Anxiety – how to put it back in its box.

Nothing to see here…

Anxiety is a friend of mine. It’s taken me some years, but now I know some ways of backing her off, calming her down and gaining control of my body. It has taken many years and many lessons and just when I think I have taken control back, she comes again. I now understand that anxiety is a protective mechanism the body calls on when it senses danger. It is instinctive and an ancient part of our biology. It comes from a small part in the brain called the amygdala and there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening. You can, however, calm it down by breathing and some self talk.

Recently the whole fight or flight theory gained another friend. The freeze. So now it is understood that the reaction our body goes into is either:
1. Fight
2. Flight
3. or Freeze

A few years ago, I was taking the washing off the line when I saw a black snake. My daughter was jumping on the trampoline behind me, with the snake in between us. I had to say to her in a calm voice, when I was really not feeling very calm at all, “Darling there is a snake on the ground, don’t move”. She looked at me and I looked at her and I was frozen. I couldn’t get to her to rescue her and I could not move. She went into flight mode and jumped off the other side of the tramp and exited safely by the pool fence. I just watched her and the snake, paralysed. When I realised she was safe and the snake had slithered away, I noticed it wasn’t really black at all and maybe more a dark green, I could go back inside. I noticed that even though I often felt in the words of Bruno Mars I would jump in front of a train for ya (her). I couldn’t even rustle up the sensibility to throw a clothes peg. That’s the amygdala, freezing me, keeping me safe.

Sometimes on my drive home in the afternoons I have to stop in the middle of our street for a big water dragon. He will often be ambling halfway across our narrow road when I tear around the corner, safely wrapped in a car, so I’m not scared of him. But he freezes. A massive lizard, doing the old “I’m closing my eyes, I can’t see you, so you can’t see me, let’s pretend I’m not really here.” I usually have to wait until he lumbers off,  sometimes I’ve had to get out of the car and shoo him across the road. The amygdala is an animal instinct. We are the same, they also fight, take flight or freeze. Nothing to see here…

When we get anxious the body takes over in order to prepare us for the fight, flight or freeze response. When we are in a situation where we are frightened, our brain instinctively steps up to protect us. So a number of things happen, which are out of our control.

 

The thing with anxiety is, because it is a natural response by the body when it senses danger, we can often make things feel more scary in our heads, when we catastrophise and over-think or imagine the worst is going to happen.

The first time I ran the City to Surf, I was a jumble of nerves. I was with my best friend who was fitter than me and I was worried I couldn’t make the distance. We had trained together for it, with scenic lunch-time jogs around the Domain, but at my best I had only ever run about 5ks. The race from the City to Bondi Beach is 14ks. At the starting point where everyone was assembling, I watched the lean Lycra clad bodies with their heart monitors strapped on and started to panic. The terror began in my head. “I’m a fraud. I can’t run this.” I watched people jogging on the spot and stretching out their hammies. “I’m not fit enough; I should join the walkers and the guy in the gorilla suit.” “Who am I kidding?” Then it hit me in the stomach. “I need to wee!” I squealed. I found the closest porta-loo, then when the stench hit me, I changed my mind. I think in my panic, I just made myself want to wee.

My friend was checking out the men and nudged me. “Phwoah, look at that!” I was frozen to the spot, looking at the ground, hunched over, “I think I’m going to vomit” I whispered. My face felt cold and all the blood had rushed to my arms and legs. “You are not going to vomit” she said, grabbing me in a side hug. “We are doing this, I will stay with you.” We did it, she stayed with me for the most part, then I let her go, at one stage the man in the gorilla suit overtook me. The adrenalin in my body and the cheering of the crowd got me over the line. The panic and anxiety actually helped by urging on my muscles and the crowd cheering got me mentally psyched up. In that instance when I did take flight, anxiety was actually helping me out.

If you don’t flee or fight, the feelings of nausea, panic and fear stay with you. When you feel anxiety because you are facing a new situation like going to a job interview or a new workplace, or you might be a teenager starting a new school, if you don’t end up fleeing, all the adrenalin, heart racing, sick vomity feelings get stuck inside you, until the brain knows you are in a good place. A way to stop anxiety in its tracks is, and it sounds way too easy but it works, is to breathe. This sends a message to your body that you are safe.

Breathing tells your nervous system that you are OK, you are not going to run or punch the fellow interviewing you, or freeze beside the locker at your new school, pretending you are not there. Deep belly breathing brings the oxygen back to your digestive system, wakes up the parasympathetic nervous system, changes the balance of carbon dioxide and oxygen and calms you down.

Sometimes we can talk ourselves into a panic. Sometimes we tell ourselves weird things like “ oh my god I am going to die” which is slightly over exaggerated and unhelpful or “ I don’t know if I am going to vomit or poo my pants, God, maybe both of these things will happen.” This is when I start to soothe myself by telling myself things like “OK, this job interview or new workplace or new school is pretty scary, but I don’t think I will die.” Or “Right, I need to do a nervous wee, so I will just find the closest bathroom and stay in there a bit longer than I need to, to breathe and calm down.” “I am going to be fine, this is all OK,  I can do this.” Gulp, breathe, wipe off the sweat from brow. ” I am the brave person.”

Sometimes if I can’t talk myself out of it, I imagine my friend talking to me she says things like “You are not going to vomit” and laughs at me. She also says “You can do this, you are great.” In times of panic, I often call on her, she can be very helpful because I am forever making up stories in my head. “They will never give me this job, if I wet my pants in the interview.” Because the stories I make up in my head, really never happen and are only just stories, if they did happen, I am TOTALLY prepared for that, but they rarely do.

So breathe deep belly breaths. Talk yourself down out of the panic area, or call on a friend or loved one in your mind to help “You can do this, you are brave and courageous and you probably won’t vomit.”

Rachel Wilkinson is a counsellor and massage therapist at Step into Health, Mansfield, Brisbane. She has been for several job interviews and hasn’t vomited in any. She suffers from anxiety in scary situations like around snakes, large crowds and new situations. She is currently putting together a workshop designed for parents and children to be brave in situations that can be quite terrifying. It will be a small workshop, because big ones are a little confronting.

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Be your own cheerleader!

Last night there was a monumental event in our home. My daughter, ate something she had never tried before. This might be a regular event at your place, or you may also have the challenge of a fussy eater who balks at the sight of anything squishy, green or jiggly. I understand completely, I have yet to get over my fear of beetroot.

The best part was, just as I was videoing the attempt, with her sister and I encouraging her, I heard her say to herself “I’ve got this!” before she popped the spaghetti bolognaise into her mouth and swallowed.

I was there waiting with the spittoon, a little bowl in case she spat it back out. I was prepared.  The half chewed morsel often goes back onto the plate, meaning no one will touch it. She is sensitive. For her, some foods can be too slippery, soggy or like tuna, too smelly. Every day I throw out food, (and yes every time, I think of the poor children in Africa). Eating one meal as a family doesn’t really happen for us. So this was a major celebration with cheering and high fives all round. Now we can all eat spaghetti bolognaise, which is brilliant, as it’s close to the only thing I can make. I have tried sternly suggesting she eat other meals, but she is stubborn, she would rather not eat at all. Then, I feel like a terrible parent. I have offered money, bribes and chocolate with little result. I filmed this moment as her father was stuck in a meeting and I knew he would be impressed if she could eat a family staple.

Later, she told me that it wasn’t as good as we were all making out. It wasn’t my best effort, I agree. I told her next time if we are all lucky, Daddy might make it. She was pleased.

I think the only reason she managed to eat it was because she cheered herself on, psyched herself up and completely backed herself, to have the courage to face it. Mind you, it’s not mince she has a problem with as she manages to smash a cheeseburger in under a minute. It has become more of a habit now, to stay with the familiar, the known, the safe. Safe is fairly limited to mac and cheese, homemade pizza, bacon or fish, the occasional carrot, yogurt, an apple, a cucumber.

I’m thrilled she is now stepping out, supporting herself and becoming her own cheerleader. I love the phrase “You’ve got this!” I love hearing it from people who are cheering me on, I like saying it quietly to myself when I have to drive along a highway in a semi-trailer sandwich, or make a difficult phone call or face a work challenge. I love how we can be our own cheerleaders.

I think about my personal cheer squad, I can see them in my head, my close friends who say things like this to me all the time. Even though sometimes I shrug it off or it’s hard to believe, these are the words I say to myself as well. “You are awesome!” “I believe in you!” and “ You’ve got this!” These words are the words I say to my friends, or text, or iMessage. I have a local and international cheer squad I call on. Everyone needs a cheer squad. There are moments when I have to talk myself up, when I am anxious, catastrophising, or I am afraid. The moment when I feel like it would be easier to chicken out and do nothing instead.

Yesterday, I emailed a manager I worked with over a decade ago. I was hoping he might have some insight into a business idea I had. He replied to the email with his mobile number and suggested I call to discuss. Immediately I was nervous and felt like I was about 10 years old. It took enough courage for me to email him and I was sort of hoping he would email me back. I prefer email as I feel more in control. It gives me time to format my thoughts. I can delete things, use a more impressive word after I read it over, and not get all verbally jumbled up.

With the phone, I am unpredictable. Words just come out of my mouth. I left a garbled message like “Oh hi, it’s me – Rachel Wilkinson, well Britton, that was my name last time, so, alright, I’m just calling to talk about the thing we emailed about and um, if you can call me back, we can talk some more, about the idea I had, about the thing, this is my number, which you probably already have because I’m calling from it (maniac laughter) and um. Right – speak soon.” Then I said my name, like it was an email.  So I felt even more of an idiot. So many times, I wish I could erase my voicemail messages. I was walking around the kitchen berating myself, feeling inadequate, thinking about what he might think, when he called. I took a moment, looking at his name which I had added to my phone not five minutes ago. I breathed, and said to myself “You’ve got this” and took the call. I knew if I didn’t take the call, I would miss out on his wisdom and experience.

“Who is this?” he said, after I greeted him, my imaginary cheer leaders gathering into formation in the back ground. I told him and he said “ I never check my voice messages.”  Relief swamped me. We spoke about the idea, he told me it had merit, then said he was about to walk into a long meeting and he would call me in a few days. More relief.  Cheer squad starts to shake around their pom poms. He doesn’t know what a dickhead I am.

Then I realised I am my own worst enemy. I understood, that as much as I talk myself up when I need to, I am very quick to talk myself down at every other opportunity. I know every time I am thrashing out the last two minutes on the tread-mill, I am saying  things like “You’ve got this, you can do it, just 120 seconds now.” I am also the one lying in bed saying “ Ah screw exercise, who has energy for that stuff, I need sleep.”  I am a pretty good critic as well. I can now see I am the other team booing and hissing, I am not on my own team at all.

So today – I am imagining my cheer leaders, my brave friend in Canada facing her own trials every day, my sister in Minnesota and another in London who support me and cheer me on, my own family, and my adopted family. I am lining them up into formation, I am dressing them in red, white and blue cheer-leader outfits and getting them to pyramid for me. It’s those I am calling on every day in my mind, not the critics, not the 10 year old me. I will stand at the front and start the call “ Give me a Y” because we all need to tell ourselves, “You’ve got this!” Even if  you are on the treadmill, facing a big challenge or hovering over a plateful of slimy greens.  You are brave. You are awesome. You’ve got this.

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I am an acorn seller

My daughter has recently discovered the word tempting. A week after Easter, when she had happily chowed down on a multitude of Easter eggs she found mine in the fridge perfectly whole, golden and shining. She wanted it. I asked her why. She said “It’s tempting”. So I told her just because it’s tempting doesn’t mean it’s yours to take. I thought about things that tempt me. Time alone, a brand new book, going to bed at 8pm, watching back to back episodes of Game of Thrones, wine, a new dress, oooh and a knee high pair of red cowboy boots I found on line that keep following me around on websites and popping up in my ad feed. I am lecturing her suddenly on all the things I need to hear. “Just because it is there, doesn’t mean it’s yours, this is a lesson for you  in self-control.” I close the fridge and breathe out slowly. It’s Wednesday morning and I spied the half bottle of wine.

My sister messaged me about an issue and I text her back with some ideas I have about the path of discovery she is on. I can’t help myself, I tell her about life and loss and happiness and growth and send her some links to websites where she can find out more about the topic we were discussing. I suddenly want to share all my learning experiences with everyone. I send her a link on love and then realise that I should have read it as well as there are some things in there for me that I need to pay attention to. Everything is coming to me to teach me something. Nothing is said in isolation, nothing is brought to me without a reason. I know this. Sometimes it looks like a complete puzzle or shitfight or frustration and as I slowly untangle it I realise that maybe this lesson was about time, or slowing down or really considering an issue before diving in unaware. Sometimes it takes me weeks to work out. Then the light bulb moment happens. Oh that challenge was to test me, oh the reason for the internet being down for three weeks was so that I could reconnect with my kids, unplugged. Well, that and lose my shit at Telstra which resulted in them giving me four movie tickets to reconnect with my family, again. Underscored. Hello? Message delivered and received. Three weeks later.

I’m watching it all in amazement. I’m listening to myself say things like “I just want to feel supported and loved.”  Then I’m back in my course surrounded by all my wonderful counselling students and my children give me random hugs and drawings and even though my husband still goes away a lot I get what I want from that too – precious time alone, to write, to study, to be, to answer texts, to email friends, to connect and help others along the way and practice counselling.

So if you do get a text from me or an email or a message on FB which is completely bizarre, it’s me trying to work it all out, trying to make sense of life and learning and pain and love and joy. I message my sister a lot of this stuff and website links and then I message her again and say “ How are you? Sorry about all the stuff, but you know I am a counselling student. “ I love predictive text. I never notice it, edit or review it before I send. I am so rushed I press send before preview. Some of my favourites have been “Obama running late” sent in a traffic jam. When I told my little sister in London I missed her voice she messaged me to tell me she now sounds like “Julia Minibus” which was supposed to be Kylie Minogue, but Julia Minibus is so much better. So I tell my older sister “I’m sorry but this is what you get from a counselling student” counselling student came out as “an acorn seller”. So there I am. An acorn seller. Not as large as I think I am and obviously, a lesson in humility. If I am an acorn seller, you get the gift of a potential tree. It’s yours to cultivate. It’s not mine. You get to plant it, water it and later you can phone me to come over and I will sit under it with you, and we can share a bottle of wine marvelling at how great you are. Sigh.

I am in training, I am loving these gifts arriving at my doorstep in the form of temptation, acceptance, loneliness, friendships, disconnect and connect. As my super-evolved friend Jasmine prompted me on the weekend as we lined up for vegetarian lasagne and some kind of revitalising juice, “What lesson is this person bringing to your life?” Then I see it. Loud and clear. The question just needed to be asked, gently and with support. So then I cry in a café in Rosalie in front of the waitress and the dog-walkers and the vegemite smeared babies and the paper readers and the café latte set. But I’m okay about it – I’m learning some big stuff and every time I let a bit of the old sadness leak out, I open my arms to embrace new joy.

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The holding place

I’ve spent a lot of my life going through change. Before I turned 27, I had traipsed through some nine towns and cities in Australia. I’d worked in London, studied in Central America and volunteered in Africa. Last count I had packed up and moved to and from 27 homes and held 16 jobs, including part-time and university jobs. I have jumped into and stormed out of multiple relationships and met and lost many friends. I should be better at it. Facing the loss of identity, status, the grief of the ending part, the idealistic hope of the new.

I’m not. I suck at it. Every time it happens I find myself reeling, grief stricken and panicked and not knowing where to start or who to shout at first.

I text my psychic friend. This has happened, just like you said it would. On the day you told me it would. Change is marvellous!  You are going to be amazing. he texts back. “Yes until it fucking happens to you!” I shout text. His reply is almost predictable “oh yes, I hate change it freaks the heck out of me. I see the Facebook posts on others pages, read the wisdom and insight and quotes and hallmark freaking memes and I just feel gutted. Screwed over.  I wasn’t ready. No one is ever ready for change. The hallmark quotes appear in my social media feeds. The universe gives us what we ask for. I decide to meditate the fuck out of this change situation.

I do. I meditate twice a day, morning and night. I lie on my massage table with the headphones on, ignoring the pleas for food from my small children and I face it. I listen to the woman tell me that change is part of life and part of nature and the world and the seasons and I still scream into the fridge when I get to work – why is there always skim fucking milk here ? Where is the full cream milk? Is EVERYBODY on a fucking diet here? And I realise that the meditation is making me more sensitive and the friend that walks into my office when I have tears in my eyes wants to know if I’m ok and I can’t say anything. I tell her I hit my head on my doorknob, which I did, because I dropped my coffee pod then stood up too quickly under the doorknob and near concussed myself. I blink through the tears and she knows it is something else but I can’t say.

A wise friend looked at me one and said “ It’s just change” and she seemed so mellow and relaxed with it and my mind was going 100 miles an hour with the buts and what ifs and oh my god how will I cope?

I remember I am a therapist and my job is to guide people through life changes and transitions and why am I so shit at this? I know all that strategies and techniques and the meditation and the tapping and the breathing and the respond not react and the manifesting and the journaling and I remind myself I am good at lists and organising and writing and then I breathe and make another coffee in order to focus. I know I am challenged everyday in order to become a better human. I know these situations are sent to me to learn from. I would rather read the book thanks. Change and how to cope. I am better with the reading than the doing, going through part. Can’t I just read this? Do I have to actually do it? Fuck.

So I breathe and think and plan and drink more coffee and write lists and email myself and try not to eat too much cake and sugar. Whenever I decide to eat more real food, or clean food, or just food without a packet, my ability to find chocolate and lollies and biscuits and cake is phenomenal, it is like I am a magnet for sugar. I start adding sugar to my coffee for the first time in years, I need the energy for all the thinking and coping I am doing. I get fat. Then I worry about how fat I’m getting, then I make more rules and break them and I’m stressed and tired and not eating and I’m just a cow to my kids and husband and I hate everyone.

I get acupuncture and I sob. I used to feel like acupuncture was a great way to relieve stress like pricking a sausage and all the fat hisses out. I sob. I realise I am mascara-ing all over her white towels when I open my eyes I see big fat tears fall to the lino and then the snot comes in strings, I can’t breathe properly when I ask her for a tissue and she must think it’s pretty weird that I came in for shoulder pain and I am sobbing like a heart break.  She tells me that grief can manifest into shoulder pain. To me it feels like grief.

I understand that change is an opportunity that I choose to wrap up in fear because it is unknown. My guided meditation lady tells me for the 45th time that the unknown is just waiting to be known and it finally sinks in. What am I afraid of? If I manifest a catastrophe and it isn’t that, I feel better right? If I imagine I will be bankrupt and living in a caravan and then I’m not, life is good!  I realise it’s not really change I fear but it is the stepping away from the known. The routine, the 6am wake up, walk around the block, greeting my neighbours, patting dogs, feeding my kids, making lunches, getting dressed, putting on makeup, driving the same way to work every day and doing the same thing over and over. The familiar. The known.

I like being in control. I make spreadsheets when I go on holidays. I list all the hotel numbers and add weblinks for activities and flight numbers and times and dates and suggested itineries. I leave nothing to chance. It is the out of control and chaos that unravels me. When we had our kitchen removed and replaced last month, I was very unsettled. Not being able to immediately find things disturbed me. I thought I was organised and had planned it well but as the days became weeks and the saucepans were in my study and the rice cooker in the bookshelf I became very discombobulated. Combined with the work change and the comfort eating, it was a bumpy ride.

I realise I like comfort. I like order. I like predictability and with this comes the desire to protect it at all costs. I have many friends who ride out the storms of life, who are flexible, spontaneous, open hearted and accepting. I remember running into an old boyfriends’ brother at central station and he was holding his toothbrush and a book. I asked him what he was up to and he said he was going to the mountains for the weekend. I almost had a conniption. My mind automatically started the what ifs…he jumped on the train and waved. I so wanted to be like him but I’m just not programmed like that.

I did once backpack around the world with one pair of togs and one pair of boots and a yoga mat but that was about cost effectiveness. Now when I have a suitcase I am likely to take six pairs of swimmers, just in case. You never know and it’s best to be prepared. Things can change, weather, plans.

For what is change but shedding the old? I get such comfort from predictable. I look at my house decorated in the colours of a Mexican cantina, stuffed full of memories and photos and books, and my wardrobe sagging with clothes I hold on to because that was our first date skirt, and that was the dress I wore to her baptism and that was the top I bought on the Airlie holiday and I hold tight to all the sentiment wrapped up in it all. But its transient and it is not permanent and it slips through my fingers because it is just a moment, it is not life. Life happens around all the stuff.

The thing about change is that more often than not, we can’t plan for it. I can’t plot or write or make a list or spreadsheet it until it happens. I never know what it will be. Most of the time it is a shock and we are then in the holding place watching as it all plays out.

When unexpected change happened to me in the past, I faced it with a drink, the bravado of booze, the stoicism of vodka. I used to go with my friends to a bar to get over him, sink my severance check in a tavern playing pool, find the nearest local and wait for the next train.

So far change hasn’t killed me. So now I think, I write, I meditate, I breathe, I drink coffee, I think about my next move. After all, it’s only change.

This has been reposted from about 12 months ago from my blog site  – There are lots of other blogs there and some are a little bit sweary, In case

 

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Tantyville on Jacob

I’m sprinting up the street chasing my child, who is running away from home. I have bare feet, no bra on and I’m wearing my PJs. This outfit is so far from active wear. It’s inactive wear, lying on the lounge wear, not sprint wear.  The shorts have teal lace around the cuffs and matching coloured lace at the neckline. It’s 5.30 in the afternoon, my daughter has run away from home as a mini peak hour trails down our street, watching me, the maniac, bra-less mother sprinting up-hill after her crying nine year old. Just a normal day in the ‘burbs, really.

I broke a promise. She railed, screamed and cried, I stuck to my guns because of botulism and she didn’t understand. All she understood was that I had promised her pizza and now it wasn’t happening. After explaining patiently that Daddy didn’t know about the deal, he had been away, come home and defrosted chicken for dinner and that’s how it has to be. I had food poisoning from undercooked chicken once. My experience resulted in having to poo in a cup for the doctor, a fortnight off work, and passing out on the tube. It was all too risky and complicated. You can’t mess with chicken. I was not going to risk full scale chicken plague, vomiting and pooing in cups for the sake of one crying child. So I cancelled the deal, broke the promise and her heart and she decided to run away from home.

First she hid in the house, quite well in fact, when I did find her, she was camouflaged near a large unicorn head in her bedroom like ET. She shrieked and dashed to the front door. I may have helped her quest a little by calling her bluff, unlocking the door and telling her if she wanted to run away, go right ahead. She did. I watched her zoom around the corner and hide behind the neighbour’s hedge.

I stood at the door for a while, unconcerned for her safety until she crossed the road and slunk up towards the adjacent street. When I saw that, I left the house and raced after her, she already had quite a head start on me. That’s when it turned into a barefoot bra-less sprint. It wasn’t pretty. Every now and again she turned on me and  and abused me, telling me I was unfair and I never think about what she wants, and it’s always about me, and she was right. I finally had to stop and agree with her. We continued to throw shouty words at each other for a bit.

I agreed it was unfair of me to break a promise and I didn’t want to do it and I was sorry.  I then made another promise which I knew I could keep. On the weekend when she had a planned sleepover with a friend I would buy pizza from her favourite shop. I explained that sometimes adults had their reasons for things and it was complicated. She didn’t care. In her eyes I was still a meanie and a bad mother because I broke a promise.

I sighed, turned around and told her I didn’t want to chase her anymore. I was out of breath, wearing insufficient and unsupportive clothing and you know, there were people in their cars, watching us. Like they’d never seen anything so fascinating. This is as good as it gets people, reality TV out on the street. Tantyville on Jacob, tune in any night of the week.

As I turned towards home, she ran after me and that’s when I cracked open. I realised she is such a little person and she needs me. Even though she wants to hate me and run away, she can’t. At least not for another seven or eight years. So I scooped her up, put her on my back and we trundled home, with her reading me the riot act loudly in my left ear.

Here are some reasons I found on another mum’s blog site where she lists why it’s not a great idea to break a promise. Sandra W – if you are reading this, your daughter told me you promised her a dog if she won the cross country. That’s a big promise. Here is why your daughter gets a dog.

5 reasons to keep your promises with kids – extract from a blog by Dana Hall McCain

  • Keeping promises shows kids they can trust you
  • Keeping promises tells kids they are important
  • Keeping promises models integrity
  • Keeping promises builds respect
  • Keeping promises teaches them how to have good relationships

The thing with kids is they remember stuff. They remember the bad stuff, the times when it didn’t really go all that well, the times we lose our temper and say things we can’t take back, the hurtful things we do as adults because sometimes we are stressed, tired, in pain, sick or just need a break. Whether it is a bike ride, a day out, a movie or a pizza, it is better to stick to your promises, trust me it will end in tears.

Rachel Wilkinson is a counsellor, massage therapist, reiki practitioner and blogger, although she has done parenting courses and read a lot of books about kids, there are some situations which you cannot for the life of you even imagine.

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What is Reiki and how woo-woo is it?

Reiki (pronounced Ray-key)  is a method of healing which works by balancing the body’s energy system. It originated in Japan and was taken back to the wider world by an American woman who was trained in the 1930s. The word Reiki is made of two Japanese words – Rei which means Wisdom or Higher Power and Ki which is life force energy. So Reiki is actually spiritually guided life force energy. It isn’t a new age hippy thing. You don’t need to burn sage, use crystals, tuning forks, or a singing bowl. You can if you want, and some people do, but everyone taps into Universal energy for the client’s healing, balance and deep rest.

Reiki works on the chakra system. The person giving the reiki puts hands on the person receiving, in the positions where the chakras are in the body. There are seven chakras, six in the body and one at the top of the head, called the crown chakra. The practitioner begins at the head, cupping the head with his or her hands and passing over the torso working the crown chakra, the third eye, the throat chakra, the heart chakra, the solar plexus chakra, the root chakra and  base chakra. These all have Indian names too but they are hard to pronounce and don’t impact on your treatment if you don’t know them.

There are some places where the practitioner will hover the hands over a spot, generally chest area for women and groin area for men. Just because that is polite. The energy still transfers and can be felt as a warm relaxing heat.

When you learn Reiki you become attuned by a Reiki Master, they trace their lineage to either Japanese, Thai, Chinese, Tibetan, Indian or somewhere else depending on the system they follow. I learned from a German couple in Sydney who studied a Japanese technique. Call it what you want, it’s all the same -universal energy. There is also a form of energy healing practiced in some churches, called hands on healing. Whatever you call it – you are using universal energy to balance, energise, relax and often heal the person.

What is a session like?

Reiki sessions are often like the personalities of the people who deliver it. They can be diverse and varied. All I can tell you, is what my sessions are like. My first ever reiki experience was with a Dutch Naturopath in Sydney who learned her technique from an American Indian Shaman. It was complicated. She burned sage in a mother of pearl shell, swooped over me with a huge eagle’s feather to clear my energy, danced around my head with a tuning fork which freaked the hell out of me and also beat a handmade drum. Weird. I couldn’t relax because I had an eye pillow on, I had  crystals on my forehead and body so I couldn’t see  anything and had no idea what she was going to do next. There was no re-booking or follow up session for me. Sometimes you discover what you like by first working out what you don’t like.

I generally dim the lights or put the salt lamp on, lay you on a massage table and cover you with a light cloth in case you get cold. We begin with hand placement, and may talk or not, depending on your needs. I play music, some people fall asleep, or become really relaxed and have a deep, peaceful rest. Some people use crystals to increase the energy vibration, I find that my clients may take a deep breath, the crystals fall off and they then panic or think that it won’t work. I prefer less distractions. I will have crystals in the room somewhere, but it is more the acceptance of the treatment and the intent of the practitioner which allows the energy flow and healing, not the added bits.

Normally a reiki session takes up to an hour, but sometimes can be longer. Often I incorporate some reiki into a massage, if I feel the person needs it. Yesterday I incorporated reiki into a counselling session as we needed to physically shift some old thoughts and emotions. It can be a nice thing to blend or add to sessions. I have dogs who come running to me after I pat them and they feel the reiki energy from my hands. They remember.

So there you have it, not so much woo-woo, just a Japanese practice of energy balance. Reiki can be restful, restorative and healing. If you want it blended up with a bit more woo-woo, just ask.  I can dig out a Tibetan chanting CD somewhere from back in the 90s and I’m sure my neighbour would let me borrow her Tibetan singing bowl. Let me know, mostly people are happy just to lie down in the semi darkness with some relaxing music and have a rest, whatever you want to call it, that is a nice enough thing in itself.

Rachel Wilkinson is a Holistic Counsellor, Massage Therapist, Reiki and Energy worker. She has been practicing reiki on herself, family, friends, clients and Jasper the Cavoodle for a number of years.

Rachel works on Monday, Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday by appointment at Wellington Point. To make an appointment text 0402 329 259 or email info@rachelwilkinson.com.au.

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5 Reasons to be at One with Nature!

Last year I joined a gym. I like it because it means I can exercise when it is beastly hot or raining.  The added bonus in Brisbane is, I always have air con. I don’t like the view which is over a pretty big four way intersection. This morning while on the treadmill I counted the traffic lanes. There were 17 I could see, and three I knew were around the corner. Above the road  looms a huge billboard of a fabric shop and a pole dancing club. I usually zone out to music or watch TV.

I realised this week, how much I miss exercising in nature. Not only the green space but the chance encounters with wildlife and people. I’m lucky enough to live on some wetlands. We have a green belt hugging our street and beyond this is the bay. I’ve spotted koalas, ducked magpies, seen the odd bush turkey, snowy white tawny frog mouth babies, gardens both unruly and manicured, huge spider-web creations, gorgeous fragrant frangipani, and delightful streets with purple jacaranda carpets.

I love the encounters with my neighbour’s dogs. There is one chocolate staffie, his muscles stretched to capacity in his skin who waddles up the street grinning. A golden Labrador named Rolf likes to jump up and lick my face. Another genius move is the man who simultaneously rides his bike while walking two dogs.  When I walked out to the bay regularly, I loved watching the red-footed oyster catchers scuttle across the mud. I gazed at the huge plump pelican settling into his lamppost perch watching the fishermen bring in their catch. I used to stop to catch my breath, gazing across the sandbank to look for dolphins.

Five benefits of connecting with nature:

  • Fresh clean air oxygenates and purifies the lungs!
  • Exercise and movement increases your body’s metabolism.
  • Connecting with the earth, people, and animals.
  • A technology break, rests the eyes and the mind!
  • Nature can invigorate and inspire the soul, a meditation in itself.

As a family, we schedule holidays where we binge on nature, a week at the beach, daily ocean swims and body surfing, runs along the beachfront. Then we come home and don’t do it again for awhile.  We go back to juggling work, kids, appointments, haircuts, the dentist, after school activities, parties, and sneak chill out time when we can, usually at home.

Five ways to get a nature hit:

  • Google the closest national park, pack water bottles and sunscreen and get out there
  • Find and follow Happy Hikers on Facebook for one day or several day trips around Queensland or look for a local hiking group on meetup.com
  • Get up early and head to the beach, river, or dam
  • Walk the dog or just walk around the neighbourhood
  • Get the camping gear out and plan your next trip

Another thing to do regularly is get out onto the grass with bare feet. Scientists are now proving that standing on the earth, sand or rocks barefoot, can rid the body of excess electromagnetism picked up in our environments. There is a whole movement called earthing which explores the benefits of going barefoot for health. Gardening is said to deliver the same health benefits.

Nature is a meditation in itself. Nature forces us to stop. Nature can inspire curiosity and allows the mind to slow down and be available for new thoughts.  Nature is rejuvenating, refreshing and unspoilt. No highways, no billboards, just silence.

Schedule in a nature walk today, or tomorrow or on your next holiday. The benefits to your health and well being are immense.

Rachel Wilkinson is a Holistic Therapist, practicing from Step into Health, 1/69 Secam St, Mansfield. She wears shoes to social occasions, kicks them off  in the workplace and is barefoot at home, always.

 

 

 

 

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On the move!

I’m packing up and starting the new year at Step into Health at Mansfield.

You can find me along with some other talented therapists at:

1/69 Secam Street, Mansfield.

From Tuesday 16 January, 2018

Only two minutes drive from Westfield Carindale.

See you there!

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Appy New Year!

I’m not one for resolutions. For two reasons, one, I don’t like rules, I don’t like living within a strict code and secondly I’m old enough to know any ideas I have of not eating cake, or vowing to exercise more will be short lived. So I’ve not set any New Years’ Resolutions for many years. I like it that way; it’s a no fail plan. There is no guilt and I can eat cake whenever I want, only less now. Too much sugar gives me a hangover and makes me feel depressed.

A friend told me about an app that counts your kilojoules. It tells you how much you have eaten for the day and breaks it down into fat and carbs and then you add your exercise, if any. I looked at the free version, put in my weight and height and start entering my food. Pretty much straight away, I encountered some problems. The extensive food log does not list pavlova, or huevos rancheros, or a few bits of chicken, with left over potato salad and lasagne. It is too precise.  Also I don’t really know how many kilojoules are in anything. The app tells you if you go over your recommended food intake after you enter the last meal in. I can’t un-eat. On the first day, I went over my quota by lunch, so went to bed without dinner after the app told me I had exceeded my daily requirement.

The next day at the gym I set the rowing machine to 100 calories, whatever that means. I’m visual. I need the settings to show me two pieces of cake or one Big Mac. I need to know if I burned off that cupcake I didn’t need to eat this afternoon, or if I can have another. I work out for a 45 minute session but try to enter this into the app it has 30 mins or an hour work out, heavy weights, light weights, cardio or a class. I did a mix, I ran on the treadmill, I did some rowing, some leg curl things and some arm pulling down ones. They felt heavy. Was that a heavy work out?

I don’t think I need the app. I exercise when I can fit it in and when I feel energetic, I eat when I am hungry and sleep when I am tired. After two days of the app, I realise I can’t do rules, I don’t know kilojoules and my food is not measured in a neat 100g serving. I would like another kind of app. A better kind of wellness app, more rounded, not just about food, but about many aspects of my life I neglect or let slide.

I would like an app to send messages like “ You haven’t eaten any fruit for three days” “ You are getting anxious again, you need to meditate” “ Have you had any time out for you, off the grid, no devices, just thinking time this week ?” “How long has it been since you listened to some jazz and cooked ratatouille?” “Time for a walk in the bush” “ Ring your girlfriends, tee up a movie” “ Go on a date night” “ Why don’t you leave the washing, sit the hell down and put your feet up with a book and a cuppa?” “Perfect weather for the beach”. “ It’s time to turn off Netflix now and say hello to your family” I would purchase that app.

I don’t need a fit bit to tell me I have exercised enough. If I’ve had a serious session I usually can’t get off the lounge. I struggle to make a cup of tea after doing too many weights. I don’t need an app to tell me I’ve eaten too many carbs or fat. I can usually work that out based on how my body feels, if my mood is slumping or if I feel irritable. I know when I need to meditate, which is always more often than I do, and I know when I need me time, or time out, because that’s usually when I shout at the inanimate objects.

I’m getting out the diary now to schedule some things in for the year. I’ve got a lot to do, I won’t be making any rules, but a few deadlines should do the trick. Make sure you schedule in some time for you and do things that please you this year. Happy New Year!

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On the spectrum

Yesterday we were paddling in the local bay. My daughters, my brother and his daughter. We were splashing in the shallows, looking for fish and all playing happily. Suddenly a shriek came from my niece “Too much grass!!” she wailed as she ran to the shore, none of us had really noticed, but there were bits of seaweed floating around and somehow it had pushed her into meltdown.

I’ve begun to realise in life, when we talk about people being on the “spectrum”, we forget we are all sitting in varying places on the spectrum of behaviour and attitude. The spectrum may be a recent term to categorise Aspergers or Autism but we really all exhibit a diverse range of behaviour according to how we feel at the time, and how we are travelling in life, at any given moment. We all fall in different places on the wheel. There is an emotional spectrum, a tolerance spectrum, a compassionate spectrum, an intelligence spectrum, a sexuality or gender spectrum, a sensitivity spectrum and a mental health one. When we talk about someone who is on the spectrum, or use this label in a derogatory way, we choose not to acknowledge similar behaviours in ourselves. Our little OCD picture straightening, carpet straightening, lining everything up neatly, colour coded. There are just a few of the ways I cope when things are becoming out of control in my life.

Can I understand when things get so out of control in my life that the anxiety begins to tip into anger, rage, meltdown? Yes. I sense it’s creeping arrival. I begin waking at night, thinking too much, I start to binge on TV shows, shouting at my kids, giving my husband the “like I give two shits” look, eating too much food, clothes shopping. I feel it coming. I understand rage. I’ve had it in the car, at work, at my children and my husband. I rage in my mind at inanimate objects. Sometimes I suppress this, sometimes not. If no-one is in the car with me, I can get quite creative with language. Sometimes I keep it simple, with a mid digit salute. After a few days I realise the dark shadow is here and I go to the gym, I go to the bay. I turn off the TV and play with my girls, I cook brown rice, cut back on the coffee and drink water. I meditate. Before I used to drink. It’s now been two and a half years. I recognise the signs.

My dial on the cleanliness spectrum is set differently to my husbands. I wait until the shower gets slippery with mould and kind of transforms to gorillas in the mist complete with frog calls and bird song until I get out the bleach. Weirdly enough my kitchen needs to be spotless. I vacillate. He needs the dishwasher packed a certain way, but happily leaves trails of coins and clothes around the house, like he has decided to shed his worldly goods and become a monk. I think the only reason I have not found him swathed in robes in the lotus position in the garden is that he spends a lot of time re-stacking the dishwasher.

Friends of mine will recall the night we walked the entire length of King St, Newtown looking for a restaurant with the right ambiance. On the sensory spectrum I am tightly strung. My dial is set to high. I can’t manage bright lights, loud music, too many people, Westfield throws me into overload. I sometimes need to find the safety of a bathroom, the darkness of 8 street or a change room to regroup. My daughter has the same sensitivity to noise and light and clothing labels being too scratchy. We cut them off. She is very in tune with her emotions. She also knows I cry at the sight of other tears. Two nights ago, at the most cripplingly sad part of Wonder, she heard me take a breath and forget to breathe out, and her little bony hand found mine in the dark. We share the same place on the sensitivity spectrum.

I don’t seek to imply that Autism, or Aspergers, is not significant, or to lessen the impact it has on individuals and families. I want to actually be more inclusive and speculate that where you may sit in your life now, I may have been there or might go there, we are all in this together. We are all having a human experience at varying degrees of intensity. We all benefit from hearing one another’s story. I understand when my friend says she would love to have another Down Syndrome child, because her son has brought so much joy to their lives. Who gets to dictate what is normal anyway? We are all in some ways, normal and abnormal depending on who you ask, what day it is, for some, how the planets are lining up, or the stress in our lives.

My behaviour is dependent on hormones as well as environmental factors which produce stress. If I am all at one with life, have been to yoga, eating and sleeping well and been to the gym, chances are  I’m sitting in a safe place on my spectrum. A happy place.  I can walk past a wet towel on the bed or floor. I may even serenely pick it up. If things are out with me, I can hit overdrive very fast about a towel being anywhere else other than where it should be, which is on a freaking towel rack in the bathroom. On the irritability spectrum, I am also pegged at high. I understand why my husband chose a career with the option of regular travel.

Teetering out of control and heading towards meltdown depends on how safe we feel, how supported, how stressed, if our hormones or medication are balanced, if we are in pain, or if we have experienced interrupted sleep or illness. We all change our place in the wheel depending on what’s going on in our lives. That’s why the message in Wonder hit home. Choose kind. You never know where people are at.

This is a revised version of a blog I wrote a few days ago, only with less Stevie Nicks.

I’m mostly blogging on my website blog link now. You can find that here. https://www.rachelwilkinson.com.au/blog/

I also post to my facebook page, rachelwilkinsoncounselling and tweet on occasion. My handle is @3ducks1.

 

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