Light therapy

I received this gift for my birthday last year, and I saved it and used it, recently, to get myself a “facial treatment” – nothing invasive, nothing that makes you look like a rock lobster for a week, or a hopeful but less skillful student of the martial arts—but rather a gentle, collagen stimulating “light bath”, which, worst case scenario was not gonna change much, but I’m a bit of a wimp when it comes to elective pain, and by “bit” I mean if it’s not absolutely bloody necessary for me to avoid actual death, no one is getting near me with the needle, scalpel, or pain inducing device of any description. And if it IS medically necessary to avoid ACTUAL DEATH, I am still going to go kicking and screaming (reference hernia surgery circa 1995, my Mom holding my hand, the surgeon himself offering to reschedule on account of my uncontrollable sobbing, me thinking, that’s cute – it’s not like I am just having a bad day and it’ll be better after some shut eye, I will be crying just as hard the next time, unless medical science comes up with a way to staple that shit back together by stirring the titanium into some Ben and Jerry’s, thank you anyhow). Suffice it to say that a reference to “down time” in the brochure was going to send me in my speedy sneakers with the extra foam gel cloud like lift, sprinting in the other direction, probably to the mountains, where I could live with my little lantern and my cape and my wrinkles in eternal wisdom and peace in the accepting company of a forest animal or two. But I had made a promise to my little ol’ self recently to explore my options in the spirit of “shit went down and you deserve a few of those years back”, and this was me, doing the thing (the BRAVE thing) and honouring myself with a symbolic gesture of loving time replacing goodness.

PRESTO, no sooner had I made the decision than the voice of holiness itself spoke to me, not in a vision, no prophet wandered up to my door, but through the higher wisdom of the Facebook advertising campaign. The facility being featured was two blocks from my actual house (obviously a sign) and after my deep scrutiny of multiple video demonstrations of all that could be done with ZERO pain or after effects, I made, dun, dun, dun…a call.

Well I am going to let you know now, my friend, that this is NOT a story of how it all went wrong and why am now joining forces with Deadpool to bring you a different kind of help with your problems.

I lived. My face is pretty much the same. I endured NO PAIN. I may have gained some radiance. My skin is lighter (I mean that was not my end goal but it happened), and I have now taken up wearing medical grade sunscreen so all of those mothers of the world can breathe out a deep guttural unified sigh. I did feel happy with myself for doing something I promised myself I was gonna. Because so often the 1473 things we have to do in a day eternally push those promises to the bottom of the list. But that isn’t the good part.

It isn’t even something about how I felt inside, that I kept a promise to me signifying that my needs might factor more prominently into the future of me, and how brave and capable of different things I felt. All true, but secondary.

It wasn’t the kindness and patience of the technician with my 1047 questions about the what turned out to be a completely painless process I could have slept through, the kindly gentle way she went through it all with me, going so far as to provide a demo of how the machine works and the kind of sound it makes, to assuage my nerves.

It wasn’t the two hours of swapping stories about love and dating and children and family, which was FUN, I am not gonna lie. There is a reason girls go to the bathroom together and it’s because we seize the opportunity to connect, to support and counsel on another. But that is a story for another day.

Nope. The truly best part of spending my BD gift on a light infusion for my face, happened after the treatment, when she was applying that vitamin C cream to my face that makes me smell like a blossom of oranges and hope.

“So do you have a low key day planned?”

“No” my eyes widened. “Should I have? Should have I?” No one told me low key. Was I in some kind of danger? I didn’t remember this from the 1649 times I read and re-read the brochure.

“I have clients after this”.

“Oh, well, we suggest you avoid facial expressions for eight hours after the treatment. I don’t want you to worry though. I know that will be nearly impossible for you.” And here it is, friends, the best part. This is what she said to me. “You are such a joyful, expressive person.”

What?????!!!!!!!

I don’t know about you, but in my line of work I am always focused on my people. When they walk in my door my radar tunes into the beautiful, amazing creature before me and what s/he looks like FREED OF PAIN, whatever form that pain might take. I am unwinding, untwisting, rewiring, and happy making before I pick up a pen, or offer a greeting.

Sometimes my clients say things to me about my peaceful nature, that I have a calming influence, that I am “so nice” but it’s in one ear, out the other, because of course I am nice, I think. I am not judging you for all of your imagined terribleness. And you are not hiring me to be mean. But as it turns out, I don’t really focus on how I come across, and the word joyful, well it took me aback, but more than that it turned on a little light inside of me.

I am pretty transparent with my clients. I can’t help them by pretending to be above them. I don’t want to be an authority OVER anyone. That isn’t true authority. Authority comes from walking through it, over and over again, and then taking the hand of another and guiding them through it. It is a shared authority, one of equality.

I share with you my reactions to button pushers. I share my vulnerability. I share the crazy-ass things I have done. My ridiculous fears.

The therapeutic experience for me happened in the EIGHT HOURS I spent after the treatment. The hundreds of times I reached my hand up to by face, to stop myself from throwing my head back in JOYFUL, smile exploding, conspiratorial, problem-crushing laughter, and knew it.

Being unaffected by people, places and things (okay nouns, lol) is not joy. Being “in the moment” -well for that to be helpful for us we have to understand the nature of all of the thoughts that aren’t “in the moment” and the why of it. Otherwise we are just TRYING to DETACH. And trying to detach is like, trying to fall in love. It’s a bit of an oxymoron.

The reason I am joyful, or as someone else told me recently, “full of life”, is precisely because I allow myself to feel my feelings. ALLOWING, is different than fighting, kicking, screaming, stuffing, rebelling, projecting, rerouting, deflecting, quietly ignoring and otherwise trying to OUTRUN your feelings. Allowing, means NOT JUDGING. I feel things. I allow myself to. I listen to what the feelings are telling me. I respond. I provide love.

Do I sound like I belong in a church of all things sacred and holy when someone cuts me off in traffic? I promise you, I do not. At least not in the first five minutes of seeing my life flash before my eyes. I get mad at mean paramedics, and scary drivers, and arrow flinging teenagers. I flood with terror when I am hit with unexpected vet bills and car bills and school bills.

What!!!!??? I say. How could you be SO. MEAN. TO. ME!!!???  This is sooooo scary, I say. It is so much bigger than LITTLE. OLD. ME. I have to fix it. I can’t fix it.

But I have been at this long enough that I don’t stop there. I don’t just lie there in the tear splattered dust, in that place where THE WORLD knocks me down. I don’t set up CAMP there, invite my friends over, build my viewpoint from that place of pain.

Nope. As soon as I hear “it”, that voice of fear, coming out of my mouth it is already being replaced in my mind by a different voice and she is kind. She is loving. She is taking care of me.

Perhaps one day I will appear to float, or emit actual inner light from my head in sort of a golden radiance the way Jesus is depicted in old paintings. Maybe it will signify the complete subsuming of the fear voice by the love voice, and there will be no process anymore. I will stop swearing, swap the Coke Zero for kambucha and wear a brown burlap robe. HA. HA. Hahahahaha.

Mean time, while she is reminding my cells that they know how to glow, I will be reminding your hearts.

I am inherently joyful. And so are you. P.S. If you would like help getting out from under what hurts, or getting back your sense of joy, I have ONE SPOT open right now for working privately with me. We could have things completely turned around for you in time for beach weather, which puts a smile on my face -wink wink.

P.P.S. If you enjoyed today\’s Monday musing and know someone else who would, please feel free to forward it to a friend. 
 
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