Meet me at The Pause?

Posted by | February 14, 2011 | 9 Comments

The Pause, my favorite new spot. It’s on the corner of Now and Notice, where that old dive, Reaction, used to be. Happy hour every day. Come in any attire, including tears. All moods are welcome.

Hottest bartender, his name is Presence. Ask him for their signature drink, Patience. Not sure what their secret ingredient is, but from what I can figure it’s got some muddled Time, macerated in oak barrel-aged Joy. Seriously, best drink ever. Get drunk on it. Even the hangover is great.

Categories: Heidi's Musings | Tagged: , | 9 Comments

Hop on over to Cranky Fibro Girl’s blog. We got to be her “inaugural soothers”!

Posted by | February 9, 2011 | Leave a Comment

Hi. Heidi’s biz partner here, hoof-typing this note while she’s off getting her prebirthday day massage. (Yay! I am the happy when she gets a massage!)

I’ll be quick.

The snarky, sassy and always lovely Cranky Fibro Girl is starting a tradition on her blog. Wednesdays will be all about soothing. And on this first day of her series she has interviewed Heidi.

If you don’t like to know secrets, don’t read it. Because Heidi went and told the main magic in our potions. This morning I was all, “What! You go and tell our secrets without consulting your biz partner?”

To which she said, “Bite me!”

Really. I think she’s been sniffing a bit too much of our Sassypants potion. Cheekypants, more like–

Anyway. That is all.

Oh. The linky bit… almost forgot! Here you go: A-Little-Bit-of-Soothing-Wednesdays: Heidi and The Aardvark pay us a visit.

Tell Cranky Fibro Girl I said hi. I ♥ her!

Signed,

The Aardvark

P.S. If you’re reading this in a reader and have trouble with that link, just copy and paste this URL into a browser: http://www.jennyryan.com/?p=4869

Categories: Aardvark Essentials, Minding my biz, Self-care | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment

It’s freaking courageous to relax! (Plus, 3 ways to save $ on massages)

Posted by | February 4, 2011 | 1 Comment

And there was much rejoicing…

A few days ago I had a massage.

It helped EV-ree-thing! My mood, my body, my sleep, and even –EVEN!– my tolerance for the stormiest winter ever. Enh… what’s a bit o’ snow!

It might be what I do for work, but really it’s no different for me: I too get busy. Sometimes I also look at my checking account to see if I can afford a session of my favorite-ever form of self-care.

But after last week’s session I added a monthly (at least) massage to my list of self-care aspirations for the year. Right alongside sitting quietly and doing nothing for 20 minutes every day (some people call this mindfulness meditation– and yes, there’s a bit more to it than doing nothing. Maybe).

Right along with drinking a big mug of warm water first thing in the morning and eating foods that are yummy AND agree with me. (As recommended by my wonderful Ayurvedic practitioner, Amba Greene).

Right alongside going to bed when my body is tired, and yes, siestaing it up when I feel the urge, inspired by my friend Lisa Baldwin’s brilliant wee-book Take That Nap, which may be wee in length but is zoom zoom zoom on inspiration and guidance.

Some of my aspirations seem like no-brainers, no? But sadly, self-care no-brainers are sometimes the first to get left behind when I get busy and start believing the thought that I cannot afford to rest. Which is simply untrue.

Because rest? It’s vital.

And also? It helps everything, including and maybe, especially, creativity.

And also too:

It’s freaking courageous to relax!

Have you noticed that when you’re relaxed less guarded? More open-hearted?

It’s easy to be defensive. It takes courage to be relaxed!

(The rest of this post applies to folks in the United States, and/or in the Cambridge, Massachusetts area, which is where my massage practice, Heidi’s Table, lives. If you live here too, you’re welcome to come see me!)

Speaking of checking accounts…

I have some massage $-saving ideas. I hope you can use all three of them, but even one of them should make you the happy!

Way 1 to save bocoup massage bucks:

Does your employer offer a Flexible Spending Account (FSA)? Sometimes these are called flex plans, or reimbursement accounts…

They do? Awesome!

Did you know that you can use your pre-tax monies to pay for your massages? Seriously! Best thing ever, right? If your employer offers this and you are not using it to pay for our sessions, um… how to say this… why the hell not?!

Using your FSA monies for massage can mean a savings of, give or take, 30% on your sessions. Several of my clients do this.

(If you’ve had sessions with me in the last few months that you’d like to claim for your FSA, let me know– I’d be happy to email you a receipt. And, going forward, just ask me for a receipt at the end of your session.)

They don’t? Oh boo. Some of us don’t have FSA’s.

But wait! There are other ways to save!

Way 2:

You can purchase a 6-hour Series of Massages with me for $486. That’s a 10% savings.

I’m quite flexible about how you use your series: You can split your 6 hours up into sessions of 60, 75 or 90 minutes. (Because sometimes 60 is fine, and sometimes you reeeeally want a long one, right?)

You can also share your hours with someone else. If you and your hubby or BF or GF or BFF like getting massages, you can share your series with them. Or maybe your friend is pregnant or just had a baby and you’d love for her to get a much-needed massage with a therapist with advanced training in peri-natal massage. Ahem.

If you want to share one of your sessions as a special gift, I’m happy to give you a gift certificate or send your gift recipient a special email.

All I ask is that you use the sessions within 6 months. Think of the 6-hour series as an investment, a commitment, to taking care of gorgeous you.

Also. ALSO!

Way 3 to save extra bocoup massage bucks:

As in, 50% off the full price of your next session!

If you refer a new client to me and they get a massage this winter (through March 21), I will offer you your next session (through April) at 50% of the full price.

Awesome for you, awesome for your friend, and awesome for me! <mwah!!!>

Speaking of massage…

Now you want one, right?

I have a few openings left this week.

TODAY Friday, 2/4: 5:15 p.m.
Saturday, 2/5: 9:30 a.m. or 2:15 p.m.

Next week:

Thursday, 2/10 (1 opening left): noon, 1:30 or 3:30 p.m.
Friday, 2/11 (3 openings left): noon, 1:15 p.m., 2:30 p.m. or 5:30 p.m.
Saturday, 2/12: 3:00 p.m. or 4:30 p.m.

Call 617.297.2266 or email me to claim your spot. (If you don’t see a time that works for you, just ask. Sometimes things shift).

——–

I so look forward to seeing you soon. Until then, I wish you warmth, laughter, grace for the hard stuff, and a mug filled with the magical spirits of whatever you most need today!

xo

Heidi

—–
Heidi E. Fischbach

Massage therapist, mood detective and potion-mixer

You have a body. You have a mind. But they don’t always get along.
I can help.

www.heidistable.com
617.297.2266

Categories: Massage Therapy, Self-care | Tagged: , | 1 Comment

Pardon all the pronouns but Whitman was right: I am vast. I contain multitudes.

Posted by | January 31, 2011 | 23 Comments

Heidi, for the love of all you love, do not do another thing until you write. And definitely, most definitely, do not talk to him —or anyone, for that matter— until you write. And also? Permission not to believe any of your thoughts, especially the conclusions your mind jumps to when you’re anxious. And, under no circumstances make decisions right now, promise?

OK. But there’s so much and it’s all a-jumble and I don’t know where to start—

That’s OK. Just write it how it is. Just start. That is all.

OK. It’s like this…

~ * ~

There’s how I go all know-it-all on his ass when, thing is, I don’t really know. I mean, I do, but when I get all know-it-all, it’s not Heidi-that-knows, but a part of me that’s scared.

The me that knows is calm and clear, and knowing is not a big deal to her. She is strong, but she never needs to act strong. There’s no need for her to defend or argue, or be pushy and bossy about what she knows. After all, she’s in no hurry and she knows that deep down everything is OK. If she’s not happy with something, she simply moves on. Or changes it, no muss no fuss. Or goes home. Or simply leaves the room. Simply, is key.

But not so with know-it-all me, who really just knows how to sound like she knows. When really, she’s scared. And secretly she wants to cry. Like today, about how much she wanted him to hold her last night.

She’s also afraid she’ll mess up and do something stoopid. And believe me, she knows from stoopid.

And too? She is prone to hyperbole. Basically, she does whatever she thinks it takes to maintain connection. But, her estimation of things is always clouded by fear and the action that comes from that is, necessarily, conflict-ridden. And certainly not clear.

Why hello there, Sweetpea. Come in from the cold. You look like you could use a warm meal. Here… we’ve a place for you at the table. But first, let me get you a cozy sweater and some flannels. Oh my, your left leg is all wet… If I didn’t know better I’d say you’d been lying on your side in the snow!

Then there’s this other part who’s ashamed.

Now, you and I know that shame never helps —not really, although it means well. What shame actually does is make people go into hiding. And there, in hiding, things cannot get better. Know why? Because shame tends to hide in closets. Or attic crawl spaces. Or basements. And, know what all those places have in common? Yep, they’re cramped, for one. For two, there’s no fresh air. Nada. Zippo!

Hiding places of shame are stuffy and damp. Not to mention dark. And there, in the company of shame, one’s thoughts tend to go all merry-go-round. Minus the merry. And there’s a good reason minus-the-merry-go-rounds never made it into amusement parks. Ahem. So, in short: with shame you go round and round, minus the merry, in a cramped, dank, dark space.

Hiya! Come in. The more the, uh… merrier!

“Oh god! I got here as quick as I could. Know-it-all has been up to her shenanigans, and if I don’t take her into hiding quickly she’ll get all dramatic and mess everything up.

Everything?

Yes! Heidi’s relationship, and her work, and her life… I’m so worried. I don’t ever want her to ruin things again. I don’t want Heidi to end up alone, and surely she will if I don’t stop this part.

Ahhh… you’re all out of breath and oh my but you look like you’ve had no sleep in days. Let’s run you a tub. There’s a lovely claw-foot porcelain bathtub upstairs and the towels will be warm from where they’re hanging over the stove by the time you’re done. And then, if you want, you can join us for dinner. We’d love to have you at our table. What do you say? Want to come in for a spell?

~ * ~

Tara Brach taught me to ask it like this:

If I weren’t feeling self-righteous, what would I be feeling?

Powerless. Vulnerable.

If I weren’t being defensive, what would I be feeling?

Scared. Afraid all the love will disappear.

~ * ~

The therapist lady said this:

“Extreme need and distress brings about extreme action.”

They’d been talking about That Thing from more than 20 years ago. That Thing with the repercussions. That Thing with the regret she sleeps with. That Thing she wants to understand.

It wasn’t like she woke up one day and said ‘today I will make this thing up.’ If anything, she was obsessive about telling the truth.

It wasn’t as if she wanted to hurt him. Although for sure, she sees now, she was angry. And anger was not acceptable then.

It wasn’t that she wanted to tear her family apart. It wasn’t that she wanted her parents to stop being missionaries and for her dad to get a job delivering spring water.

It wasn’t like that. And yet it was.

More on this can’t be written out loud, except for that bit. Not yet, at least. But there it is, somehow related to everything. She’s piecing together the clues. She’s the detective of her life. And, if nothing else, That Thing has made her plumb the depths of herself and look in the places where monsters tend to hide.

“Extreme need brings about extreme action.”

~ * ~

The bit that happened yesterday afternoon…

You handed me an olive branch. I couldn’t look at you —I felt shy and I was still licking my wounds from our fight, from being all defensive— but I nodded. It was my best yes to your branch.

Then you rubbed my back with potions. Then you wrapped me in the comforter and I fell asleep, I think. When I woke up you were outside shuffle-ing, as you say it, the remnants of another installment of Winter 2011: the year of the weekly snowstorm. And playing with Jennie, the Shepherd.

I looked out and felt myself soften then tighten again. Then I went to the kitchen.

Two eggs were in the pan sunny side up. A plate of guacamole on the counter. I knew you’d left them for me. I ate quietly, looking at you through the window.

Finally I bundled up and went out and the three of us —man, dog, and woman girl— went for a walk in the snow on the frozen lake.

I was quiet. I felt at the mercy of things very old and I didn’t want another round of reaction. I didn’t want to be defensive. I did not want to be self-righteous. And pretending never agreed with me. So pretty much I was quiet.

And then I felt like crying. So I told you to go ahead, that I wanted to take my time.

I watched you walk away… Jennie, stopping to look back at me every so often before turning back to catch up with you, her master.

And then I lay down in the snow. And I looked at the bare trees in the setting sun. And I thought of Mary Oliver and the line in that one poem about sleeping in the forest, about how the earth took her back so tenderly… And that’s what made me cry: the kindness of it.

And I said, to no one in particular, “I just don’t know how to do it.” I was referring to relationships, of course.

Whoever I was talking to answered back, “Join the club.” They didn’t say it meanly, but just like that, matter-o’-factly, “Join the club.”

I went on, “But it’s hard and I’m no good at it. Pretty much I suck.”

And again, “Join the club.”

I lay there for a few minutes watching the last light playing on the treetops. A secret part of me wondered: Would you notice? Would Jennie ever run back for me?

~ * ~

She’s been around for a while. The me, that is, who wondered those things as I lay in the snow. For sure she was there 20 some years ago. She’s very young. And she so wants to be noticed. To know she matters. For kind eyes to see her. Really, I’m the only one that can take care of her, even though sometimes I wish you could. But it’s not your job. Good thing about My Inner Council. They’re a big help. I wish I’d had them 20 years ago.

Um, excuse us, Sweetheart, but we were there.

You were?

Yep.

Well then why the hell ever did you not speak up! Whyever did you not let me know? I could have used a little help, thankyouverymuch.

Aww, Sweetie, you couldn’t yet see us. You didn’t know how to look inside. And you couldn’t hear us. You really didn’t know how to listen yet, remember? You had no idea. It wasn’t until you read Letters to a Young Poet that day in the bookstore that things started to shift a wee bit. You glimpsed inside, and you got curious. And even though Rilke had written those letters a century before to a young man in the army, he might as well have written them to you. He described the world inside. He got things you’d never talked about with anyone. And he told you about the rooms with the locked doors. And to not worry so much about trying to pry them open. And he told you to love the questions. What a notion that was. And what a relief, remember? Because being desperate for answers when the answers aren’t ready to be understood can take its toll on a girl.

Wait. Rilke is on My Inner Council, too?

You should know. We’re your Council.

But why didn’t you tell me I could call on you for help!

Oh, Sweetie. Remember how literal you were? I mean, you still believed in an actual lake-of-fire hell. And in a heaven with streets of gold and mansions floating in clouds.

True enough.

But we were there.

When else?

Remember the Morning Glories?

Of course. But they were for realz, flesh and blood ladies. Not just inside.

Oh Sweetheart, inside, outside: same, same. You’ll see. You already are.

~ * ~

Postscript. Last night:

You: “I took a picture of you earlier.”

Me: “When?”

You: “You were lying in the snow. I thought you might want to remember.”

~ * ~

Comment Zen:

I would love your company. Pull up a chair, there’s always room for one more at the table. Bring your parts, your me’s, too, if you want. And love notes. And mugs of magical spirits. And stories or thoughts of how you can relate. And feel free to pull out your ukulele. But please, leave your shoulds at the door. Here’s some cozy slippers for while you’re here. Thanks for stopping by.

Categories: Mood detective | Tagged: , , | 23 Comments

Mood detective, heal thyself!

Posted by | December 1, 2010 | 8 Comments

I like to ask my clients how they’d love to feel when they leave their session. In addition to helping us set an intention wave a magic wand, their answer gives me a sense of how they are doing, what they are struggling with, even if we never ever discuss the specifics of their life, which mostly we don’t. (After all, I am not a psychotherapist).

Sometimes they say: “I want to feel calm like you.”

The first time I heard this I’m quite sure I laughed. I thought: “If you only knew!”

These days I don’t laugh. First off, they are serious. Second, it’s not about me. I know this because I too have people that are to me just what I am to my clients and it is a gift for me to recognize calm when I see it. Calm (or any quality) is in the eye of the beholder. For sure. Third, if I look honestly I see that I am calm and present for my clients. It is, after all, no mistake that I do what I do. Learning calm is probably my biggest life learning.

The last few days have been hard for me. I have not felt calm. At all.

If you read my blog, you probably know that I’m a big fan of “channeling” people.

“Channeling?” you might ask, thinking it’s some special or weird quirky thing I can do.

I can assure you, anyone can do this. (Although for sure, I’m quirky).

What I do is keep a mental list of people I admire for certain qualities. During hard times, or even just when I’ve exhausted options of how to deal with something, I bring them to mind. Some of these people, like, oh, Clint Eastwood to name just one, are on My Inner Council, and that simply means that when things get reeeeally hard, I call an inner meeting to which only the smartest, kindest, and yes, sometimes bad-assest, people are invited and we have us a pow-wow.

A pow-wow?

Yep. Although we’ve never passed around a pipe and now I’m wondering why the heck not… But pretty much My Inner Council pow-wows consist of me saying straight up how it is and them listening and every so often asking me the best, get-to-the-heart-of-the-matter question ever, during all of which I am pretty much writing everything down. Because, hello! If the Dalai Lama says something to me, you bet your ass I’m writing it down.

Anyway…

Sometimes I have dialogs with these people I channel. Of course, most of them I’ve never actually met. But, no matter. In fact, even better. Because what these people really help me do is see myself and what’s around me, in a new way. They help me recognize and develop existent, yet dormant, qualities within myself. Takes one to know one, and all that.

(And if I ever do meet Cesar Milan, Clint Eastwood, Mary Oliver, the Dalai Lama, Isadora Duncan, Johnny Depp, Hiro Boga, J.K. Rowling, Maya Angelou, or Leonard Cohen, maybe I will thank them. Probably, I will just be dumb-founded. Or drooling.)

This morning, in a moment that “Losing It” was made for, I began to write, wondering whom to channel. And just like that I knew: I need to channel me. Specifically, how I am with my clients:

Calm.
Listening.
Balanced.
Smart.
Kind.
Sense of humor.
Sensitive.
Strong.
Confident.
Open-hearted.

—————

Me: Hi, Heidi. Come in, come in… How are you doing today?

Heidi: [about to burst into tears] Oh, there’s so much. It’s too much. I look at so-and-so and so-and-so and how well they’re doing, and how together their life is and how happy they are… and when things feel like today, my life just looks shitty… There must be something wrong with me.

Me: [nodding] There’s so much happening right now and it’s all seeming like too much–

Heidi: Mostly, it feels way too crowded.

Me: Crowded?

Heidi: My thinking! It’s crowded! Exclamation points! Flashing billboards on the highway kind of crowded in my head. It’s driving me crazy.

Me: Oh yes, I understand. Sounds overwhelming. Tell me… how would you love to feel when you leave your session today? What quality, feeling or state of mind do you need?

Heidi: I’d like a sense that no matter what is going on, no matter what is coming at me, no matter what, I am OK.

Me: Ahh yes, that is a very wise thing to want. Rather than wanting your circumstances to change, you want to feel that you are OK no matter what.

Heidi: Yes. Whether or not the relationship works out, I am OK. Whether or not my loved ones are healthy, I am OK. Whether or not I get all the clients I need this month before the holidays, I am OK. Whether or not I get all the Aardvark Essentials new things I want to put up on my website up or not, I am OK. Whether or not someone I love ever wants to see me again, I am OK. Whether or not I make my rent, I am OK.

Me: Ah yes.

Heidi: You know what that would be like?

Me: Tell me–

Heidi: That would be like the highways in Vermont, where they don’t have any advertisements or billboards or flashy lights, only directional signs indicating what the exit number is, or the town name, or how many miles to the next rest stop…

Me: Ahh yes. So, things right now feel more like the highway in New York or New Jersey, rather than Vermont?

Heidi: Exactly so.

Me: I wonder if you could tell me how you would know you are OK… I mean, OK could come knocking on your door and how would you know that’s who it is… In other words: how would it feel in your body? How would it be in your mind? In your heart?

Heidi: Well, take I-91 in Vermont. My eyes are free to move about slowly or quickly but without getting assaulted or interrupted by lights and noise and information, which is what it feels like inside of me when I’m overwhelmed… it’s like my attention keeps getting assaulted.

Me: Oof! That is hard.

Heidi: It makes everything be on edge.

Me: I can see that. Tell me more about how would you know that you are OK no matter what?

Heidi: [takes big, gentle breath and slows down to ponder... already there is an observable change]… I would walk confidently, knowing the ground holds me. [laughs] I’m not too heavy for the ground. And I would allow gravity to help me move as I need to.

Me: What do you mean?

Heidi: Well, I’d let gravity bring my shoulders down so they’re not hunched up to my ears. Also, my breathing would be longer and calmer. My heart would feel open and soft. I might cry and that’d be OK. Lately I’ve been too stoppered up and uptight and scared and feeling hard and protected to even cry.

Me: Hmmmm… Heidi, I can see that you know exactly how to feel OK no matter what. Even as you were telling me these things I saw them happen.

Heidi: But why do I feel overwhelmed so often?! There must be something wrong with me.

Me: Sweetpea, I want to tell you a secret that’s not really a secret. Most people feel overwhelmed sometimes. And a good many people feel overwhelmed a lot of the time. They might mask it, but they do. And overwhelm can feed on itself and then that makes it stronger… People do things to keep their overwhelm at bay but those things are temporary distractions, at best. Keeping something at bay doesn’t really make it go away. What do you think all that endless checking and texting and refreshing of screens is all about? Most folks don’t even sit down to sip on a hot cup of something without reading or refreshing some screen or another… Do you really think they are enjoying those things when they do them like that? Just look around, love… start noticing… we aren’t bad for doing those things, but I’m telling you this to invite you to notice, and hopefully feel less unique about the overwhelm…

Heidi: [quiet]

Me: I can tell you really care about taking care of yourself and living with an open heart, Heidi. Could I invite you to consider something?

Heidi: Yes–

Me: When you are feeling overwhelmed, like everything is crowded and noisy and too much… is believing “There is something wrong with me” a kind and helpful thing to think?

Heidi: Not really. It actually makes me spin faster, and then, in addition to feeling the crowdedness in my head, I then start trying to figure out how to fix myself, all because I’m panicked that there’s something wrong.

Me: Exactly.

Heidi: But I can’t help it. I just think it. All of a sudden, there is that thought: There’s something wrong with me.

Me: Right. You don’t make the thought happen. It’s not your fault. It’s actually not anyone’s fault. But you can notice it. And once you notice, amazing things can happen.

Heidi: Amazing things? Like feeling calm?

Me: Possibly. We think we have to change things. To fix them. To make them better. But simply noticing and paying attention is the #1 ingredient of kind, non-violent change. And kind, non-violent change is the kind of change that sticks. Change that’s been forced, always tends to backfire.

Heidi: OK, so I notice the thought, and then what?

Me: Well, you could then do many things. One of my favorite is to say hello.

Heidi: Come again?

Me: “Hello there Thought that there is something wrong with me. Funny you should come by today. Things are rather busy, in case you couldn’t tell. Feel free to sit and make yourself comfy in that chair over there, or you can even hang out with me, but you should know that I can’t entertain you. I have a life I’m dying to live and also, I’m learning to stay calm.”

Heidi: Hunh! That’s interesting. So you aren’t trying to kick the thought out?

Me: Nah. Never works. It’ll come back to bite you in the ass, and probably at some ungodly hour when you’re trying to sleep. But you can say hello. You can laugh with it. And you can treat it kindly. Or you can drop it off at your friend’s house for them to keep an eye on while you do your stuff… But, once you notice the thought, you are onto it, baby, and you don’t have to believe it. So, Heidi, how’d it be if the thought “there’s something wrong with me” popped up but you were totally onto it?

Heidi: Hmm…. I think I’d be able to notice my panic and the crowded billboards in my mind more calmly. Hmm… I’d notice panic calmly. Hunh! Is that even possible?

Me: You just saw it in your mind’s eye, didn’t you?

Heidi: Hmmm… Kind of like the medical people and EMTs who come to the scene of an accident… How unhelpful would it be if they arrived and were all: “Oh noes! You’ve broken your arm! Oh noes. What the hell is wrong with you!”

Me: Exactly.

Heidi: Ahhhhh… Thanks, Heidi. I want to be calm like you.

Me: You’re on your way, Sweetpea, you’re on your way. Now, how about that massage?

Heidi: Oh yes. My favorite!

Categories: Massage Therapy, Mood detective | Tagged: , | 8 Comments

anatomy lessons + traffic analogies to get you through the holidays

Posted by | November 23, 2010 | Leave a Comment

Think of what it feels like to wear tight shoes. Not so good. No matter how cute or dapper they are, secretly you can’t wait to get them off. And when you do, you’ll probably rub your feet to bring them relief, to get some circulation back… Ahhhh…

When we are stressed out, our muscles and fascia clench and tighten. (Fascia is the connective tissue that covers and holds our muscles together). Our muscles become, in effect, like tight shoes around our nervous and circulatory systems. And, circulatory and nervous systems are meant to…

Yes? you in the back?

Circulate… flow… and move…

Ding ding ding ding! Brilliant.

When cars can’t circulate, we get traffic jams. In our bodies, traffic jams feel like knots. Like spasms. Like headaches. Like pains in the neck. Basically, like OW!

That’s because tight muscles squeeze our blood flow and irritate our dear nerve endings. No one likes to be pinched and irritated, and nerves are no exception.

Thing 1 to do, or rather NOT do, is to feel bad about it. Feeling bad about feeling tight and tense is like adding insult to injury.

Remember, our bodies are programmed to contract and clench when we sense that something is wrong… (Now, whether something actually IS wrong, is a whole ‘nother matter, but for today let’s just stay with bodies and what to do when we are wearing our muscles like tight, albeit cute, shoes).

Also, forget about telling yourself to “Just relax.” Really. Don’t. It’s annoying. You would have if you could have. ‘Cause you’re smart like that.

Thing 2. Notice kindly. That is, notice and be kind about what you find.

Close your eyes and do a little body scan. How are things in your body right this second? Any sluggish traffic? Any jams? (Pay special attention to the shoulders, head and neck, and the low back/butt as these are major traffic rotaries in the body.)

Any places of tightness, discomfort or pain?

See if you can notice your places of tension with all the kindness in the world. Maybe even say “hello,” as if you’re just meeting this thing for the very first time. Treat your tension like an interesting person you don’t know. Stay curious. Stay kind.

Channel the Dalai Lama if you have to. Channel Glinda the Good. Find someone who is the picture of kindness and patience, and be that person onto yourself. Go ahead. Make them up. Borrow them from a movie or story.

Sometimes it helps to put your hand on the place of ow. Ahh… (I swear I just heard your body saying, “Thank you for noticing.”)

Thing 3. Breathe.

I love this one. Know why? Because, dude! You’ve already got that one pretty much covered! You’ve been breathing without a second thought for how many years now?

But for purposes of easing tension, I would like you to give it a second thought.

When we are stressed out, we take short, barely-getting-by kinds of breaths. They get us by, for sure, but you know what? Short breaths mean that your neck muscles have to pinch hit to help you breathe. And helping you breathe is not your neck muscles’ main function.

Neck muscles are meant to support your head. And to help it do all sorts of spectacular things like turning, bending, and extending… Neck muscles would really rather be turning to get a second look at loveliness (ooh ahh ooh ahh!). Or tilting your head back to gaze at a starlit sky (oooh!). Or bowing your head in a moment of reverence.

Good news: There IS an organ/muscle that gets super excited about helping you breathe. In fact, you could say that this organ’s life mission is to help you breathe.

“You, meet your diaphragm.”

There is nothing your diaphragm would rather being doing than breathing for you. Think about that for a sec. Breathing… for… you! Wow.

“Nice to meet you, Diaphragm,” you might be saying, “and, I know you’re inside me somewhere, but where exactly are you?”

Put your hands just below your ribs, where your solar plexus or gut is, and take a deep belly breath in. Did you feel your hands rise? Right there is where your diaphragm is.

When my clients are stressed out and I notice that their thoughts have not stopped spinning, I sometimes place my hand there lightly and invite them to picture a balloon right there, under my hand…

Go ahead and try it now, if you want: when you inhale deeply, you will feel the balloon expanding, filling up with air. When you exhale, you are letting all the air out. Take a few gentle, deep breaths… In and out… Innnnnn and Ouhhhhhht. Ahhhh…

When you’re stressed out, remember your balloon, say hello to your diaphragm, and let it do what it loves to do for you.

Thing 4. Drink a tall glass of water. (Room temperature is best).

Remember, circulation! Nothing like water to move things, and to keeping them lubricated.

Plus, drinking water will make you pee and peeing is your body’s brilliant way of getting rid of things that no longer belong. (Also, an added perc this time of year? Taking a bathroom break means you get a break from the noisy relatives.)

I can’t wait to see you again. And if you live in or will be visiting Boston, yes, there are still openings for massage sessions this Saturday, 27 November (yep! after Thanksgiving).

Also, the aardvark (of Aardvark Essentials thankyouverymuch) and I have put our heads together and come up with That Time of Year Potion Sets. There’s one called Holiday Sanity. Another called Holiday Comfort. And another called Celebrate. We think you will LUV them!

Until next time, lovely peoples, wishing you all the ease in the world,

Heidi

—–
Heidi E. Fischbach

Massage therapist, mood detective and potion-mixer

You have a body. You have a mind. But they don’t always get along. I can help.
617.297.2266

Do you know someone that would love my massage therapy and mood detective work? I’d love it if you forwarded this entry to people you love. [And, mwah!]

Categories: Massage Therapy, Self-care | Tagged: , | Leave a Comment

Me, Humpty Dumpty, and His Holiness the Dalai Lama. On a wall. With insomnia.

Posted by | November 9, 2010 | 6 Comments

No to-do list is going to get me there.

There?

There. Where worry ends.
There. Where it feels safe.
There. Where I’m home.

A monster shouts: “You must figure out your mailing list thing!”

And another: “You must get that new page up.”

And another: “Quit being so anxious or everything you do will come from fear.”

And yet another: “What’s the use. You may have good ideas, but you are paralyzed. What’s the use. You will always be a loser, maybe smart, but a loser nonetheless.”

Ah yes. Thanks for sharing. Onward!

Except for the fact that fear has, in effect, grounded all planes.

<Cue sad trombone>

There is nothing to do now but sit and notice. Oddly, just that brings a hint of relief:

There is nothing to do now but sit and notice.

It’s been weeks now, the 4AM-waking-up thing. (Except for Sunday, when the clocks changed and I woke up at—wait for it!—3, which is to say, thankyouverymuch, 4).

<Again with the sad trombone>

At dark:thirty it’s hard to ignore what’s wanting your attention. I mean, you can try, but there’s not much by way of distraction. And you can struggle to sleep, but sleep and struggle were never good bed fellows. (heh!)

Of course you could pretend it’s 7 and get up and get busy. But you’re onto that thought. Plus, you’re a mood detective! And so this morning you sit up in bed, wrap a blanket curiosity cape around you, and try to channel the Buddha. (Some people call this meditation).

You notice how hard you feel: things feel hard and you feel hard. A wall around your heart kind of hard. Numb and brittle-hard. Fragile-hard. Hard all around.

You understand about defending against what you’re scared of. You understand about being afraid of what’s dark. You understand about homeland security. You understand about terror. You know war. It’s an inside job.

You could call in the light brigades. You could bomb the bastards. You could smoke them out of their caves. But we know how that goes. All wars are civil wars.

So you sit. There you are, on a wall. Hello, frustration. Hello, fear. And oh! Hello! If it isn’t…

Humpty Dumpty!

“Hi!”

[He doesn't answer. He's shivering. Let's try again. Maybe let's try un-exclamating and un-bolding the font this time.]

Humpty?

[Still no answer.]

“Are you cold?”

What can I say. When I’m nervous I sometimes state the obvious.

He’s chattering so hard I’m afraid he’s going to go and crack up right on top of the wall here, before ever there being an actual event to report, like a fall. And then, not only would there be a mess on top of the wall, but we, by which I mean I, would be responsible for ruining the age-old nursery rhyme, to boot.

I’m going to be here for a while, I can tell. Plus, I remind myself, I am channeling the Buddha.

I notice I want to save him, to keep him from falling. I want to tell him that the story doesn’t end well if he goes ahead and falls. The experts won’t be able to mend things. The people running the world are, in fact, more f*cked up than he is, and really, it’d just be a horrible mess.

But I bite my tongue. For about a minute.

“Do you need anything?”

[no answer]

Apparently, he doesn’t like questions. They put him on the spot and, I’m cluing in, he’s already on the spot. That, plus, he’s onto me. He knows my questions are much more about me trying to alleviate my own discomfort than about what he might really need.

So I keep sitting. I’m nearby, but not too close. And certainly not in his face. The last thing you want to do is startle an egg on the ledge. I’ve learned a thing or two from police shows.

His eyes dart around. His shoulders are up to the ears he would have if he weren’t an egg, and his head is way forward. (Work with me). His brow is furrowed and his egg-chest is sunken in. His legs are twitching. Classic signs of tension. I notice these things and, am proud to say, say nothing.

It is now a quarter till dawn. We’ve been sitting on the ledge, he and I, for what feels like ever. Egg time moves verrrrry slowly. Especially in the dark.

At some point I stop pretending he’s not right here inside of me, a part of me. I get more curious. That’s about when he starts calming down. His body is still shaking but he seems less agitated.

But he sure does still look cold. I get a soft woolen blanket and very quietly, set it nearby. If he wants it, he’ll get it. I notice that he doesn’t flinch or pull away, and when I am back at a safe distance and seemingly not noticing, he reaches for the blanket and wraps it around him.

I sit and notice the urge to say something smart, to blame something—his upbringing, his estranged family, the Easter Bunny—and I bite my tongue.

Then I notice the urge to leave, to get up, to get busy, to turn on some screen or another. If I can’t fix things inside with my inner Humpty Dumpty and make this fear go away and never come back, then at least I can distract myself, no?

But I stay.

The Buddha, who apparently I’m no longer channeling because he has just come and joined us on the wall and now he looks just like the freaking Dalai Lama, says something to me in Tibetan. Or maybe it’s Pali. Not sure. But either way, I don’t understand.

I raise my eyebrow, as if to say, “Come again in a language I know?”

Notice I say, “as if,” because I don’t actually say that. At least not out loud. I’m catching on to this silence thing and how most things I say when I’m scared are really just blah-blah-blah and, quite frankly, I’m bored. Given the choice of scared and bored, or just scared, I’ll pick just scared. Just. As if! Still. You get my point.

So now it’s me. And Humpty Dumpty. And the Dalai Lama, who, I might add, looks to be smiling.

Smiling? you ask.

I know, right?

To be sure, it’s not like he’s laughing at us or anything. It’s more a smile like he’s onto something I don’t quite get. Yet. The “yet” is definitely implied. Whew! And also? It’s a warm smile. Very warm. As if to say: “all is really truly OK, including you.” As if—get this—he has confidence in me.

I want to say, “But Your Holiness Mr. Lama, I’m very scared. And I don’t know shit. And I’m just one girl. And look! Humpty! Who will put him together again if he goes and jumps?”

But I don’t. Because I’m practicing silence. And sitting. And noticing, by way of writing, which is my way.

Thank goodness for pens, curiosity capes and listening caps. Best secret powers, ever.

Why do you stay in prison when the door is so wide open?
Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking. Live in silence.
Slow down and down in always widening rings of being.
–Jelaluddin Rumi

Comment zen: I heart comments. What my story sparks for you? Your own experience with fear? With waking up at dark:thirty? Encouragement that I keep writing and that you want more? Yesss!

BUT/AND: Please refrain from psychoanalyzing or offering advices. Thank you!

Categories: Mood detective | Tagged: , , , , | 6 Comments

Dear Client, Thank you. Love, Heidi

Posted by | October 29, 2010 | 4 Comments

I often start your massage session by asking: “how would you love to feel when you leave here today?” Or, “If we had a magic wand and you could choose a quality to receive while you’re here, what would that be?”

And then you proceed, pretty much every time, to blow me away.

You are so insightful.

You tell me you want to experience the quality of fortitude. I ask what that would be like, how you’d know that you have it, and you tell me that fortitude means feeling flexible, yet strong.

Sometimes you tell me you want to feel centered. And then you point to the place in your body where “centered” lives, when it’s there. You even show me, with your arms, the motion that becoming centered involves.

Other times you tell me you want to feel relaxed, that your mind has been crowded. And then, 15 minutes into your session you tell me you’re doing what I taught you. “What’s that?” I ask, not remembering. And you tell me that you are simply watching the screen of your mind, letting the thoughts ticker tape across the bottom, neither trying to stop them, nor grabbing onto them, but just letting them scroll on by.

You want soothing. The last couple weeks have been hard, you say, and your stomach has been knotted up. You want to feel calm.

You’d like to be able to turn your head with ease again. You just recently became a new dad and how lucky are you that your baby pretty much sleeps through the night, but oh my, you’d like to be doing the same but you’ve been waking up at 4 in the morning.

Your body teaches me what trust looks like. And that trust can never be forced or hurried along, and that everything changes when it’s ready. And then I get to observe, again and again, that readiness is much more likely to happen when a thing, a person, a shoulder, neck or back has been heard, understood, and met exactly as it is. Sometimes I can almost hear your shoulder saying, “Ahhh, you get it, yes. You really get it! Thank you.” And then, more times than not, it changes. Because now it’s ready. Its need to be knotted up is no longer.

Every time I hold your head, I remember that support is always there for you, for me, for everyone, whether we notice or not. And I notice the kindness of gravity, always pulling us back toward ground, and yes, darkness and rest.

I look forward to every Thursday, Friday and Saturday, the days I get to see you. I can’t tell you how often, at the end of one of those days, I think, “Wow! How lucky am I to do something I love and get to help people like you. ”

I suppose the short version of all the above would be, simply, “thank you.”

So much love,

Heidi

P.S. Oh and too? You may not know this but yesterday you helped me play mood detective with my insomnia! And last night I slept much better. Thanks!

Do you know someone that would love my work? My practice is open for several more clients. I’d love it if you forwarded this letter to people you love. [And, mwah!]

Categories: Massage Therapy, Self-care | Tagged: | 4 Comments

Playing mood detective with insomnia.

Posted by | October 28, 2010 | 3 Comments

Hello, frustration! This morning it woke me up, coursing through my limbs at dark:thirty.

Hard to ignore. Certainly hard to sleep through. When I finally “cried Uncle” and got up, I was tapped ever so lovingly on the shoulder by this line:

tending as all things do, toward silence…

Ahhh. And then I remembered (with a little help from above Google) the poem by Mary Oliver from whence my love-line came:

When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measle-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades;

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
I look on time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence.

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it’s over I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

~ * ~

Oh my dear body, I have been full of argument. And oh but I have been feeling frightened. Something to do with time and how it keeps passing at warp speed measured in days, even hours, when it used to be years. (Um, what year are we again?)

Something about how I’m doing too much of the wrong thing, and not enough of the love thing. And how the two are all tangled up and I can’t tease them apart. And in all this I need to support myself.

That last thought is so heavy it could crush rocks.

Playing Mood Detective

Sweet pea, shall we play? Want to invite your old pal and superhero Curiosity to play Mood Detective with you?

Yesss!

OK. What happens when you believe this thought? How do you live your life when you believe: “I need to support myself” ?

I worry. And then what I do is motivated by fear.
I feel alone. And I jump into the future and worry about dying alone.

Yikes!

And I wake up early and can’t sleep.
And I spin. Not like in a Sufi dance of joy, no. More like a piece that has sprung loose from a powerful moving machine… it’s still spinning like mad but on its own.

Oof! So hard!

And how does it feel in your body when you’re thinking that thought?

I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders.
It feels like there’s static on the screen of my mind.
Nothing is clear.
Sometimes my neck hurts.
And sometimes I feel it in my butt.

Ow! OK. Could something else be as true or truer than this pain-in-the-butt thought “I need to support myself”?

What do you mean?

Well, as I see it you are an adult and you are running a business and you need to pay bills and keep things moving. But when you are crushed with this thought you are usually only looking at things from one perspective, and, not to put too fine a point on it, that would be the perspective of doom.

Oh yes.

The thought “I need to support myself” really doesn’t seem to be serving you, does it?

Nah.

Because I know for a fact that you’d still work and do the things you love, even without that thought.

Yes, probably you’re right.

Can you tell me about those?

Those?

Those things that you love to do?

Read and write poems and essays and stories.
Connect with people… people I’ve met and people I’ve never met and people I’ve not yet met.
Sing and dance. Pretend I am Leonard Cohen’s female backup.
Be a Massage Therapist.
Play Mood Detective. Teach my clients to be mood detectives so their bodies don’t have to express their stress as pain.

Wow. That’s a lot of things to love! So, what else could be as true or truer than your original pain-in-the-ass thought: “I need to support myself” ?

I need to allow myself to be supported.

Can you tell me about that?

Well, truth is, I am not alone. Not really. I often think I am, but I’m not. Yesterday morning I called my friend at 6:30 a.m., crying. I woke him up and he listened and was there. It was 5:30 for him!

Oh yes. That is support. Not to mention love.

And I have other dears that love me. All over the world.

Yes, you do.

And I have clients whom I adore and by all accounts, they seem pretty much to like me too. They pay me and I get to help them.

Wow, yes.

You know, come to think, how I help them is all about this.

How so?

Sometimes I will hold parts of my clients’ bodies. Like their head, for example. I make a fulcrum with my fingers and place my finger pads and tips right where their head meets their neck, atlas on axis, at the crux of so much of the pressure in their neck and jaw… And I wait. And listen. And hold. All the while their head is resting in my hands.

I can tell how much their neck tension is easing by how fully they let me hold their head. Sometimes, for whatever reason, a client will keep holding the weight of their head. Mostly it’s not conscious at all. Maybe they are trying to help me. They simply can’t, for whatever reason, in that moment allow the full weight of her head to rest in my hands.

Often, just showing up and bringing awareness to how it all is is enough to change it. I can tell when a client rests because I feel the weight of their head–ironically heavier and lighter at once–in my hands. Often their jaw and face softens at the same time. It moves me in a way I can’t explain, to get to be there when that happens.

Oh my, Heidi! Do you have any openings today? I want you to hold my head! OK. Where were we?

We were playing with the thought “I need to support myself.” And I was noticing that when I believe that thought I am not allowing Life–by way of the ground, the bed, the pillow, the figurative or actual hands under my head–to support me.

Gravity comes to mind, too. That fantastic force of this our earth, not letting me up and float away into the la-la-land. When I am worrying, I have usually forgotten about the loving force of gravity pulling me ever back to the ground, back toward darkness, “tending as all music does, toward silence.”

~ * ~

Dear Mary Oliver, dear poetry, dear life, dear Byron Katie, dear ground, dear gravity, and oh dear client-of-mine,

Thank you.

Love,

Your Heidi

Categories: Massage Therapy, Mood detective, Poetry | Tagged: , , , , | 3 Comments

Connection. Chilean miners, ukuleles, pianos, and Laika.

Posted by | October 13, 2010 | 6 Comments

This morning I watched live footage of the miners in Chile being pulled out of the ground in a capsule after 70 days of entrapment. I heard the Chilean Spanish of my childhood, and felt very close to what I watched. I was amazed by the silence and sense of calm about the whole operation, and moved by the embraces of loved ones, men hugging men, mothers hugging sons, people wrapping arms around one another and patting, again and again… Lots of patting. Not a lot of words.

Tonight I walked home under a sky just shy of dark. It’s my favorite time, that time of in-between. You get to play I-spy on the magics. Tonight I spied a man walking down the street carrying nothing but a ukulele. He strummed his uke as if strumming a uke was the only thing in the world to do.

He reminded me of a night this August just past. I was walking home at the same magical time, though the hour was later and the air was sultry. It might have been winding down, but it was Summer still. That’s what I was thinking when I heard piano notes which I thought surely I was making up. Except that I wasn’t, because right there, on Brattle Street, sat a man playing an honest to goodness old-fashioned piano on the sidewalk.

In that moment, like this morning and tonight, I loved being human. And alive. Intimately connected with this world.

There are a number of things in my life I regret doing. One or two I regret a lot.

When I look back on Me-Then it is now with some measure of kindness. It wasn’t always like that, and the kindness surprises me. And sometimes makes me cry. Kindness tends to. Me-Now sees the young woman that was Me-Then as a girl wanting, more than anything, connection.

In some way it’s still what I want most. Connection. To you. To another. Something bigger. Something other. To nature. To myself. Even when I retreat into aloneness it’s about wanting to connect and come back. For isn’t the loneliest feeling ever to be far away and cut off from oneself?

Over the weekend, my guy and I made a little roadtrip. We drove home late on Sunday, in the dark, listening to Mecano. If you don’t know them, they are an 80′s Spanish group. I adore them. Their lyrics are stories told in poetry. I wish the whole world spoke Spanish, just so everyone could understand Mecano. Just like I wish everyone spoke English so they could delight in Leonard Cohen. But I digress.

The song Laika came on and I tried an on-the-spot translation for my guy who doesn’t speak Spanish. Laika was a Soviet space dog, the first animal to orbit the earth. She died hours after take off.

The song has been tapping me on the shoulder for three days. Tonight I stopped to write it down. Laika is not alone.

Laika is on Mecano’s album “Descanso Dominical.” 

(Full link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HazBalqkJrU)

Here’s my very quick translation, which is a far cry from the original Spanish. But it tells the story and loosely fits the syllabic meter of the song, in case you want to Karaoke it up.

She was Russian and her name was Laika
just a very normal dog she was
she went from being simply regular
to being an A-class superstar

They placed her into a small space rocket
to observe her signs and reactions
she turned out to be the world’s first astronaut
on a mission into outer space

Now the rocket is set and ready for take-off
and ground control on earth bids her farewell

At home base everything was stark silence
waiting for some signal to be heard
Everyone’s attention on their earphones
heard the sound of her familiar bark

Back on earth there was a grand old party
shouts and laughter, weeping and champagne
Laika surely watched it through the window
noticing the big bright colored ball
wondering how odd to be circling it

Now the rocket is set and ready for take-off
and ground control on earth bids her farewell

Then one night stargazing on the heavens
a new light is observed by telescope
no one can explain the apparition
of this new sun in the skies
But if we pay heed to the great legend
surely we must know it to be true
that while on earth there is a great dog missing
in heaven there is also one star more.

Categories: Heidi's Musings | Tagged: , , , | 6 Comments
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