Posted on Aug 15, 2015 in Blog |

Flow. I bet some of you thought this might be about yoga. Wrong.

When I hear about a close friend experiencing a medical crisis, I go into full forward motion. I do anything and everything I can to motivate and coordinate people into helping the person in need. I may not be able to do everything, but I can find people who can fill in the blanks. The difficulty I have in this is that I tend to bring that anxious energy and fear into my own body and I store it there. I don’t let it just FLOW through me as I learned in Somatic Experiencing therapy. I think I need a refresher course.

When I go to the doctor’s office for a test, I get tense. My muscles are tight and I don’t even realize it. I try to make small talk with the emotionless tech but by the end, I’m still tense and anxious upon leaving.

When I get a massage, I can sometimes get emotional. It’s like a total cleansing. Getting all the bad juju out in an hour.

When I get acupuncture, I usually feel invigorated and relaxed. I feel enlightened, actually and I can usually come home and write rather easily and freely.

Today, I did all of the above. And I am completely exhausted. I sucked in all the negative energy with my friend Bambi’s stroke updates. I didn’t let the energy FLOW through. I caught, but didn’t release.

I tried deep breathing at the doctor’s office, but I’m still emotionally and physically processing what is happening. This was totally unexpected and I feel like I’ve been thrown off kilter. It takes me awhile to get my balance back.

The massage was fantastic, first time with this person, first massage by a man (yes it was weird, but he is amazing) and he got into my muscles and fascia really deeply. My physical therapist has to use a steel tool to break my fascia apart from my muscles. And as I got more relaxed, I could feel my emotions from the week starting to surface. But I was ok so far.

And then there was acupuncture. My acupuncturist is a weird dude. But he is incredibly talented with the needles. I travel from Great Falls to Leesburg every week just to see him. He’s that good. So I sit down on the table and he says, “So, you seem kind of friendless lately. What’s going on?” And the tears started coming. And they are still coming.

In the past 11 months, I have lost my best friend who doesn’t even contact me anymore. Everyone around me reminds me not to take it personally. They all independently agree that this is more about her than it is about me. Intellectually, I know that. In my heart, I miss my friend. I used to see her every single day. And now I never see her. And at times, it is agonizingly painful in my heart.

I lost another best friend who was temporarily living with us for 18 months. I saw her every day too. She had to move away. I still talk to her via facebook or text every day, but she’s not there to watch Big Bang Theory or Modern Family with me. I miss her laugh. I miss her letting me hug her every day. I miss her letting me love her.

I lost a group of friends that met for three (or was it four?) years every other Saturday as we studied different spiritually based books. We keep trying to get back together, but one of us has moved to Montana, and we just don’t seem to be able to get it back together. The summer has been rough on each of us so I hate that we aren’t getting together to support and love on each other.

And, I lost a member of a small group of Lymie friends we had in an instant message group. JoAnn Colburn died in May I think. And I miss her. She was one of the first Lymies I met in 2009 and her kindness, compassion, optimism, and realism were refreshing and invigorating for me. The rest of the group still talks and jokes and sends love. But it’s just different. And today I felt that loss.

And, today, my husband is gone, having gone south to work on his fishing spot. I told him to go. I just couldn’t make the long drive with this leg thing happening. He was TOTALLY worried about leaving me alone and I reassured I was FINE – having the house to myself, no fighting over the remote, bed to myself (minus the space for the dogs), I can go to sleep when I want, wake when I want. I can eat gluten free oatmeal in the morning. I can even eat cookies for breakfast if I want to. But I want to have breakfast with Jeffrey. I want to reach across the bed at night and find him, hold his hand, brush his hair through my fingers.

I’m a HUGE introvert. I prefer being alone. I love days like this and the thought that if I want to, I could choose to speak and see no one all day long. I’m really good at isolating. Too good. I make Jeff worry when I am like this. He is the one who drags me out of the house every weekend.

So back to my acupuncturist, Dan. The weird guy. “So, you seem kind of friendless lately. What’s going on?” he said. We talked, he made me laugh, then he stuck needles in me and left me alone with my grief, exhaustion, and aloneness.

And when he came back, I could breathe more freely, I felt not so alone, I felt validated, and I felt excited for the weekend, regardless of what I do or don’t do. I think the energy that I had trapped from Bambi’s stroke finally passed through me, leaving me a clean palate.

So I came home with doggie treats, ate a few pistachios and a very juicy, flavorful pear. I’m drinking a lot of water to flush the toxins out. I took a shower, washed my hair. I’ve taken my meds, put on my pajamas, slipped into bed and turned out the lights. I’ll put on the sleep timer and hopefully, pass off to a restful night’s sleep soon.

And when I wake up, I’ll still be alone, but I won’t be lonely. Because I’m going to meet my women’s group at 7:45 am and we will rock and roll with honest laughter and endearing frankness. And hugs. We hug a lot. And I like that.