clearer today.  The flu feeling is a good thing, means the congestion is breaking up.  My tongue isn’t burning as much as it has been, a sign of digestive stress, and I can hear a little from the left side again.

But I just want to sleep and not have people around me.  The thought of meetings all day and bringing Felix to Taekwondo in the evening bring a heaviness of the spirit.  The shamanic teacher arrives this afternoon and we will find a place to build a sweat lodge and start building it—that will help.  Just keep doing one thing at a time and breathe.  The break will come, the shift will happen again.  And then life will look very different.

happy spring, hah!