When I think of a massage, I fondly remember a swedish I had in highschool. The massage therapist used aromatherapy and a very light touch, and the combination lulled me into a drowsy semi conscious state. If you glance further down the menu of over priced spa treatments, underneath "seaweed wrap" and just above the "medical massage" is a deep tissue also known as sports massage, sounds harmless? It's not. An obvious option for those who enjoy a little pain every now and then. According to its description, its best for those of us who have a few, shall I say, kinks, to work out. Kinks that make it hard to walk with a spring in the step because you have tension that weighs you down, its not so much the weight of the world (well, unless your clark kent) but the weight of your world. Emotional, psychological stress can turn you into a big ball of unrelieved tension, so I hear. I experienced my first deep tissue massage not long ago and kept thinking "Uh, people pay for this?" No happy endings here.
Barebacked and a bit sciddish, it was clear that the strangest places were the most painful, held the most tension, and provided the greatest release. Following the curve of my muscles, the massage therapist found particular spots that felt so tender that I would twitch uncontrollably in response. You'd think I was a bruised peach - maybe I am. I've been known to wake up in the morning with a series of bruises and scrapes of unknown origin.
There were times when the pressure beneath her finger tips felt so monumental that all I wanted to do was grab her hand and rip it away, jump off the table and hide. First I'd like my clothes back. I wanted to tell her to leave me and my big balls of knotted muscle alone - I'll use them to jump off this table, run a hot bath and drink a glass (or bottle) of wine. I wanted to cry. Each area of my body had spun its own web of stress, and it ached. She promptly located my marble-like lymph nodes running down the sides of my neck - the physical proof of my turbluent junior year in nursing school and the many physical manifestations that accompanied the emotional and psychological deconstruction of myself. One infection promptly followed by another, followed by several others, treated with buckets of antibiotics. To be specific. She said my shoulders were as hard as my neck, they both required more time and effort, would I mind if she went over the allotted time? These uncooperative parts of my body demanded more elbow grease on her part, and a higher pain tolerance on mine. And so, while I was having someone's body weight work out my multitude of kinks, I drew a comparison to lying naked on a massage table wanting to cry, and my life.
Physical pain makes us all react, I pull away from it and sometimes I whimper. When I run into walls, I usually swear like a sailor and laugh at my clumsiness. But to be perfectly frank, I prefer the physical kind to any other. I'd rather wake up with scrapes and bruises than tears. And so is the case with somatic disorders (psych nursing 101), the physical manifestation of emotional distress serves as a preoccupation, a socially and self acceptable reaction. We would like to blame our bodies for everything gone wrong, must have been your physical self that's haywire -- because it is so much easier to diagnose a broken arm than a broken heart. I'd rather point to a dark spot on my shin and say "see, this is where it hurts!" than to talk about the kind of hurt you can't point to, that's hard to identify, that you wish would disappear, that you can't begin to understand. Sometimes with distraction and sheer optimism, it can, but it can also resurface - and like a storm gaining momentum over water - by the time you work it out, the enduring hurt might dissuade you from any attempt at resolution.
I won't compare a spa treatment to walking on hot coals or basic military training -- but I'll compare it to the parts of myself and the events in my life that make me hurt. I will compare it to the problems we finally address, sooner or later, the things we decide to fix with whatever tools we may be equipped with, like a pair of lubed up hands and a lot of upper body strength. Or communication. Or writing. When I strip away the many things that preoccupy my mind, the relationships or stressors that I can so easily point to - the bruises - when there is nothing left to do but look inside and not out. What I find in there might hurt, getting past that may feel like burning embers. I can either run away from it, point to something or someone else or even pretend it's not there. Naked on a massage table, I surrendered to the truth that the pain of working it all out out would be the best for the physical me, that is before I transformed into a big ball of maddening stress and discomfort. Surprisingly, I got off the table feeling light as a feather, and strangely emotional. If working out the kinks inside yields the same result, it's well worth it.
19.7.10
nanny diary - the one and only entry
If you've never felt like a second class citizen, it's probably because you've never nannied for a family that treats you like one. With several weeks to kill before the nursing job commences, I solicited an ad online that was eagerly answered by a nearby family. It didn't take but a few weeks to realize that stepping into their house was more like stepping into the twilight zone. Often chaotic, often tearful, and never quiet, with a t.v. in every room of the house, it's safe to say that no one would ever have to worry about being alone with their thoughts. The few times the children weren't fighting with eachother, bossing me around, fixated on the screen with the wii controller glued to their hand - the house was calm, strangely so. The house was peaceful, they'd even play pretend and use their imaginations. And the universe didn't collapse into itself! But it was always short lived and easily disrupted, barreling into the room was their mom - who had a great big larger than life personality, a let-me-tell-you-what-I-think-even-though-you-didn't-ask-and-clearly-don't-want-to-know personality. An intrusive, gossip seeking, and obnoxious personality - the kind I try to avoid. But hey, I wasn't there to make friends. A mom who feeds her kids mac n' cheese for breakfast and diet soda with every meal, is no friend of mine.
This woman, who entered rooms like a tornado, used her "niceness" not for any other reason but to get exactly what she wanted, addressing everyone with "honey" and "sweetie" - her demands were wrapped in a sort of pushy but seemingly altruistic disguise. Though the absurdities and uniqueness of this family alarmed me, our courtship continued. And I flew to Newport Beach, California to spend their family vacation with them. Initially I thought the adventure would be challenging, but a good experience - certainly a test of patience - it supported my "no kids if your career is your baby" stance.
In a pushy, seemingly altruistic way but so very clearly not - she had me go to the walk-in clinic to further investigate my barking cough - even though I felt fine, the sound of sickness made her squirm. I had had it for about a week, a result of sinus drip, allergies, travel and all that delight - no fever, consolidation or sputum. Yes, there is an R.N. after my name now so give a little credit where credit is due. The bark certainly wouldn't resolve with insufficient sleep after being pulled in different directions by the high maintenance little people they called children. The walk-in clinic experience was a disaster from the start, she tried to come into the exam room with me - I firmly drew a line, boundaries aren't something she warms to. While I was in the room, she cornered the M.D. stating she'd prefer I'd be seen by him and not a PA, she described my symptoms to him - he responded with absolute certainty that I was highly contagious, he had seen several cases just like mine. Weird, since he didn't see me? By the time I came into the hallway, germaphobic panic had begun to set in. Her eyes wide and buglike, I disagreed with the doctor and so did the PA - but he stood his ground and off we went. I knew immediately I'd be leaving relatively soon, within an hour the flight was booked.
A few hours later I was flying over Utah appreciating its unique terrain, enjoying the alone time - when I found myself angry at the situation and my loss of weeks of pay. It should not have come as any surprise that the woman who took her son out of YMCA baseball because his coaches refused to let him wear a helmet in the field -- also wouldn't think twice before ditching her nanny with a cough.
This woman, who entered rooms like a tornado, used her "niceness" not for any other reason but to get exactly what she wanted, addressing everyone with "honey" and "sweetie" - her demands were wrapped in a sort of pushy but seemingly altruistic disguise. Though the absurdities and uniqueness of this family alarmed me, our courtship continued. And I flew to Newport Beach, California to spend their family vacation with them. Initially I thought the adventure would be challenging, but a good experience - certainly a test of patience - it supported my "no kids if your career is your baby" stance.
In a pushy, seemingly altruistic way but so very clearly not - she had me go to the walk-in clinic to further investigate my barking cough - even though I felt fine, the sound of sickness made her squirm. I had had it for about a week, a result of sinus drip, allergies, travel and all that delight - no fever, consolidation or sputum. Yes, there is an R.N. after my name now so give a little credit where credit is due. The bark certainly wouldn't resolve with insufficient sleep after being pulled in different directions by the high maintenance little people they called children. The walk-in clinic experience was a disaster from the start, she tried to come into the exam room with me - I firmly drew a line, boundaries aren't something she warms to. While I was in the room, she cornered the M.D. stating she'd prefer I'd be seen by him and not a PA, she described my symptoms to him - he responded with absolute certainty that I was highly contagious, he had seen several cases just like mine. Weird, since he didn't see me? By the time I came into the hallway, germaphobic panic had begun to set in. Her eyes wide and buglike, I disagreed with the doctor and so did the PA - but he stood his ground and off we went. I knew immediately I'd be leaving relatively soon, within an hour the flight was booked.
A few hours later I was flying over Utah appreciating its unique terrain, enjoying the alone time - when I found myself angry at the situation and my loss of weeks of pay. It should not have come as any surprise that the woman who took her son out of YMCA baseball because his coaches refused to let him wear a helmet in the field -- also wouldn't think twice before ditching her nanny with a cough.
14.6.10
stumbles and falls brought me here
Sometimes a break up feels like this: Falling down a flight of stairs head first, only to realize at hindsight that if you had just put one foot in front of the other, the descent would have been far more graceful, but instead you just look a clumsy disaster. And then other days it feels like you forgot to look both ways when crossing, and oops, you got run over by a Mack truck. Either way, unless you're the one slamming and dead bolting the door behind you, it can hurt. It can break you into a million unrecognizable pieces of your former, happy gooey eyed love struck self. Most of us femmes are hypercritical and self deprecating 90% of the time on a good day, but a break up just gives us the opportunity to zoom in on all of those imperfections and missteps that we are convinced have led to a bed full of snotty tissues and several empty boxes of kleenex... and thus a life of loneliness and solitude. "It was all my fault" is a phrase I know too well, and while this may be the case for some endings, it was far more likely the result of a perfect storm - with all of the right components there, at just the right time - it blew right through you.
Some days are bright, sunny, happy and full of possibility - the world is my oyster! The next thing you know your best friends are wiping mascara from your teary eyed face while you recount all of the woulda, coulda, shouldas. You of course torture yourself with the plans you had made together, that you will never fulfill, and that disappoint alone feels like an elephant on your chest. One minute you wish he was walking in the door, the next minute you can't glance at a picture of him without wanting to vomit. Fortunately for you and the gut wrenching misery this has imparted, you can't vomit because you haven't eaten in the last twenty four hours... because your appetite for food has instead been replaced by an appetite for bad television, trashy magazines, and at times, tequila. So it goes, so it goes.
I have filled my days with work, studying for the nursing boards which are hovering over my head like a black cloud, a hefty amount of knitting and cooking, of course. This is great for those of you who may have left your appetites in your last relationship and others who are just looking for something light and refreshing on a warm summer day, these two salads are fantastic and are even better if made the night before. I serve them over a bed of baby spinach.
Tabbouleh Salad
2 1/2 cups of chopped parsley (sometimes I even do more, traditionally, the ratio of parsley to bulgar should be about 4:1)
1 cup of chopped mint
1 cup of finely chopped green onion
1 cup of diced cucumber
1 large diced tomato
1 cup cooked bulgar (and you of course can use what you have on hand, whether that be quinoa or couscous, just as long as its small)
dressing: juice of one lemon, dash of salt, 2 TBS vegetable or other mild flavored oil, 1/2 TBS of vinegar, whisk together and poor over ingredients, toss to coat.
Berry Bulgar Salad
1 cup of dried cranberries (soak in hot water for 10 minutes then rinse with cold)
1 cup cooked lentils
1 cup finely chopped green onion
2/3 cup chopped mint
3 TBS chopped parsley
1/2 cup of sliced blanched almonds
3 cups of cooked bulgar
dressing: juice of one lemon, 2 TBS of orange juice, dash of salt, 3 TBS veg. oil, 1 tsp of apple cider vinegar, whisk together and poor over ingredients, toss to coat.
**When cooking the bulgar (or whatever grain you choose) a thick slice of lemon peel as well as a sprig of mint will give it scent and added flavor while it cooks - make sure the lemon and mint are big enough and easy to locate after cooking so that they can be easily removed.
Some days are bright, sunny, happy and full of possibility - the world is my oyster! The next thing you know your best friends are wiping mascara from your teary eyed face while you recount all of the woulda, coulda, shouldas. You of course torture yourself with the plans you had made together, that you will never fulfill, and that disappoint alone feels like an elephant on your chest. One minute you wish he was walking in the door, the next minute you can't glance at a picture of him without wanting to vomit. Fortunately for you and the gut wrenching misery this has imparted, you can't vomit because you haven't eaten in the last twenty four hours... because your appetite for food has instead been replaced by an appetite for bad television, trashy magazines, and at times, tequila. So it goes, so it goes.
I have filled my days with work, studying for the nursing boards which are hovering over my head like a black cloud, a hefty amount of knitting and cooking, of course. This is great for those of you who may have left your appetites in your last relationship and others who are just looking for something light and refreshing on a warm summer day, these two salads are fantastic and are even better if made the night before. I serve them over a bed of baby spinach.
Tabbouleh Salad
2 1/2 cups of chopped parsley (sometimes I even do more, traditionally, the ratio of parsley to bulgar should be about 4:1)
1 cup of chopped mint
1 cup of finely chopped green onion
1 cup of diced cucumber
1 large diced tomato
1 cup cooked bulgar (and you of course can use what you have on hand, whether that be quinoa or couscous, just as long as its small)
dressing: juice of one lemon, dash of salt, 2 TBS vegetable or other mild flavored oil, 1/2 TBS of vinegar, whisk together and poor over ingredients, toss to coat.
Berry Bulgar Salad
1 cup of dried cranberries (soak in hot water for 10 minutes then rinse with cold)
1 cup cooked lentils
1 cup finely chopped green onion
2/3 cup chopped mint
3 TBS chopped parsley
1/2 cup of sliced blanched almonds
3 cups of cooked bulgar
dressing: juice of one lemon, 2 TBS of orange juice, dash of salt, 3 TBS veg. oil, 1 tsp of apple cider vinegar, whisk together and poor over ingredients, toss to coat.
**When cooking the bulgar (or whatever grain you choose) a thick slice of lemon peel as well as a sprig of mint will give it scent and added flavor while it cooks - make sure the lemon and mint are big enough and easy to locate after cooking so that they can be easily removed.
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