acupuncture – Huwe Acupuncture

How Much Does Acupuncture Cost?

A person chooses an individual session after learning about acupuncture cost and rests with several needles in their back.

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We live in a historically rural area, something like a southern version of Funny Farm’s Redbud, and it’s a pretty common joke around here that the distance between our town and other (actually very nearby) towns is Practically Insurmountable, and requires a passport.

For whatever reason, this is especially true when comparing Fincastle, our town, and Salem, a (very) small city situated 20.6 miles to the south of us. It’s 20.6 miles, folks, and the traffic is not standstill, or even standstill-ish.

I don’t know if it’s the stoplights, or the fact that you have to take the interstate, or a natural Bermuda Triangle-esque phenomenon, but going all the way to Salem is a such *a thing* around here that people say all the way to Salem automatically, almost like How are you?

A conversation might go like this: Hi, how are you? I haven’t seen you in 3 years because it’s not often that I get out all the way to Salem!

So when, back in the early days of our acupuncture practice, people began coming all the way from Salem to our clinic, I took it as a feather in my cap, a badge on my Acupuncture Scouting Sash, and a definite selling point.

At the time, I felt that such selling points were very necessary. People around here are uncertain about acupuncture, because (a) it’s super different from what we’re used to, and (b) it’s an out-of-pocket expense. People want to know how much acupuncture costs, so they can weigh that against the likelihood of it working.

It makes sense. We’re not billionaires or 1%ers, and while it might be nice to just fling dollars around and try out all the things, people like you and me wouldn’t actually know that from direct experience. But here’s what’s hard about the question — the answer to how much acupuncture costs isn’t straightforward. It depends.

Acupuncture Costs… How Much?

You probably know how much your stylist charges for a haircut, how much the neighborhood drive-through car wash is, or how much your beverage of choice costs by the glass or mug.

But do you have any idea what your doctor actually charges? I don’t even know if that’s knowable. That’s because most doctors in this country are part of a larger insurance system that I’m pretty sure no people understand, chiefly because it’s been designed that way.

The cost of a session with an acupuncturist depends on lots of things — but likely not on whether they’re in-network, because most health insurance doesn’t cover acupuncture.

There are some very specific insurances with very specific instances of coverage. Acupuncturist groups are working to lobby for changes, and well — who knows? Maybe we’ll see meaningful coverage and Americans getting excellent health insurance, with liberty and outcomes improving for all. At the moment, though, it’s pretty much hit and mostly miss.

Medicare, for example, takes this approach to acupuncture: They’ll cover it for chronic low back pain — which has a very specific definition and several exceptions. They further stipulate that the acupuncture must be performed by a doctor, nurse practitioner, or PA who is accredited by an accreditation group I have never heard of, one that doesn’t credential licensed acupuncturists.

So… this is one example of where we are. Acupuncture can sometimes be covered by insurance, as long as it is not performed by a licensed acupuncturist, and not accredited by the national body that credentials acupuncturists. We have a ways to go.

Infographic: How Much Does Acupuncture Cost?

Acupuncture Cost Variables

There are a couple of variables that affect how much your overall investment in acupuncture will cost. One such variable is the type of practice you go to, and the other is the frequency of treatment.

Practice Type

Different Chinese medicine practices offer different types of services, and they charge for those services differently.

Some practices offer group acupuncture — known as community acupuncture — for a lower price point. These treatments take place in a group setting and usually involve needles in the ears, forearms, and lower legs. That way people don’t have to disrobe, and the practitioner can move from chair to chair, quickly treating many people at a time. Conversation is typically minimal and whispered, so as not to disturb the other clients.

Appointment duration varies — some places set a time, others let people stay for as long as they want. Community acupuncture treatments are sometimes offered on a sliding scale. Generally, community acupuncture costs somewhere between $25 and $60.

Other practices offer individual treatments at a higher price point. These treatments occur in a private treatment room and generally involve a fair amount of conversation and discussion about symptoms. Typically, clients disrobe for these treatments. The practitioner has more time one-on-one with the client in these types of appointments, which often last between an hour and 90 minutes.

It’s not uncommon for the practitioner to let the client rest with their needles for a large portion of the treatment time, and move to another room to treat another client. Because there’s more time during an individual treatment, the practitioner may use a variety of therapies depending upon their training and inclination, including moxibustion, gua sha, cupping, and tui na. Individual treatment prices vary widely, falling somewhere in the range of $90–$200.

Some practices offer both treatment types at different times. Both community and individual acupuncture initial visits are typically more expensive than their successors. This is because the practitioner spends more time going into health history and diagnosis than in subsequent appointments.

Still other practices price their services à la carte. Meaning, acupuncture costs a certain amount, but moxibustion, heat lamps, cupping, and other adjunct techniques incur additional charges. Additionally, services like herbal medicine and tui na may be their own appointment types, with their own prices.

At Huwe Acupuncture, we offer only individualized treatments, and our services aren’t billed à la carte. We also don’t stack clients. We intentionally treat one person at a time, applying the fullness of our focus to each individual.

Frequency of Treatment

So that’s how much-ish acupuncture might cost per visit. But how do you know how many visits you’ll need? Again — sorry, folks — it depends.

This isn’t like getting a new set of tires so you can drive all the way to Salem; there’s not a discrete, predictable timeframe to this thing.

The length of time you’ll need to start feeling better depends upon your underlying health, the focus of the treatment, and how much time you’re able to commit. If we’re working on shoulder pain you’ve had since you broke your collarbone 39 years ago, it may take a little longer than treating a week’s worth of constipation.

Typically, we expect some sort of change during or after the first couple of treatments, but not a full recovery. Most people’s situations improve incrementally, and by the third treatment they’re more fully aware of their progress.

People generally come to our clinic 4–6 times for their initially troubling issue, and then come regularly for other things. But that’s just a ballpark figure in an attempt to answer the question; within that estimate is always the element of unknown potential. Sometimes the body responds with such swiftness and grace that it almost seems magical.

Then there’s the matter of personal preference. Some people like to come back seasonally, if they feel like something’s off, or if they get injured. In our practice, after people came all the way from Salem, word started to spread. Then they started coming ALL THE WAY FROM LEXINGTON, which deserves its all-caps status, because that’s a 40-minute drive.

And look, I’m going to tell you because Brian won’t even humble-brag about it: He’s had people regularly drive from out of state to see him. Sure, there were other acupuncturists in their area, but the fit with him was just right.

From the outside this might sound like a huge investment or time suck, but here’s the thing — if you have flummoxing, consuming, life-disrupting, painful, and/or scary health symptoms that respond to acupuncture, you’ll find a way to get to your acupuncturist if you can. It’s a real thing when you find someone who understands how to work with your body.

Conclusion on Acupuncture Costs

Although acupuncture has seen a rise in popularity and acceptance in the past 25 years or so, Chinese medicine practitioners and our clients remain trailblazers. We’re still figuring out how this medicine fits into US society.

We know, though, that Chinese medicine is powerfully effective — especially in cases of pain — and it greatly reduces suffering. Thanks to acupuncture, people can avoid surgery, heal more quickly after surgery, and forego or reduce pain medications by 45%, just for example.

It’s highly beneficial to every bottom line, and while we, as practitioners, are not eager to be swallowed up by our nation’s current health insurance structure, we do hope more people will be able to afford acupuncture. And we hope more people will become — and be able to remain — acupuncturists. But that last part is a post for another day.

by Mary Beth Huwe

These writings are an exploration of what it means to be human – to be sick, to be well, and to heal – viewed through the lens of classical Chinese medicine. My words aren’t medical advice, and these essays don’t constitute a practitioner-client relationship. They also aren’t meant to be the final word on… well, anything. Rather, I hope they are the beginning of a conversation you have with someone in your life. Thanks for reading!

Detox Symptoms After Acupuncture

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If you’ve been here before,¹ you may know that I’ve already written about the medical language used in Chinese medicine, and you probably know that I’m liable to do it again.

In that spirit, before we jump into this post about detox symptoms after acupuncture, I want to first clarify and disambiguate a couple of terms and philosophies.

When I say “detoxing,” I do not in any way imply that the body is inherently filthy, foul, or wicked. This may sound somewhat ridiculous when stated in that fashion, and I hope so. The reason I feel the need to say it at all is because — alas! — over the years we’ve noticed a pretty common and insidious cultural loathing of the body.

For some folks, this puritanism seems to be entangled with longstanding religions, and for others with New Age orientations. Regardless of the etiology, the messages we receive about our bodies, their worthiness, and our access to medical care can be intensively distressing. At Huwe Acupuncture, we don’t hold with any abusive nonsense about bodies, and are not stating that there’s a moral connection between “detox” symptoms after acupuncture and deservedness as it relates to cleanliness.

‘Detoxing’ Defined

That said, there’s a definite reality about illness, feedback systems within the body, and homeostasis. Some processes result in decomposition, and the need to release stuff. I’m not the first to point out that to every action there’s an equal and opposite reaction. That’s just life on Earth. Similarly, humans need to urinate, defecate, cough, sneeze, and sometimes vomit. There are things to get rid of. That doesn’t make us bad or gross.

So when certain kinds of acupuncture treatments are performed — whether it’s to reduce heat or inflammation that’s causing constipation, for example, or to drain dampness that’s causing back pain — it’s very common to have a reaction afterward. That reaction is not only expected, it’s desired.

Let’s take a look at common detox symptoms after acupuncture, how long they last, and when it’s time to get in touch with your practitioner.

Main Features of an Acupuncture Detox

Firstly, despite everything I said above, some people experience very few detox symptoms after acupuncture. It depends upon the person, their symptoms, the type of treatment they receive, and most importantly (and most unpredictably) how their individual body processes the treatment they received.

Detox symptoms after acupuncture — also called a “healing crisis” — typically mean the body is taking the opportunity to release elements of pathology. Because this release often takes place as a distinct healing event, we call it a healing crisis.

Acupuncture is very effective in helping the body to do this, both by building up the necessary strength and resources and then by peeling back the layers of pathology. Read on to discover the key characteristics of a healing crisis and how to optimize your release if you have one.

An acupuncture detox or healing crisis can take many forms. While some people release aspects of their pathology without any remarkable disturbance, others may experience the following symptoms:

Apparent worsening or the appearance of new symptoms, often flu-like.
Copious elimination: often in the form of mucus, sweat, rash, or excretions.
Recurrence of an old injury that had been quiet for many years. This happens when an injury does not heal properly and leads to other pathology. During a release, resources become available to heal it.
Fatigue, or the feeling of heaviness.

In contrast to a worsening disease, a healing crisis is short in duration, usually lasting less than six days. It’s also generally peaceful. Despite erupting (and uncomfortable) symptoms, most people feel relieved of a burden.

Infographic: Detox Symptoms After Acupuncture

Ensuring a Successful Detox After Acupuncture

Treatment is the best way to work out any blocks and to make sure the body has its needed resources. If you begin a healing crisis, you may wish to schedule an appointment with your practitioner.

Self-care options include:

Give yourself acupressure or gua sha.
Stay hydrated. Drink plenty of room temperature, plain, non-carbonated water.
Eat well, avoiding cold and raw foods.
Rest when you’re tired.
Take an Epsom or sea salt bath.

In general, Chinese medicine does not recommend antibiotics, steroids, or symptom-suppressing pharmaceuticals during a healing crisis. Although it’s appropriate to use these medicines as life-saving drugs, they typically stop a benign release and push the pathology back into latency.

Detox Symptoms After Acupuncture: Conclusion

Detox symptoms after acupuncture, or a healing crisis, can be a normal part of healing. However, if your symptoms are distressing and/or long-lasting, get in touch with your provider. And — as always — if you think you’re having a medical emergency, call 911.

by Mary Beth Huwe

Footnotes:

Thank you! Bless your heart! Welcome back! Come again soon! ↩︎

Classical Chinese Medicine vs. TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine)

A person sits in traditional Chinese clothing pouring a tea service, in a post on classical vs. traditional Chinese medicine.

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If you grew up in the United States in the late 20th century, it’s statistically unlikely you had much exposure to Chinese medicine. Unless you happened to frequent or live in Chinatown on either of our country’s coasts, you probably didn’t integrate acupuncture, herbalism, martial arts, or Chinese food therapy into your life.

Probably it was more of a Tylenol and Flintstones vitamins experience, shaken (not stirred) over a No Pain, No Gain mentality, and held together by a li’l Pepto-Bismol. No shame. Same here. The smell of Pepto still soothes me.

In recent decades, though, America has seen an increase in access to acupuncture. A 2014 NIH paper about the rise of acupuncture in the US reports that more than 10 million acupuncture treatments are given per year in the States. In the intervening decade, that number has likely risen.

In short, more and more people in the US are beginning to discover the benefits of acupuncture and Chinese medicine. And in the process, people are learning that not all acupuncture is the same.¹

Today in the US, acupuncture typically falls under one of two branches: classical Chinese medicine (CCM) and traditional Chinese medicine (TCM). Today’s post aims to disambiguate classical and traditional Chinese medicine, two styles whose dramatically different approaches can yield dramatically different results. Let’s go.

Infographic: Classical Chinese Medicine vs. TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine)

The Question Is — Who Cares?

Before we launch into classical vs. traditional Chinese medicine, I’d like to put forward two quick notes:

Why it matters.You’ve probably noticed that every so often people in any given (and every given) industry can become highly concerned — preoccupied, even — by discrepancies and distinctions that make the rest of us roll our eyes so hard we sprain something. I don’t want to do that to you.

The classical vs. traditional Chinese medicine distinction isn’t simply an academic one. I’m pointing out these styles’ differences because it actually matters for acupuncture clients. It’s worth knowing that not all acupuncture is the same, so you can best choose a practitioner whose training and style meets your needs.

Here’s my bias. At Huwe Acupuncture, we practice classical Chinese medicine, and we do that on purpose. We’re not a traditional Chinese medicine clinic, though we learned TCM differentiation and treatment principles because the national board exams are TCM-based. (The reason for this is deeply political.)

6,000+ Years of Chinese Medicine in a Few Paragraphs?

There are many types and styles of Chinese medicine — so many that it’s laughable to try to enumerate them. After all, Chinese medicine writings date back to 206 BCE, but its practice goes back even further. No one really knows when acupuncture came into being, but we have archaeological evidence that acupuncture existed in China in the Neolithic era,² which means around, say, 6,500 years ago-ish. Old, in other words.

Not only is it an old medicine, but it’s also a cumulative medicine — meaning that as new discoveries were made, old ones weren’t necessarily discarded as irrelevant. Instead, the new idea was added as another school of thought. Thus a practitioner can learn and practice multiple, wildly different approaches, including — but nowhere near limited to — Attacking & Purging, Warming the Interior, Cold Damage, Pestilent Factors, and Tonifying.³

There’s also the reality that acupuncture is only one part of Chinese medicine. This medicine is vast, wide-ranging, and includes overlapping — but nonetheless distinct — modalities such as moxibustion, cupping, herbalism, tui na, martial arts AKA tai chi AKA qigong AKA daoyin, dietary recommendations, and meditation.

How this medicine was taught and passed down through the millennia is, naturally, a mixture of tradition, drama, intrigue, and political influence. The form we see today is no exception.

Traditional Chinese Medicine’s Short History: Lost in Translation

According to a very fine article by scholar Ian Johnson, the Chinese term for this medicine, zhongyi, translates simply to Chinese medicine.⁴“Outside China,” Johnson goes on to say, “the unfortunate term ‘traditional Chinese medicine,’ or TCM, has taken hold, even though it doesn’t exist in Chinese.”

Johnson explains that the English language term traditional Chinese medicine originated in the 1950s in Chinese Communist Party publications aimed at the West. The idea here was for China to distance itself from Chinese medicine while cozying up to biomedicine. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP, or the Party) wished to be viewed as both modern and culturally unimpeachable.

The use of the word traditional, at least according to this word nerd,was apt. In English, that’s exactly the word we use to describe medicine that predates biomedicine. Sometimes we know the names of traditional medical systems — Ayurveda in India, for example. Other times, often in the wake of colonization and/or genocidal measures, we know the names of specific traditional medicines. Either way, the term traditional tells us something very specific when modifying medicine.

So while they wanted to distance themselves from Chinese medicine, whose theories were not validated by scientific imaging or studies, the Party couldn’t simply eradicate Chinese medicine. For one thing, they didn’t have enough practitioners of biomedicine to take its place. For another, there was some ambivalence surrounding it — after first renouncing Chinese medicine, Chairman Mao Zedong later endorsed it… ish. That is to say, he announced support of Chinese medicine, but didn’t believe in its efficacy or use it himself. In short, the Communists had to sort of incorporate Chinese medicine… and sort of eschew it.

In the end, the Party renamed and radically altered the practice and teaching of Chinese medicine, so that it became much less like its actual traditional self, despite the “traditional” moniker. Practitioners of Chinese medicine in China were sometimes exiled, sometimes fled the country, and sometimes were taught a bit of biomedicine and sent to far-off reaches of the country. In other cases, to quote this article by classical practitioner Heiner Fruehauf:

“[M]any physicians frantically burned their stitch-bound volumes and other old-fashioned belongings to avoid persecution, and as others died from grief or physical abuse, much of the physical legacy of Chinese medicine perished irretrievably.”

The dissemination of Chinese medicine within the country was overhauled. Learning no longer occurred in an apprenticeship to a practitioner, but became standardized and taught from textbooks. If an aspect of Chinese medicine was deemed superstitious — read “unprovable by modern science” — it was discarded.

Truncated and simplified from its origins and theoretical backbone, TCM takes a prescriptive version of Chinese medicine, or as Johnson describes it, “a sort of handyman approach.” The individualized, comprehensive power of Chinese medicine is watered down in this approach, which amounts more or less to Use this point prescription for this ailment.

Rather like a word-for-word translation, TCM doesn’t encapsulate the full breadth of Chinese medicine’s deep understanding and wide-ranging flexibility. Instead, it seeks to emulate biomedicine in an awkward application of Western thought to Chinese medicine. Its results are, then, as mixed as its components. It is this version of Chinese medicine that began to be practiced in China, and was most broadly released to the West.

Quote: Classical Chinese Medicine vs. TCM (Traditional Chinese Medicine)

Classical Chinese Medicine: The True Traditional Medicine

But what happened to the non-physical parts of Chinese medicine that were removed from favor in the 1900s? What happened to the people who had once practiced those arts and survived? Some lineages are traceable to and alive in the United States today.

Classical Chinese medicine, or CCM, is the practice of Chinese medicine prior to the Party overhaul. This format of the medicine is comprehensive, individualized, and less formulaic than TCM. It gives the practitioner more access points to the client, and pulls fully from the depths of the medicine. For example, the classical acupuncturist treats choosing among 74 channel systems; the TCM practitioner chooses from among 14.⁵ With a more robust understanding of the ways in which healing works, the CCM practitioner can help guide people more fluently from illness to wellness.

Many professionals seek to revive and reinstate Chinese medicine to its full expression in the West, and some changes are being seen in China as well. Heiner Fruehauf, Ann Cecil-Sterman, Dianne Connolly, and Sabine Wills are all well-known, Western-born practitioners whose work with the classics and the classical approach reach Western practitioners. Many TCM practitioners avail themselves of continuing education to learn more about clinical efficacy and the classics.

At our clinic, we’re lucky to have learned classical Chinese medicine from the start. In fact, it’s why we both (individually) chose the four-year, graduate academic program we did. At that time, it was one of the only classical schools in the country. The classical component of the curriculum was taught by Jeffrey Yuen, an internationally renowned leader in the dissemination of classical Chinese medicine. Master Yuen’s considerable experience is rooted in Daoist philosophy, and is — as far as I can tell — unmatched.

Conclusion

None of this is meant as slanderous toward TCM; it is simply the reality of how Chinese medicine has changed in recent political times, and how it was introduced to the outside world as a result. As clients of acupuncture in our younger years, we Huwes both experienced TCM as a beneficial paradigm for healing.

Our subsequent experience and education have convinced us, though, that the more deeply the practitioner understands the complexity and elegance of Chinese medicine, the more frequent the opportunities for healing. And this is where classical Chinese medicine truly shines.

by Mary Beth Huwe

Footnotes:

Acupuncture itself is believed to have originated in China, based on the evidence of classical texts and other historical data. That said, Japanese and Korean cultures also have distinct acupuncture traditions. Our training includes some Japanese and Korean approaches, but mainly focused on Chinese medicine, based on the medical classics. ↩︎
This is a disputed claim. See a counterargument. ↩︎
We’ll address terminology directly another time, but if these terms seem jolting, please remember (a) language evolves over time, and these are old terms (b) these old terms are translations out of another culture into our language, and (c) there’s a paradigmatic difference between Chinese medicine and biomedicine. ↩︎
Johnson, Ian. “Chinese Medicine in the Covid Wards.” ChinaFile, 4 Oct. 2021, https://www.chinafile.com/library/nyrb-china-archive/chinese-medicine-covid-wards. Retrieved 28 Nov. 2023. ↩︎
CCM uses these channels: primary, extraordinary, luos, sinews, and divergents. TCM typically uses primary channels, plus two extraordinary channels (the Ren and the Du). ↩︎

Gratitude = the New Guilt… But You Don’t Have to Buy It.

by Mary Beth Huwe

It’s November… and you know the Script, right? It’s all about the gratitude.

It’s the time of year I am supposed to effuse about the WONDERFUL things in my life, and how #grateful and #blessed I am. (With a parenthetical, often unvoiced hope that this process will attract more wonderful things into my life, and shove the crappy stuff out of the picture.)

To not talk (and post) about gratitude would be, you know, ungrateful.

It would be negative.

And privileged.

And generally obnoxious.

As an acupuncturist and a writer, my assumed part in this narrative is to describe what’s naturally happening in the fall, and how we can experience and cultivate gratitude. To wax philosophical about acknowledging what’s precious and valuable to us, and letting go of what serves us no longer.

In deference to the Script, I’ll suggest that we let go of the Script. I don’t think it’s serving us.

The Pressure of the “Attitude of Gratitude.”

Here’s what I’m noticing, both in the clinic and in the world: somehow gratitude has become the new guilt.

#Gratitude has acquired a hashtag. People are worrying if they’re #gratituding enough, if they’re doing it right.

When something crappy happens, they wonder if they’ve attracted it through a lack of gratitude. With their karma. Maybe because they don’t hold a state of mental purity, of eternal gratitude. And what about their chakras? Probably they’re filthy. Or is that the aura? Crap.

#Gratitude has become a weapon to beat ourselves up with – to prod us to some sort of finish line of personal growth. It covers up a few nagging fears.

While it may not be conscious, I think the train of thought driving this Gratitude Self-Abuse is that we believe we don’t deserve our own happiness. We believe we don’t deserve our #blessings. We must prove – to ourselves and to each other – that through our unyielding, relentless application of gratitude, we have earned the beauty of life.

Most major religions would object to that part that says we must earn the beauty of life.

Earning the beauty of life isn’t our job; honoring it is.
But #Gratituding has an agenda:

Make the Crappy Stuff Go Away.
Earn the Beautiful Stuff.

It is denial. It’s denial hyped up on an energy drink after 5 hours of sleep for a week straight. It’s intense, in other words. It’s trying to force a feeling of gratitude where there isn’t one. It fails to honor. It fails to pause and notice.

Honoring Beauty → Spontaneous Gratitude

Honoring beauty is the simple action that leads to gratitude. I’d say it basically means “notice with respect and humility.”

When we notice the beauty in our lives without pausing to quiz ourselves about whether or not we deserve it (or justifying why we do deserve it,) we naturally feel grateful.

Then actual gratitude just… arises. Spontaneously. Like magic! It’s not a thing we have to apply to our lives or do to ourselves.

It can be really, really simple to honor beauty and feel gratitude.

You don’t need any supplies, but if you like them – go for it. An altar, a journal, a photo… whatever works for you. All that’s actually required is an openness of the senses.

Or even just one of the senses.

Here’s an example, using the sense of sight:

Notice the beauty in small, quotidian things.
- I see an intricate bird’s nest outside my window.

Bam. That’s all you need to do with your outward senses. Now the rest of it becomes internal:

Feel the feelings that arise when you notice small, quotidian things.
- What a peaceful feeling that bird’s nest gives me.
- I love seeing life that’s outside of my own life.
- I’m in awe of that tiny bird’s craftsmanship.

And that’s all you need to do on the inside. Just allow the feelings to arise, and feel them. If you want to, you can then:

Notice how those feelings can create more of the same feelings.
- - Wow… I can just *think* about that bird’s nest and feel peaceful. I only need to see it in my mind’s eye, and I can benefit from it.
Now I’m noticing similarly beautiful things – like that spider’s web. Or the ripple of the new butter in the tub.

Honoring beauty can take practice, and so it deserves your patience and self-kindness. Which is, I think, the actual point of any practice.

Wishing y’all well,

PS – What About the Bad Feelings?

If we allow ourselves to feel the bad feelings, won’t we just attract more bad feelings?

Denying the “bad feelings” will never make them go away. Denial doesn’t allow things to change, because it keeps stuffing them down. And so they keep popping back up. If there’s an endless loop of nasty chatter in your mind, you can rest assured that denial is in there somewhere.

I think it’s true that wallowing in bad feelings can create more bad feelings, but that’s not the same as feeling your feelings. You know the saying, “You have to feel it to heal it?” Feeling something is the first part of being able to let it go. There are lots of safe ways and modalities to help a person do that without self-injury.

XO,
MBH

These writings are an exploration of what it means to be human – to be sick, to be well, and to heal – viewed through the lens of acupuncture and, occasionally, herbal medicine.

My words aren’t medical advice. And they aren’t meant to be the final word on… well, anything. Rather, I hope they are a beginning of a conversation you have with someone in your life. Thanks for reading!

Ridding Medicine of Blame (and our lives of clutter)

by Mary Beth Huwe

For a recording of me reading this post to you, click here.

One of the reasons I’m an acupuncturist is because I’m interested in what ails us as a people. Bodies are excellent at showing us what’s not working for us on cultural and social levels. They are clear reflections of things in our lives we’d otherwise ignore.

Though I don’t love the term mind-body connection, I haven’t come up with something I like better… so I’m going to use it in this case. Some people are dismissive of the mind-body connection, using it as a way to minimize or invalidate symptoms and conditions as psychosomatic or stress-related.

Well, I get migraines – but that’s just from stress.

My high blood pressure goes down when school’s not in session, so I know it’s just because of that.

It’s worry that gives me insomnia; it’s always worse when my kids are at their dad’s house for the weekend. He’s so unreliable.

Many people are quite ready to connect illnesses like headaches, sleep conditions, and mood disorders with environmental causes – and somehow in the process write them off as all in the mind, psychosomatic, or otherwise not real. That’s symptomatic of incomplete thinking.

Tell me one last thing, said Harry. Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?

Dumbledore beamed at him…

Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

When “Mind-Body” Becomes Blame
A frequent consequence of the “psychosomatic” dismissal in medicine is blame – by the patient, by his/her family, and even by the medical practitioner (regardless of his or her chosen modality of medicine.)

It looks something like this:

Susan wouldn’t get migraines if she weren’t so sensitive.

I just need to quit caring so much; then my blood pressure will go down.

Carole, stop being such a worrywart and take a sleeping pill.

Do we do that with other diseases – ones that have visible “causes?”

(1) Do we say things like:

Well, Phil’s heart attack was just from stress.

Maybe, but we’ll probably also throw in some comments about blocked arteries, diet, HDL, and impeded bloodflow.

(2) What about this:

Matt’s such a hypersensitive guy – that poison ivy spread because it’s all in his head.

Probably not… but if Matt had hives, it might be a different story.

(3) Or this one:

Cancer? Again? Really? Why doesn’t Daphne get a grip?

It may be easier to see in cases like heart attacks, communicable diseases, and cancer – but it’s true across the board: there’s no place for blame in a healthy medicine.

I take this to what some might call a radical extreme: I do not blame the smoker for lung cancer or the alcoholic for cirrhosis. The drive to engage in such destructive habits is part of the illness. And/or maybe the guy with heart disease who won’t lay off the onion rings and KFC chooses it, knowing the risk. I think that’s his right.

Regardless, blame does nothing to relieve the burden of acute illness or the suffering.

Our entire experience as people is a psychosomatic one.

Every disease is reflective of and related to our lives.

And not one disease is blameworthy.

We Are in Relationship with Our Environments
In terms of health (and most other things,) it really makes zero sense to attempt to extract an individual from his/her environment in order to understand “the problem.” It may not make all people comfortable, but there is no question that we are all in relationship with our environments. The question is, is that relationship healthy or detrimental?

Illness is always a stress response that causes harm. The “healthiest” humans on the planet are those who can train their stress responses to become helpful to the whole system, and who can ultimately override the stressful conditions themselves.

Here’s a fun little report from Harvard in 2002 about Tibetan monks raising their body temperatures through meditation.

Now ask yourself – does this seem more credible now that I’ve cited Harvard research and Tibetan monks by providing a link to an article on the Internet?

Why? Why do we need Harvard and Tibetan monks to legitimize our “mind-body” connection?

What disconnect has happened to make us crave sound-bytes of double-blind placebo research, instead of actual investigation?

How have we become so defrauded, alienated, and disinherited that we seek external authority to sanction our internal authority?

That Relationship Includes Stuff
Understanding that our environments and habits are directly related to our states of health means taking stock of what we fill our environments with.

I was reminded of this over the weekend as I cleaned out my (tiny) closets to make room for the new addition to the family. I came across some nice shoes and found myself thinking I *should* either keep or sell them – instead of giving them to our local clothing closet. I could probably get $50 for these, I thought. That would be handy. So I guess I should do that.

My instinct, though, is to give them to the clothing closet. I’m a big believer in wide-open generosity for lots of reasons. One of which is that it’s a natural combatant to avarice, and it opens up a greater vision of how things can fit together. It’s Mary Poppins v. Mr. Banks.

Truth be told, I’m not happy with *lots* of stuff. I’d rather get a high-quality, beautiful thing I love, use the hell out of it till I’m done, give it to someone who likes/needs it, and then move on. For me, keeping stuff keeps me feeling bound.

Is this just an excuse, I’ve wondered? Am I actually hiding? Is my aversion to accumulation really a shield that “protects” me from having?

wonder woman dflct — *Deflection is tricky business.*

And the answer is no.

The reason I don’t like having a bunch of stuff is because it weighs me down.

It’s clear, of course, that “a bunch of stuff” is a subjective term. Determining what qualifies as “a bunch of stuff” is like looking at my index finger and trying to figure out if it’s a “big ” finger. Well… yeah… when compared to my pinky. And… no… when compared to my ring finger.

The actual question, I think, is more along the lines of “is my index finger a big enough finger in this case?”

If the case in question is app selection on my iPad, yes. If the case in question is picking a gorilla’s nose… maybe not. They have large nostrils.

So, too, with stuff. The actual question is, “How is this level of stuff affecting me?”

For example, I realize I have a “bunch of stuff” when I start having neurotic internal conversations about what I *should* be doing with it. That’s my indication that fearful lack is running the show. The *should* is the tagline of the fearful belief that I won’t be able to get what I need in the future, so I’d better hold on to everything that’s in my sphere now… JUST IN CASE.

In reality, the only thing I *should* be doing is living my daggum life, and spreading the wealth and love in the ways that I can.

I don’t want two pairs of running shoes; I don’t run. So I’m done talking with my shoes. I’m sending them to the clothing closet. I’ve seen the people in my town who need them, and they ain’t me.

Getting those shoes out of the way and to their rightful owners is a way of clearing my own clutter and making space. Maybe that space stay cleared, maybe it will be filled with something new. I don’t have to know the outcome. But I do have to be smart enough to know that I can’t keep inhaling if I’m still holding onto my most recent breath.

……..

The Case of the Lost Essay (What NOT To Do When Disappointment Strikes!)

by Mary Beth Huwe

Click here to listen to me read this post to you.

This morning I experienced the kind of computer blip that I thought never happened to anyone anymore.

Last week I wrote – and labored over – and twiddled around with – and tweaked – and thought A LOT about – and edited – and changed the name of – and rearranged – an essay about communication and buzzwords.

After several days of this process, I had the essay in (what I consider to be) publishable format. I scheduled it to be published yesterday. And it was. Sort of.

The title of the post was published. And so were the categories and tags. But the TEXT – the part that I labored over, twiddled around with, tweaked, thought about, edited, and rearranged – had disappeared.

Now, I would like to claim that I am responding to this very philosophically.

But I am not.

My response is more like this:

The first reaction

I am awash in the bitter freshness of having lost something that I worked hard on, enjoyed, and was excited to share.

And if I am honest, I see that I am also in denial.

I am hoping the writing is not – in fact – lost. That I after I publish this post I will – gasp! – recover the other one.

I am hoping I can experience the relief of a close shave – you know, “learn a lesson” about scorpions without having to experience the fullness of the sting. Just a little sting-y nibble, please.

Sigh.

Toughening up

So I wrote a blog post and I lost it. Is that going to change the course of the world? Am I such a middle-schooler that I believe my thoughts about buzzwords and messaging MATTER in an all-caps and italicized sort of way?

I’m going to give that a no and a yes.

No because disappointments like this may not determine the direction of the universe – or maybe they do, I can’t claim to say. (I’ve heard that Hitler was a frustrated and thwarted artist. Conceptually, I think that adds up.)

But certainly in this case, a disappeared blog post is not a matter of life and death. No small children are going to go unfed due to its not being published. No weapons were unintentionally detonated in the loss of this essay. And I’m grateful for that. But it’s a false conclusion that because no catastrophe has ensued, my thoughts about buzzwords and messaging don’t matter.

Creation matters

And that’s why yes. When we create something in our jobs or lives – whatever that something is – if it is meaningful to us, it is meaningful. No external authority (be it criticism or praise) can diminish or validate that significance because such things are under the jurisdiction of our internal sovereignty.

But what often happens for people in something like The Case of the Lost Essay, is a self-imposed “toughening up” process that does no good. It goes something like, “Big deal. It doesn’t matter. Get over it. Quit whining. Think of all the suffering in the world, and how much worse that is than this.”

Guess what. That’s not helpful. That is not “perspective.” It’s invalidation, and it ultimately leads to repression and a lack of compassion.

Measuring your own small sadness against all the suffering in the world doesn’t make you less sad. Or any kinder. It just makes you mean.

I repeat, this does no good.

It’s like stepping in dog poop with your right shoe and deciding to wipe it on your left shoe, just to even things out.

I see this process unfold in the treatment room and I see this process unfold in writing clients. And today I see the spark of this process in myself.

The bottom line, though, is we can’t get over something we never let ourselves feel.

From what I’ve observed, most of us are afraid of getting stuck (“wallerin” we call it here in Dixie) in self-pity so we never enter into sadness and disappointment. This is a mistake, I think.

This avoidance adds force and fear to the depth of sadness and disappointment. And if we can’t get our sea legs with “little losses” (like the Case of the Lost Essay,) how unrealistic of us to expect ourselves to weather the big ones.

So, yes. My proverbial right shoe stinks right now. And I am not going to smear it across the left one, too. Sometimes that’s the best we can do, and I think it’s good enough.

Shine on, y’all.

…

Mary Beth Huwe is a writer, an editor, an acupuncturist, and a mama. She helps people identify, articulate, and translate their most essential messages into kickin’ content that is both creative and practical.

These essays are forays into the art and essence of communication. They have not been subjected to the full scrutiny of said editor’s eye, and may contain typos. (But you’ll probably never find apostrophe abuse, because that’s just cruel.)

How to Keep the World from Getting You Down

by Mary Beth Huwe

For a recording of me reading this post to you, click here.

There’s a new disease going around, and boy howdy… it is communicable.

I first noticed it affecting some of my patients in 2009 during my clinical internship in acupuncture school. In the intervening years, the illness has become virtually omnipresent in my circles; almost every adult I encounter suffers from one or more of the symptoms.

Continue reading “How to Keep the World from Getting You Down”

My briefcase is like acupuncture

by Mary Beth Huwe

For a recording of me reading this post to you, click here.

I hate to brag. I really do. It makes me uncomfortable and hot around the collar… and various other regions. So it’s not braggadocio – but just good, old-fashioned, unbiased reporting – when I tell you that my briefcase unites people, and is a metaphor for life and healing.

Ready?

#1: She’s A Family Heirloom

The briefcase was originally my dad’s. Dad believes objects are made to be used up. There’s a lot of wisdom and carpe diem-ing in that philosophy. It also means that we are judicious when purchasing gifts for him.

This briefcase, miraculously, escaped the Dad Treatment. It came to me in fabulous, mint condition. Dad describes it as “burgundy.” To my eyes, it is purple with pink stitching. It’s as though she was, lo these many years, purchased just for me.

She was not. She was purchased for Dad, who doesn’t conceive of her as a “she.” He quite merrily used this briefcase indifferent to its having a gender. And I love that.

I love that we can both use the same item, 30 years apart from each other – but at the same point in our lives (our 30s) – and that we can see that item differently.

It’s not unlike what we, as people, can do with our inherited health and characteristics. We can have endlessly different orientations to the similarities we share.

#2: She’s Wildly Relevant in Modernity

Pockets! Flaps! Not too many, not too few!

This lady is vintage with wicked-useful applications, even in today’s world. Her pockets are the perfect size for files, my phone, my business cards, my travel size tissues. Her flaps hold an appropriate number of files, and she will not permit me to nonsensically pack her with more work than I need or can achieve. My Mac fits in there perfectly, and has the added benefit of being padded and protected.

Her “oldness” doesn’t make her irrelevant. It makes her practical. And savvy. She is tried-and-true. In all of these ways, she is like acupuncture.

#3. She’s a Head-Turner and a Heart-Cheerer

People comment upon my briefcase nearly everyday. There’s a certain neighborhood coffee shop I frequent, where strangers look up from the phones or conversations to say, “Wow. I love your briefcase.”

Friends know me by it. Contained in this baby is a world of possibility – a system of organization that can support unbridled creativity. Just like . . . acupuncture.

…

These writings are an exploration of what it means to be human – to be sick, to be well, and to heal – viewed through the lens of acupuncture and, occasionally, herbal medicine. These writings aren’t medical advice. And they aren’t meant to be the final word on… well, anything. Rather, I hope they are a beginning of a conversation you have with someone in your life. Thanks for reading! ~MBH

3 Mistaken Thoughts You Had About Acupuncture

by Mary Beth Huwe

For a recording of me reading this post to you, click here.

(This post is not going to address the acupuncture-is-BS mistaken thought, because that answer is so long it makes my fingers ache for moxa to think about typing it out. Another day, perhaps!)

1. The Pain Mistake

Much of acupuncture’s press in American media centers around its use in pain. Indeed, the first serious attention acupuncture got in the US was sparked from NY Times’ reporter James Reston’s experience with post-operative moxibustion and acupuncture in China. He had an emergency appendectomy while in China, and he wrote about that experience in a front-page Times article “Now, About My Operation in Peking.” (It’s super fun; go read it instead if you’re planning something boring after this.)

But acupuncture is far more versatile than a simple pain reliever.

Acupuncture is a complete system of medicine.

We often explain it this way: acupuncture treats people, not diseases. That means that no matter who you are or what you’re suffering from, acupuncture is an option for you – not just an alternative or a last-ditch attempt, but an actual, serious, thoughtful medicine.

2. The Nerve Mistake

Acupuncture is not about nerve stimulation. Acupuncture theory is based on a channel system that is neither separate from, nor dependent upon, nerves. These channels connect the whole body and are conduits of qi; points are areas where the qi is accessible.

Qi is not a thing or a substance like blood or sweat. It is a relationship. Qi is the spark of static electricity that shoots from your negatively charged hand as it comes into contact with your positively charged car door. It is a way to look at the all the interactions of the parts of a system and the overall effects or function of that system.

Channels aren’t anatomical parts; their existence depends upon the life they circulate. A corpse, for example, has no channels and no acupuncture points because it has no qi. So the channels are in part what enervate us, but they are not synonymous to nerves.

When we access the acupuncture points of an area, then, we are not attempting to influence the nerves.

The nerves are just one part of the wholeness of qi.

3. The Vague-Health-Benefit Mistake

Acupuncture has precise health benefits. Many people believe that acupuncture is somehow good – with hazy, indeterminate “balancing” benefits.

Maybe this is due in part to the fact that acupuncture’s media attention is generally sound-byte-ish in nature: Acupuncture might be good – get you some!

As a result, lots of people think of acupuncture as a vague panacea with little actual direction. Yet, acupuncture is capable of much more than that; customized treatments can achieve a direct, focused result.

…

Happy Memorial Day: Triggering PTSD with Fireworks.

by Mary Beth Huwe

For a recording of me reading this post to you, click here.

Another Memorial Day has come and gone. A time when we profess to honor our service people by blowing up a bunch of fireworks. I cannot make sense of this ritual. Who is it for?

I can tell you who it’s NOT for. Him:

And lots (and lots) of others like him.

Continue reading “Happy Memorial Day: Triggering PTSD with Fireworks.”