language - Huwe Acupuncture

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

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!

A rose by any other name… (language and medicine)

by Mary Beth Huwe

“What’s in a name?” muses Juliet Capulet as she ponders her taboo love for Romeo Montague. Does what we call something really change that thing’s essence? Though Juliet is right that a rose “would smell as sweet” if we called it a carbuncle, there is something meaningful about how we use language to name a thing. Language is powerful and reinforcing. We use it casually, and yet it still informs our experience.

There’s a language-based joke that runs around the area where I’m from, commonly told among older men. “When I was growing up,” they’ll say, “I thought my name was git wood.” In other words, their youthful interactions with their fathers consisted of being commanded to bring wood inside for the stove. The meaning here, though different than Juliet’s question, points at the same truth… what we call something is a reflection of how we continually perceive that thing to be.

Sure, we can distance ourselves from the language we use. We are conscious beings and many are our powers, so we can easily toss blanket terms over the whole lot of our expression and intend something different from what we say. We can numb ourselves to the powers of our language. Yet, I’d argue that such speech is a contortion of the self and the mind. When possible, it seems better to name things straightforwardly, and with specificity.

This is not as easy as it might seem, and it’s why top-dog marketers and advertisers get paid the big bucks. In my field, it’s especially awkward. I am an acupuncturist and an herbalist, and those are the terms I tend to use to identify myself. My discipline is Chinese medicine, and within that I practice classical Chinese medicine. But I am not Chinese. I don’t even read or speak Chinese.

For a connection to the classical Chinese medical texts and the medicine’s cultural and philosophical roots, I rely on written translations and verbal interpretations from my preferred lecturer, Jeffrey Yuen. For a connection to the medicine itself and its unfolding, I rely on my experiences in the treatment room.

So is it really “Chinese medicine?” Well, in a certain way, absolutely. When I hear Jeffrey talk about the meaning of a word or a concept that I casually use in the practice of Chinese medicine, I am amazed at the depth and significance of cultural references that escape me entirely, having grown up in the Appalachian mountains of Virginia. This is why dialogue and active listening are enriching and important in this (and every) practice.

But in a certain other way, it is not simply “Chinese medicine.” Like language, Chinese medicine is something that belongs to those who use it. Growing up in the Appalachian mountains of Virginia does not exclude me from practicing acupuncture and herbal medicine, as conceived of by the Chinese. It makes sense for me to keep listening and learning about the roots of this medical art. And while I’m doing that, I also recognize that as the many iterations of Chinese medicine are disseminated and take root in the US, the medicine will begin to change. Like any art, this is a dynamic engagement that shifts with time and practice.

The National Institute of Health (NIH) has a division called the National Center for Complementary and Alternative Medicine (NCCAM) whose raison d’etre is to investigate and understand medical practices that are outside the mainstream. The NCCAM site estimates that about 40% of Americans, “use health care approaches developed outside of mainstream Western, or conventional, medicine for specific conditions or overall well-being.” (Source.)

NCCAM also asks “what’s in a name?” and defines the terms complementary, alternative, and integrative as applied to healthcare. How these terms and classifications change – indeed, how we change them – as the face of healthcare evolves in this country, is up to us all.

Coincidence? I think not.

by Mary Beth Ladenheim

A phenomenon that we regularly see in the acupuncture clinic occurs when a person receives treatment, feels better, and then wonders if this was merely coincidence.

I mean, they might say, would I have felt better anyway?

Let’s take the example of a patient who injured her knee. This was not her first knee injury, and each time the healing pattern was slow and laborious. She came in while the injury was still acute, and saw increased mobility and decreased pain. She had a healing time of about 2 days – compared to her usual 2 weeks. And she asked, “Would this have happened anyway?”

It’s good to examine whatever treatment we decide to undertake to make sure that it makes sense for us. And in that examination, the above is a good question to ask, in general.

But I’m most interested in what it reveals about us and our beliefs. It seems likely that we ask the question because we’re separated from ourselves, and we don’t really understand how natural medicine works.

Most people will agree that acupuncture and herbal medicine are natural medicines, and that somehow that’s not the same as “Western” medicine. But often the same people expect the two medicines to behave alike, even though they acknowledge that these medicines differ conceptually.

One way to look at the difference is to examine the language the medicine uses to describe its methodology. It is not uncommon in biomedicine to talk in combative terms. We are accustomed to “fighting” a disease, “killing” cancer cells, or “going under the knife.” Generally, a substance or a surgery is introduced to overcome that which is occurring in the body.

Often, the patient views the sickness as something separate from himself, like a rebelling force that needs to be squelched. In acupuncture and herbal medicine, we have a different kind of language.

We talk about “releasing” pathogens, “clearing” heat, and “building” fluids. In other words, we are interested in reminding the body of what it already knows how to do. Sometimes a light reminder will do. Other times we remind a little more loudly.

This truth calls for an adjustment of our expectations. I’m not saying we should expect natural medicine not to work. It should work. We just shouldn’t expect it to behave and feel like biomedicine, because it doesn’t and it won’t.

So how does it behave and feel?

The answers are as varied as the people who experience the sensations. My personal experience was a certain type of physical and mental awakening. The specific symptoms for which I first sought acupuncture diminished, yes, but even more exciting was the development of an ability to connect more deeply to my body. W

ith monthly treatments and my active participation, I felt my perceptions shift. It was as if I received a bonus sense, one that combined with and brought a glow to all of my usual senses. This is not exactly measurable, but it is very real.

Many people report a similar experience. They notice improvements in their senses; they feel sturdier; gross processed food suddenly tastes gross and processed. (It’s a good thing when what’s bad for the stomach tastes nasty to the tongue!)

In short, acupuncture and herbs help the body begin to be an assimilated whole. Physiological processes that were before jerky or pathological can again become smooth. Such a feeling is so right, so human, and so natural that it can be easy to forget to trace it back to the treatment.