Even before I could write, I was a writer. And that’s a weird thing to think.
But I accept myself as one of those humans who was just born that way. Can’t be helped or changed. Good luck stifling it. Not even a debilitating, brain-scrambling smash with a tractor-trailer accomplished that. (That’s foreshadowing.)
It follows, then, that when I first became an acupuncturist, I geeked out about the content marketing potential of my new profession. (Quick summary for the non-dweebs among you, content is generally accepted as having four functions: inspiring, educating, informing, and entertaining. Anything you write for your business can and oughta do one or two of the above. More if you’re wicked skilled with the words. M’kay, you’re up to speed; let’s get back to it.)
Acupuncture and herbal medicine as professions in America need a shit-ton of savvy and sane positioning and educating, especially in my neck of the woods. Prolly not a spoiler to declare there’s alotta garbage out there.
So back when I was starting out in private practice, I felt excited about and prepared for what I fresh-facedly thought of as “an opportunity,” bless my heart. I was eager and energetic and in my early 30s. I had one small toddling child and thought I understood sleep deprivation, among many other challenges whose edges I had only glimpsed. (That’s more foreshadowing.)
In short, I was adorable.
As I fiddled around with my content and marketing plans, I realized two undeniable and uncomfortable truths: the word “healing” made my skin crawl, and the word “healer” made me vurp.
My figurative hives and indigestion were due to the fact that the term “healing” has been co-opted and misused, abused and misunderstood, abducted and misconstrued.
Healing securely occupies a position at the top of the List of Things People Reaaaaaalllly Want. And you’ve probably noticed that whenever people reaaaaaaallly want something, other people try to own whatever it is people reaaaaaaallly want. That way they can mark it up and sell it. So also with healing.
This attempt at ownership leads to a behavior I call “healier-than-thou,” which is exactly what you’d guess. A smug and condescending approach to all things “healing.” Typically with a hefty price tag - monetary or otherwise.
Ew, count me out.
Healier-than-thouers can be found anywhere - in new-age alternative health, in traditional medicines, big pharma, supplement companies, fitness and fashion, mainstream medicine, the patriarchy at large, and lotsa religions.
Hi, that’s some baggage.
Enter the dubious label “healer,” and my itchy unease heightened to burning dyspepsia. The word “healer” made me feel twitchy, like its combo of delusional and creepy would spring at me from behind a barrel if I claimed it. There was also something else sinister about it, a whiff of a warning that being a “healer” could possibly get me sizzled at the stake or dunked in our local swampy pond. I decided I’d pass.
So I wrote about healing without naming it directly.
And that was fine; it helped me figure lots of things out and make my peace with the word. When people called me a “healer,” I eventually stopped cringing, rolling my eyes, or otherwise outwardly flicking off the label. Maybe to them I am a healer; I’ll more or less accept that.
But actually less. I self-identify as a healingphile (so not even a thing,) because I don’t believe healing is something one person can do to another person. That ain’t it.
I’m no stranger, then, to healing: professionally and personally, theoretically and practically. Yet even after all that practice, I still got schooled.
The previously mentioned debilitating, brain-scrambling smash with a tractor-trailer wrecked and rerouted every. single. facet. of my life, and I thus found myself hard at work and/or fumbling in various new-to-me arenae of healing.
It would not have been unreasonable to go completely batshit cuckoo after the wreck. It deeper-than-leveled me; it worse-than-erased me. My brain got hit and counter-hit and everything was, in a word, WHACK.
My mantra became “slower,” and then “slower still.” And THEN “still slower still.” My around-the-clock job, like it or not (often heavy on the “not”), was recovery. By which I mean, healing.
5.9 long-ass years have passed since the hit and contra-hit, and recently, thanks to all this slowly slowingness, I’ve had a bit of energy to turn some of my attention to writing plans - a shockingly optimistic course of action for someone who still can’t look up at the ceiling without falling over, but hey! I’ll take it!
Over the years “what is healing” has been my driving question. I’ve asked it in various forms. I’ve asked it of various people. I’ve asked myself. I’ve asked my husband. I’ve asked my clients. I’ve asked my children. I’ve asked my ancestors. I’ve asked rocks. The answers differ, as you might expect.
Is it a misnomer? (Often.) A cure? (Rarely.) A myth? (Occasionally.) A belief? (Always/never.) A delusion? (No comment.) A quaint lil outdated superstition? (Nothing about healing is quaint.)
This line of questioning led to a prior question. Is healing even real?
I’ve landed on yes. Without a doubt, yes. Healing is real. But it’s usually not what we’ve been taught to believe it is.
It’s an awkward, alienating, experiential, stupefying, powerful, accessible, and incalculably beautiful trigger-storm of awakenings and releasings.
(I think, too, healing is a place. When I’m disoriented and look around asking myself What is this place? The answer is usually, Oh yeah, it’s healing.)
It’s hard to encapsulate healing because it’s wrong to try. Healing is not a pill. It’s not even a cure. Healing is a practical art, and it’s learnable if not entirely teachable.
Many are the lenses consciousness offers humans, and when we use said lenses in combination, we can see some amazing things. But we have to keep choosing to.
And that, I believe, is where the healing’s at.
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