Hello, my friend!
As we move deeper into this season of giving and gathering, I've been reflecting on what it means to receive care–not just to give it.
There's something profound about being trusted to hold space for someone else's wellbeing, about being chosen as a gift for a loved one. And there's also something profound about giving ourselves permission to rest, to listen to the stars, and to find peace in the dark, quiet hours.
👇 In today's email:
- This week's inspiration: To Be Gifted
- Latest blog post: There's Peace on Earth When Sleep Finally Comes
- What I'm listening to: The Pleasure of Astrology
What It Means to Be Gifted
I'm always so thrilled and humbled to be given as a gift. Occasionally, I'm told that people put me on their registry for their baby shower, have added me to Santa's list for the holidays or even that a generous parent gifted sessions with me to recent newlyweds to help them navigate life and the trials and tribulations of engagement.
All this warms my heart because the giver is trusting me with the duty of helping their loved ones feel better. This lightness of being could be an answer to serious, ongoing medical issues, but more often than not, it's a treat of exuberance punctuating the sometimes mundane day-to-day life.
I often say to clients, "How do you want to feel when you leave here?" And based on their answer, I try to craft a treatment through essential oils from all over the world, stones, and ancient acupuncture treatments—a small dollop of shamanism within the capsule of the perfect environment, a capsule of serenity where time does not exist, and we can retreat to the quiet of our bodies.
There are a lot of different ways to do acupuncture, almost like there are so many ways to cook. There's no wrong way. But I hold fast in my belief that when the body feels safe and surrounded by beauty, it will recalibrate all by itself. It doesn't need provoking or intervention—just in the act of feeling safe and feeling peaceful and being cared for, the body knows how to correct itself, because the body is wisdom incarnate.
Interestingly enough, so many of my clients have problematic relationships with their mothers. Perhaps a mother was drug-addicted, perhaps the mothers have forsaken my clients, perhaps the mothers are no longer alive. But there's something in the touch and concern and placing of hands that reminds my clients, I think, of earliest mothering memories.
As women, we're often touched with the hope of sex—a foot rub may only be a preamble to what perhaps a partner is hoping from our bodies. But so much has been asked of our bodies. For many women, our bodies have been tools of sustenance, of lots of clinging and pawing of young people. Our bodies have been work horses, objectified, judged by ourselves and also by others. But rarely have our bodies felt safe and felt touched without any expectation from the other person.
Perhaps that's one of the most wonderful things about the treatment: that in indulging all the senses, the touch is one of security and the promise that everything will be okay.
There's Peace on Earth When Sleep Finally Comes
I have to say, I'm a little bit of a sleep whore. Sleep has always resonated with me – languid hours of repose, cozy with a book, a snoring dog, and silky jammies. It is the epitome of cool weather bliss. If only it were so easy.
But sometimes, as a 51-year-old woman, sleep is elusive as I navigate this menopause journey. Combining Chinese medicine, hormone replacement, and lots of other tricks of the trade, I notice the topography of my sleep is varied, and I take a forensic morning interest in what could've disrupted it. Did I eat garlic? Was I too stressed?
But on those nights I'm able to sleep peacefully, without dreams of having forgotten to study for a test or losing my wallet, having awoken without a sweat nor a complicated thought—that is peace on earth.
Here's a blog post on that favorite and occasionally hard to obtain thing.
The Pleasure of Astrology
I wonder what we listen to tells us about ourselves. I'm blessed to have a 38-minute commute every day. The separation of church and state helps me delineate between my professional life and my quiet, contemplative, joyous, childlike play of my personal life.
On my way to work, I listen to fashion podcasts—punctuated by reams of information about menopause. On the way home, in the dark, I relish in podcasts about astrology.
I don't quite understand what's being said, but love the poetry of "the sun in Scorpio interacting with Uranus in Pisces at 29 degrees", or "Black Lilith moon in the Grand Water Trine" and apparently for this week, there's an abundance of goddess-like energy.
If that is true, I am here for it.
This is not a language I speak, but I like it.
I find these podcasts peaceful to listen to—perhaps something about fate playing a role in things. And for a quiet ride home, it's nice to imagine a break from free will, because sometimes that's just a burden to bear.
While I'm new to astrology in some ways, over the past six years I've sought counsel from a Gandalf-like man named Elias Lonsdale. Every two years, I seem to be completely lost, and even my intuition can't help me. I call him. I'm always astounded that when he reads my astrological chart, his assessment is so true and clear to my lived experience.
There's something about astrology which seems soothing—that perhaps there is a predestined order to things, not free-flowing chaos. Nonetheless the news makes us feel that way; like the world controlled by unwell people holding it together with scotch tape.
As we enter the new week, wishing you the openness of heart to see the magic of things. And if divine feminine energy is on the rise, that you and I are here to greet it, because it seems like we're due for a new day.
I'm cheering for you,
Dr. Catherine