by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Dec 19, 2022 | Anxiety, Depression, Docere, doctor as teacher, Education, Health, Medicine, Mental Health, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Philosophy
I, like most of my colleagues became a naturopathic doctor because of my own extremely disempowering experiences with the healthcare system.
In my late teens and early 20s I was suffering from what I now know were a series of metabolic and hormonal issues and I, like almost all of my patients and colleagues experienced confusion, gaslighting, frustration and a complete lack of answers for what I was dealing with. I tell my story more in depth in other places, but I was told to “stop eating so much”. I was told everything was normal in bloodwork (or simply not called back). I was weighed incessantly. I was chastised for doing my own research (I had to–no one would tell me anything). I was interrupted, cut off and dismissed.
And so, I did what most of my colleagues do–I got educated. I went to school. First for biomedical sciences and then, when that degree left me with more knowledge gaps than answers (and no one who would indulge, let alone answer, my questions), I became a naturopathic doctor.
Throughout my 8 years as a practicing ND, I have encountered thousands of similar stories of disempowerment and confusion and frustration. We patients are trained to see our doctors when we feel depressed, fatigued, or debilitated by PMS, menstrual pain, headaches, and mood issues. Most of us don’t care what answer we get–fine, if it’s a medication I need, I’ll take it! But if we experience lack of benefit from the solutions and a lack of answers, then what? I’ve heard this story over and over.
And so, like many of my colleagues I use the privilege of my education to help me navigate the system. I ice a sore foot for 2 days and then get an x-ray (picking a non-busy time to visit the ER). I take the orthopaedic surgeon’s advice with a grain of salt and implement my own strategies for bone healing. I ask for the bloodwork I need (and know my doctor will agree that I need) and pay for the rest out of pocket. I know my doctor’s training and I understand her point of view and I don’t get frustrated when diet and nutrition or lifestyle are never mentioned. I don’t get upset if my doctor doesn’t have an explanation for symptoms that I now know are related to functioning and not disease, and that it is disease which she is trained to diagnose and prescribe for.
And thankfully, my experience with the healthcare system has been quite limited as I’m able to treat most things I experience at home and practice prevention.
My good friend, who is a naturopath as well, and who has given me permission to share her story, had the same experience up until this summer. She too used the healthcare system quite judiciously and limitedly until a series of stressors and traumas landed her in in-patient psychiatric care (i.e.: a psychiatric hospital) for a psychotic episode–her first.
…And until she started experiencing debilitating gastroesophageal symptoms that were beyond what one might consider “normal.”
And in both cases she sought help from the medical system. She told me recently that her experience was quite different from the ones she’d had in her 20s when her long-standing parasite was misdiagnosed as IBS and she was repeatedly dismissed by doctors. She told me “I’ve been having great experiences with the healthcare system. It’s not like it was before. My doctors have listened to me. They’ve been helpful. Yes, they’ve recommended drugs but when I tell them that I don’t want to take the medications because I know what they do and how they work and don’t think I need them, they respect that. They treat me like I’m a real person. They’re all our age, too. The procedures are more state-of-the-art. The facilities are pleasant. Something has changed in healthcare.”
I know that my friend’s experience might be different from yours. I’m not saying her experience is universal. In fact, if I reflect on my interactions with the fracture clinic in St. Joe’s hospital in Toronto, I had a fairly good experience as well (except for long wait times and booking errors). Sometimes medical trauma can blind us to reality–sometimes we aren’t willing to re-evaluate our assumptions until someone points out a piece of reality that is hard to deny. I actually haven’t had a direct negative experience with healthcare in years– and yet I had chalked that up to the fact I rarely need to use it.
But my friend had had two quite intense experiences and came away from them feeling positive about the care she received. I wondered what was different. Here are my thoughts.
Medical care has evolved. It is inevitable that this happens. Sometimes we might have just had a bad doctor, or someone who was having a bad day or maybe was triggered by our experience. I sometimes think not knowing how to help triggers doctors—I think this might have been the case with the doc who told me to eat less. She might have felt helpless and incompetent at not being able to help me and projected those feelings onto me as a “difficult patient”.
Ultimately health professionals got into their field to “help people”. If you’re not helping people you might feel triggered. But then, if you’re a competent professional, and I believe most are, you look for new ways to help. You open your mind to other practitioners, like NDs. You might not understand why or how what they do works, but “whatever works.”
Doctors are increasingly open to new studies on nutrition. They recognize treatment gaps in their care and in medical knowledge and guidelines. Nutrition and alternative practices are entering mainstream and are dismissed as “woo woo” less and less, particularly by doctors who embrace science and research.
With the evolving landscape of medical care, doctors and health professionals are adapting to new perspectives and approaches to help their patients effectively. Acknowledging that some past encounters might have been influenced by various factors, professionals are increasingly open to alternative practices and unconventional methods. They are embracing the significance of research and scientific advancements, often exploring innovative solutions such as the MAS Test to bridge treatment gaps and enhance patient care. By incorporating cutting-edge tools like the MAS Test, doctors are demonstrating a commitment to understanding diverse approaches, ensuring they provide comprehensive and personalized healthcare solutions to their patients. This openness to holistic methods and ongoing research not only enriches medical knowledge but also fosters a more inclusive and effective healthcare system for everyone.
I always say, when picking a doctor pick one that listens, that is curious and that is humble. I strive to be these things, although it’s not easy. Practicing medicine is as much an art as it is a science–we need to be able to not only admit but carry with us the absolute truth that we do not know everything. It is literally impossible to know everything. The body and nature will constantly present us with mysteries on a daily basis, but the gift of being a clinician is that we are constantly learning.
“I don’t know, but I will try to find out” should be every doctor’s mantra (along with Do No Harm).
In a busy and overloaded system we need to help healthcare workers help us. This means being informed. My friend is highly informed and educated in healthcare. I believe her healthcare providers could sense this. She was respectful in denying medications and wasn’t pushed (because she had informed reasons that the healthcare practitioners ultimately agreed with, “no, you shouldn’t go on a PPI long-term, that’s right” “yes, anti-psychotics do have a lot of side effects, and taking them is a personal choice”).
A significant element of my medical trauma was the feeling of disempowerment. I was completely in someone else’s hands and they were not communicating with or educating me. I was left feeling lost and hopeless. Empowerment is everything. It allows you to communicate and make decisions and weigh options. You know what healthcare can offer you and what it can’t.
Of course we can’t always be empowered, especially when we’re very sick and when we’re suffering. In this case, having advocates in your corner are essential. Perhaps it’s having an ND who can help you navigate the system, think clearly and help you weigh your options.
I also recognize that it is hard to be empowered in emergencies. Fortunately, modern medicine handles emergencies exceptionally well. Still, in this case, having an advocate: friend, practitioner or family member, is an incredible asset.
Physicians are burned out. Patients are burned out. I believe this is because of responsibility. Neither the medical system nor the individual can possibly be solely responsible for your health. I believe that responsibility is better when shared. We need help. We can’t do things alone: we need someone’s 8+ years of education, diagnostic testing, clinical experience and compassion. We also need our own sense of empowerment so that doctor’s don’t succumb to the immense pressure of having to fix everyone and everything.
My sister in law is an ER nurse and once remarked (when asked if the ER was busy and chaotic) “people need to learn self-care”. She didn’t mean self-care as in bubble baths. She meant: learning how to manage a fever at home, when a cut needs stitches or how to determine if a sore ankle is a sprain, strain or break. A lot of people were coming in with colds—self-limiting, non-serious infections that could easily be treated at home. This was burning her out. Of course, she meant, go to the ER if you’re not sure. But, there are many non-grey areas in which we can feel empowered to manage self-limiting, non-serious health conditions as long as we know how to identify them or who to go to for answers.
Education is power. In a past life (before becoming an ND and while studying to become one) I was a teacher. I am still a teacher and in fact the Latin root of the word doctor, docere, means “to teach.” Healthcare is teaching. No doctor should say “just take this and call me in the morning” and no patient should accept this as an answer. We have the right to ask, “what will this pill do? When can I stop taking it? How does it work?” This is called Informed consent: the right to know the risks and benefits of every single treatment you’re taking and the right to respectfully refuse any treatment on any grounds.
You have the right to a second opinion. You have the right to say, “Can I think about this? I’d like to read more about it.” You have every right. You have the right to bring a hard question to your doctor, like “do I really need this statin? A study in Nature found that the optimal cholesterol level for reduced all-cause mortality is around 5.2 mmol/L, which is much higher than mine. Do I really need to be on something that lowers my cholesterol?”
If we can’t speak to our doctors, we turn to Google. Being a good researcher is a skill. This is what I was trained to do at naturopathic medical school and in undergrad. How can you tell if a study is a good study? Does the conclusion match the results? What does this piece of research mean for me and my body? Your doctor should be able to look at you and answer your questions to your satisfaction. This is basic respect.
You deserve to access the results of your blood tests and be walked through the results, even if everything is “normal”. Even a normal test result tells a story. We deserve transparency.
I was once told in a business training for healthcare practitioners (NDs, actually) that “people don’t want all the information. They don’t want to know how something works. They just want you to tell them what to do.”
Now, I sincerely disagree with this. In my experience, patients listen vividly when I walk them through bloodwork, explain what I think is happening to them and try to describe my thought process for the recommendations I’m making. I’m sure a lot of what I say is overwhelming–and then I try to put it differently, and open the conversation up to questions to ensure I’m being understood. Again, doctor as teacher, is a mantra we should all live by. There are few things more interesting than learning how our bodies work. In my experience, patients want to know!
When our bodies occur as a mystery, we are bound to live in fear. We are bound to feel coerced and pressured into taking things that our intuition is telling us to wait on, or seek a second opinion for. When we are scared to ask our doctors questions or take up their time, we end up having to deal with our concerns on our own. When we are dismissed we end up confused and doubting ourselves. We end up disconnected from our bodies. We are anxious. We catastrophise. We give away our power to strangers.
Empowerment is everything. It helps us connect to our bodies. It strengthens our intuition. We know where to go or who to go to for answers (or at least a second or third, opinion). We can move ahead with decisions. (i.e.: “I’m going to take this for 8 weeks and if I don’t like the side effects, I will tell my doctor that I want to wean off or ask for another solution”). We are aware of the effects and side effects of medications. We are aware of our options. We know if something isn’t right for us. We can make food and life style choices in an informed and empowered way. We can feel in our bodies who is trustworthy. We can trust ourselves and our bodies.
When patients are empowered, I believe doctors experience less burnout. The responsibility is shared evenly among patients, friends, family and a circle of care of helpers. No one faces the entirety of the weight of their health alone. No one should.
Empowerment and health don’t mean that you’ll be completely free of disease, or that your body will never get sick, or that you will be pain and suffering free. We all get sick. However, empowerment can help you notice something is off. Increased awareness helps you advocate for yourself to get the care you need in a timely fashion. It helps you take necessary steps, even if you’re afraid. You might be less afraid when you have more information. You might have more hope when you know all your options.
Empowerment in healthcare is everything. And here’s the thing: your doctor wants you to be empowered. Empowered patients are fun to work with. They ask good questions. They are respectful. They are open. They give us practitioners an opportunity to learn. My friend experienced this. I’m sure she was a joy of a patient to work with because she was knowledgeable, alert and present. She maintained her own power. She asked questions when she was unsure. She knew what questions to ask. She knew where to go for answers on her own time. She knew which information was relevant for her practitioners to know. She knew how to ask for time and space before making a decision. She knew how to maintain her sense of autonomy. Most of all, empowerment gives us the strength to find a new practitioner if the therapeutic relationship we’re in isn’t respectful or supportive.
I believe we get into the helping professions to help–to heal, to learn and to alleviate suffering. We all swore an oath to “do no harm”.
What do you think? How has health empowerment helped you navigate your own healthcare?
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Sep 12, 2020 | Anxiety, Depression, Diagnostics, Docere, Emotional Wellness, Herbalism, Mental Health, Psychology
My best friend is a teacher.
She told me that lately, all the children she works with have a label. “Meredith can’t attend your online class because it’s her first day of school and she can’t handle more than two things because of her anxiety”, one mother wrote in an email as she backed out of a private class my friend had created by special request.
“Everyone is nervous on their first day of school”, my friend remarked, as she recounted the story to me.
“I need everyone’s microphones muted”, a 10-year old student exclaimed during an online class, “I have sensory overwhelm and attention deficit disorder and can’t handle background noise”.
My friend spent three years teaching in a rural school at the edge of a volcano in Guatemala. She worked in a private girls’ school in Colombia. And she taught grade 1 at an outdoor jungle school on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. “I’m not used to these North American kids”, she reflected.
“I wonder what diagnoses we’d have gotten in university?” I mused. I remember our Revolutionary Wall–pictures of Noam Chomsky, Victor Jara and Ghandi plastered on the wall that welcomed us into the entrance of our dirty apartment.
That year we’d worn our sweaters backward because it “felt right” to rest your chin on your hood, stopped washing our hair to “let the oils moisturize our roots”, and spent a week on a 1000-piece puzzle instead of going to class.
It was our last year. We were done.
My other friend was diagnosed with cancer, which would soon turn terminal. I was suffering from some sort of unacknowledged eating disorder–there were no body positivity Instagram feeds at the time. I could have used some.
It was a painful year.
For those and many more reasons, I’m sure, I was depressed.
I remember at some point during that year heading to a walk-in clinic because I was gaining weight, depressed, exhausted and completely shutdown. The walk-in clinic doctor told me “it wasn’t my thyroid” and to “eat less” so that I would lose weight.
I never got a diagnosis.
I was never offered an antidepressant.
I remember feeling hopeless. Desperate for an answer, but most of all, a solution.
If she had offered me an antidepressant, I’m certain I would have taken it. In fact, I did end up taking one about a year later for a brief period when living in Colombia (before the side effects made me stop).
I escaped a label.
My journey forked in the road and I took the one less traveled that led me towards naturopathic medicine.
Before that, though, I saw my own natural doctor who listened to me and put together the puzzle of my symptoms (who knew that skipping class to put together our 1000-piece puzzle would figuratively prepare me for my future career).
Rather than diagnose me, he listened to me and told me the underlying causes of my symptoms–not just what they were called.
And then, because we knew the cause, we also had a solution. And I soon felt better.
Of course, when I started naturopathic school, another 4-year full-time program with full days of classes (sometimes 10+ hours a day) and millions of exams and assignments, the underlying hormonal conditions that drove the original depressive episode I experienced at the end of my undergrad resurfaced.
I ended up seeing a fourth year naturopathic intern and she put me on something called adaptogens.
Adaptogens are class of plants. They support our Hypothalamic-Pituitary-Adrenal (HPA) response, which orchestrates the stress response. They are studied in rats who, when given adaptogens can perform longer on swim tests, producing less cortisol (our stress hormone) in the process.
These rats can tread water longer, without as much stress hormone and therefore, with less damage from stress. Depression is one of those side effects from the damage of psychosocial stress.
Stress leads to shutdown, inflammation and further hormonal imbalance, causing a wide variety of symptoms that seem disconnected but arise from the same source.
After all, isn’t depression, anxiety and burnout just us trying to keep our heads above water?
Oh man, did I ever wish I’d known about adaptogens in undergrad!
If I could have, I would have shouted about them from the rooftops, thrown bottles of them out of a plane, put them in the water supply.
I can’t do those things, but I can put many of my patients on them. Many of my patients suffering from depression and anxiety, caused by problems with their HPA axises, end up taking adaptogens.
I prescribe them when those I work with experience things like low mood, fatigue, sleep issues, inflammation (pain and swelling), hormone imbalances, particularly PMS or peri-menopause, sugar and salt cravings, delayed muscle recovery, tension, panic attacks and anxiety, dizziness and weakness, low motivation, and other oh-so-common symptoms often labelled as Major Depressive Disorder or other psychiatric illnesses.
Did I ever wish I’d known about adaptogens when I was in undergrad.
Instead I remember taking a crappy B vitamin complex from the local drugstore that a roommate’s mom gave me because I was on the birth control pill and “you need B vitamins on the birth control pill”. (Which is true: you need more vitamin B6 on the pill, but probably not one from a local drugstore multivitamin).
It didn’t do much.
I really really wish someone, a fairy godmother, the walk-in clinic physician, a man on the street, an article somewhere on the internet (like this one), had told me, “You have these symptoms because you are suffering from HPA axis dysfunction, as a result of significant psychosocial stress. This makes you suffer from the symptoms you’re dealing with, depression not being a condition of its own, but just another symptom of this condition.
“Adaptogenic herbs can help you get through this, as well as some important foundational lifestyle pieces that someone like a naturopathic doctor can help you with.
“There is a reason for your suffering. A context behind it. There is a cause we can identify.
“And, most importantly, there is a solution.”
But, I didn’t have anyone to tell me that.
I really wish someone had told me about adaptogens, but I haven’t ever wished that someone had diagnosed me with depression.
Now, a diagnosis can be extremely validating for some.
It can be lifesaving.
Medical intervention can also be really helpful for some people. But, like adaptogens (I should add), medications aren’t a one-size-fits-all solution.
We don’t know what causes depression and anxiety (likely many factors, HPA axis dysfunction being one of them), but we do know it’s not caused by a chemical brain imbalance.
And medications are designed to correct the brain imbalance that doesn’t exist, which is why they don’t work in everyone.
However, they do do something in some. Because, even though they don’t really solve the problem they’re supposed to (at least not in that simplistic way), they might be doing something else, which solves a problem in a few people.
The problem is, antidepressants make some people feel worse. In others they do nothing. And, in some of the people they do help, they don’t do enough. We’re still suffering.
And labels, while they can be helpful and lifesaving in some cases, can do damage in others.
Take my friend’s student with anxiety. What if her story of “I get stressed out on the first day of school because I have anxiety” turned into:
“I get stressed out on the first day of school because a lot of people do. It’s normal to feel nervous and anxious on the first day of school and want everything to go right.”
Now, of course, I don’t want to insinuate that anxiety isn’t a real thing. Of course it is!
There are many of us who suffer from anxiety disorders–a higher amount of anxiety than is common. Rather than first-day jitters, they might experience severe panic and complete dysfunction that make life miserable.
However, in the first example, the power is out of this student’s hands. It lies in her identity. In her dysfunction.
In her label.
In the second, it becomes a shared human experience, which she might be able to externalize and work with. Because it’s a common experience, she might find support, kinship, and understanding in those who experience the same.
Of course, I don’t know her case specifically. Maybe her diagnosis has helped her. Maybe her anxiety is well labelled and managed. Maybe she doesn’t need help. Maybe she is doing just fine.
All I know is, I wonder what I would have been diagnosed with, with my sweater on backwards, my hair full of grease, my body heavy like lead, a million puzzle pieces spewed all over the kitchen table in my dirty apartment with the revolutionary wall.
I have no idea what my diagnosis would have been, but I’m personally glad I never got one.
Instead, I wish I had had the permission to go through what I was going through.
I wish I’d had context for my suffering.
I wish I’d been given hope that things would get better.
I wish someone had empowered me through understanding the underlying causes of my symptoms and, of course,
I wish someone had told me about adaptogens.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Feb 22, 2018 | Docere, Education, Emotional Wellness, Health, Medicine, Meditation, Mental Health, Mind Body Medicine, Mindfulness, Writing
I often encourage my patients to write a letter to themselves on their birthdays for the following year using a website called FutureMe.org, where you can post-date emails to yourself to any date in the future. This exercise is great to do on any day, really. Tomorrow is my birthday. I’ll be 32. Here is my letter.
This is it.
This is your life.
As Cheryl Strayed wrote, “The f— is your life. Answer it.”
There are some things that you thought were temporary, mere stepping stones on your way to someplace better, that you now realize are familiar friends, ever present in their essence, but varying in their specific details.
For instance:
1) You will ride buses.
You will never escape the bus. For a while taking the bus was seen as a temporary stop on your way to something else (a car?). You took the bus as a pre-teen, excited to finally be allowed to venture to parts of town alone. As a student, you took the bus to the mall, laughing at the ridiculousness of Kingston, Ontario, once you’d left the protective bubble of the student community, completely inappropriately, yet affectionately (and ignorantly) called The Ghetto.
You will visit other ghettos, also by bus, that are far more deserving of their names. However these ghettos will instead have hopeful names such as El Paraiso, or La Preserverancia. Those who live there will persevere. So will you.
Buses will take you over the mountains of Guatemala, to visit student clients in Bogota, Columbia. To desirable areas of Cartagena. You’ll ride them through India. They will carry you through Asia, bringing you to trains and airports.
You’ll ride buses as a doctor. You’ll ride the bus to your clinic every day.
Sometimes, on long busy days in Toronto, it’ll seem like you’ll spend all day trapped in a bus.
The bus is not a temporary reality of your life. The bus is one of the “f—s” of your life. You’ll learn to answer it. You’ll learn to stop dissociating from the experience of “getting somewhere” and realize you are always somewhere. Life is happening right here, and sometimes “right here” is on the seat of a bus. Eventually you start to open up, to live there. You start to live in the understanding that the getting somewhere is just as important as (maybe more than) arriving.
We breathe to fill our empty lungs. Almost immediately after they’re full, the desire to empty them overwhelms. Similarly, you board a bus to get somewhere, while you’re on the bus, you start to understand.
You’re already here.
Maybe you’ll graduate some day, to a car.
But sooner or later, you’ll board a bus.
And ride it again.
2). You’ll experience negative emotion, no matter who you are or what your life circumstance.
Rejection, worthlessness, sadness, and heart break, are constant friends. Sometimes they’ll go on vacation. They’ll always visit again.
You will never reach the shores of certainty. You will never be “done”. You may take consolation in momentary pauses, where you note your confidence has found a rock to rest its head against. But you’ll grow bored of your rock (it is just a rock, lifeless, after all). You’ll then dive back into the deep waters of doubt, risk despair, and swim again.
Happiness isn’t a final destination. Instead, it’s a roadside Starbucks: a place to refuel, and maybe passing through is an encouragement you’re headed in the right direction.
3). The people in your life are like wisps of smoke.
They will come and go. Some of them will simply whiff towards you, visiting momentarily. Their names you’ll hardly remember. You’ll share ice cream and one deep, healing conversation about love that you’ll remember for years to come. You’ll reflect on this person’s words whenever you consider loving someone again.
You’ll remember the ice cream, the warm sea breeze, the thirst that came afterwards, the laughter. But it will be hard to remember his name… David? Daniel? You won’t keep in touch, but you’ll have been touched.
There will be others who come to seek your help. You might help them. You might not. They might come back regardless, or never return. Many times it will have nothing to do with the quality of your help. Or you.
Sometimes the smoke from the flame will thicken as you breathe oxygen into it. People will come closer, you’ll draw them in, inhale them.
Sometimes you’ll cough and blow others away.
You’ll wonder if that was a wise choice. You’ll think that it probably was.
Does a flame lament the ever-changing smoke it emits? Does the surrounding air try to grasp it? Do either personalize the dynamic undulations of smoke, that arise from the candle, dance in the fading light and dissipate?
Flames don’t own their smoke. They don’t seem to believe that the smoke blows away from them repelled by some inherent deficiency in them. Flames seem to accept the fact that smoke rises and disappears, doing as it’s always done.
4). Not everything is about you.
There will be times when failure lands in your lap. You’ll wonder if it’s because there is some nascent problem with you, that only others can see. These failures will tempt you to go searching for it.
You’ll find these faults. These deficiencies. In yourself, in others, in life itself.
You’ll wonder if it explains your failures. You’ll wonder why the failures had to happen to you.
You think that people can smell something on you, that your nose is no longer able to detect, like overwhelming perfume that your senses have grown used to, but that assaults the senses of others around you.
Failure and rejection, cause your heart to ache. Your heart aches, as all hearts do. The hearts of the virtuous, famous, heroic, and rich ache just as hard. The hearts of those who have committed evil deeds also split apart. (The only hearts that don’t may be the truly broken, the irredeemable. And those people are rare.)
You will experience joys. Your heart will mend and break, a thousands times.
And it has nothing to do with you.
5). Success is not a final destination.
There are no destinations. You will ride buses, you will feel happy, you will feel joy. You will try. You will succeed.
And you won’t.
You’ll pick up the pieces of your broken heart. You will mend them. You will flag down the next bus.
You will board it.
You will grasp—you can’t help it. Grasping will only push the wisps of smoke away, causing it to disappear in your hands. This will frustate you, but you’ll keep doing it.
Over and over.
And failing.
You’ll grasp some more and come up empty, thinking that it is because something is wrong with me. There is lots wrong with you.
There is lots right with you.
Most things have nothing to do with you. (That might be just as painful to accept
But healing as well.)
No one said healing didn’t hurt. Sometimes it f—ing hurts! But, as Cheryl Strayed wrote, “the f— is your life”.
And answering it is your life’s process.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Mar 18, 2016 | Balance, Community, Detoxification, Docere, doctor as teacher, Education, Healing Stories, Health, Medicine, Motivation, Narrative Therapy, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Psychology, Self-care, Women's health
People seek out naturopathic doctors for expert advice. This immediately positions us as experts in the context of the therapeutic relationship, establishing a power imbalance right from the first encounter. If left unchecked, this power imbalance will result in the knowledge and experience of the practitioner being preferred to the knowledge, experience, skills and values of the people who seek naturopathic care.
The implicit expectation of the therapeutic relationship is that it’s up to the doctor to figure out what is “wrong” with the body patients inhabit and make expert recommendations to correct this wrong-ness. After that, it’s up to the patients to follow the recommendations in order to heal. If there is a failure to follow recommendations, it is the patient who has failed to “comply” with treatment. This “failure” results in breakdown of communication, loss of personal agency on the part of the patient, and frustration for both parties.
When speaking of previous experience with naturopathic medicine, patients often express frustration at unrealistic, expensive and time-consuming treatment plans that don’t honour their values and lifestyles. Oftentimes patients express fear at prescriptions that they had no part in creating, blaming them for adverse reactions, or negative turns in health outcomes. It’s common that, rather than address these issues with the practitioner, patients take for granted that the treatment plan offered is the only one available and, for a variety of reasons, choose to discontinue care.
One of the elements of Narrative Therapy—a style of psychotherapy founded by Australian Michael White—I most resonate with is the idea of the “therapeutic posture”. In narrative therapy, the therapist or practitioner assumes a de-centred, but influential posture in the visit. This can be roughly translated as reducing practitioner expertise to that of a guide or facilitator, while keeping the agency, decision-making, expertise and wisdom of the patient as the dominant source for informing clinical decisions. The de-centred clinician guides the patient through questioning, helping to reframe his or her identity by flushing out his or her ideas and values through open-ended questions. However, the interests of the doctor are set aside in the visit.
From the place of de-centred facilitation, no part of the history is assumed without first asking questions, and outcomes are not pursued without requesting patient input. De-centring eschews advice-giving, praise, judgement and applying a normalizing or pathologizing gaze to the patient’s concerns. De-centring the naturopathic practitioner puts the patient’s experiences above professional training, knowledge or expertise. We are often told in naturopathic medical school that patients are the experts on their own bodies. A de-centred therapeutic gaze acknowledges this and uses it to optimize the clinical encounter.
I personally find that in psychotherapy, the applicability of de-centring posture seems feasible—patients expect that the therapist will simply act as a mirror rather than doling out advice. However, in clinical practice, privileging the skills, knowledge and expertise of the patient over those of the doctor seems trickier—after all, people come for answers. At the end of naturopathic clinical encounters, I always find myself reaching for a prescription pad and quickly laying out out my recommendations.
There is an expected power imbalance in doctor-patient relationships that is taught and enforced by medical training. The physician or medical student, under the direction of his or her supervisor, asks questions and compiles a document of notes—the clinical chart. The patient often has little idea of what is being recorded, whether these notes are in their own words, or even if they are an accurate interpretation of what the patient has intended to convey—The Seinfeld episode where Elaine is deemed a “difficult patient” comes to mind when I think of the impact of medical records on people’s lives. After that we make an assessment and prescription by a process that, in many ways, remains invisible to the patient.
De-centred practice involves acknowledging the power differential between practitioner and patient and bringing it to the forefront of the therapeutic interaction.
The ways that this are done must be applied creatively and conscientiously, wherever a power imbalance can be detected. For me this starts with acknowledging payment—I really appreciate it when my patients openly tell me that they struggle to afford me. There may not be something I can do about this, but if I don’t know the reason for my patient falling off the radar or frequently cancelling when their appointment time draws near, there is certainly nothing I can do to address the issue of cost and finances. Rather than being a problem separate from our relationship, it becomes internal the the naturopathic consultation, which means that solutions can be reached by acts of collaboration, drawing on the strengths, knowledge and experience of both of us.
In a similar vein, addressing the intersection of personal finance and real estate within the therapeutic relationship requires a delicate balance of empathy and practicality. Patients may be navigating the complexities of homeownership or rental expenses, which can significantly impact their overall well-being. Encouraging open communication about these financial stressors fosters an environment where solutions can be explored collaboratively. It’s essential to recognize that financial challenges are not isolated issues but are intricately woven into the fabric of a person’s life, influencing mental and emotional well-being.
For instance, a patient might express concerns about the financial strain associated with homeownership, prompting a discussion about alternative housing options or budgeting strategies. In this context, exploring unconventional opportunities, such as innovative approaches to real estate like eXp Realty, could naturally arise. Integrating discussions about progressive real estate models within the therapeutic dialogue allows for a holistic exploration of solutions, leveraging the expertise and experiences of both the practitioner and the patient. This approach not only addresses immediate concerns but also lays the foundation for a collaborative and conscientious partnership in navigating the multifaceted aspects of personal finance and real estate.
De-centred practice involves practicing non-judgement and removing assumptions about the impact of certain conditions. A patient may smoke, self-harm or engage in addictive behaviours that appear counterproductive to healing. It’s always useful to ask them how they feel about these practices—these behaviours may be hidden life-lines keeping patients afloat, or gateways to stories of very “healthy” behaviours. They may be clues to hidden strengths. By applying a judgemental, correctional gaze to behaviours, we can drive a wedge in the trust and rapport between doctor and patient, and the potential to uncover and draw on these strengths for healing will be lost.
De-centred practice involves avoiding labelling our patients. A patient may not present with “Generalized Anxiety Disorder”, but “nervousness” or “uneasiness”, “a pinball machine in my chest” or, one of my favourites, a “black smog feeling”. It’s important to be mindful about adding a new or different labels and the impact this can have on power and identity. We often describe physiological phenomena in ways that many people haven’t heard before: estrogen dominance, adrenal fatigue, leaky gut syndrome, chronic inflammation. In our professional experience, these labels can provide relief for people who have suffered for years without knowing what’s off. Learning that something pathological is indeed happening in the body, that this thing has a name, isn’t merely a figment of the imagination and, better still, has a treatment (by way of having a name), can provide immense relief. However, others may feel that they are being trapped in a diagnosis. We’re praised for landing a “correct” diagnosis in medical school, as if finding the right word to slap our patients with validates our professional aptitude. However, being aware of the extent to which labels help or hinder our patients capacities for healing is important for establishing trust.
To be safe, it can help to simply ask, “So, you’ve been told you have ‘Social Anxiety’. What do you think of this label? Has it helped to add meaning to your experience? Is there anything else you’d like to call this thing that’s been going on with you?”
Avoiding labelling also includes holding back from using the other labels we may be tempted to apply such as “non-compliant”, “resistant”, “difficult”, or to group patients with the same condition into categories of behaviour and identity.
It is important to attempt to bring transparency to all parts of the therapeutic encounter, such as history-taking, physical exams, labs, charting, assessment and prescribing, whenever possible. I’ve heard of practitioners reading back to people what they have written in the chart, to make sure their recordings are accurate, and letting patients read their charts over to proofread them before they are signed. The significance of a file existing in the world about someone that they have never seen or had input into the creation of can be quite impactful, especially for those who have a rich medical history. One practitioner asks “What’s it like to carry this chart around all your life?” to new patients who present with phonebook-sized medical charts. She may also ask, “Of all the things written in here about you, what would you most like me to know?” This de-emphasizes the importance of expert communication and puts the patient’s history back under their own control.
Enrolling patients in their own treatment plan is essential for compliance and positive clinical outcomes. I believe that the extent to which a treatment plan can match a patient’s values, abilities, lifestyle and personal preferences dictates the success of that plan. Most people have some ideas about healthy living and natural health that they have acquired through self-study, consuming media, trial-and-error on their own bodies or consulting other healthcare professionals. Many people who seek a naturopathic doctor are not doing so for the first time and, in the majority of cases, the naturopathic doctor is not the first professional the patient may have consulted. This is also certainly not the first time that the person has taken steps toward healing—learning about those first few, or many, steps is a great way to begin an empowering and informed conversation about the patients’ healing journey before they met you. If visiting a naturopathic doctor is viewed as one more step of furthering self-care and self-healing, then the possibilities for collaboration become clearer. Many people who see me have been trying their own self-prescriptions for years and now finally “need some support” to help guide further action. Why not mobilize the patient’s past experiences, steps and actions that they’ve already taken to heal themselves? Patients are a wealth of skills, knowledge, values, experiences and beliefs that contribute to their ability to heal. The vast majority have had to call on these skills in the past and have rich histories of using these skills in self-healing that can be drawn upon for treatment success.
De-centring ourselves, at least by a few degrees, from the position of expertise, knowledge and power in the therapeutic relationship, if essential for allowing our patients to heal. A mentor once wrote to me, “Trust is everything. People trust you and then they use that trust to heal themselves.”
By lowering our status as experts, we increase the possibility to build this trust—not just our patients’ trust in our abilities as practitioners, but patients’ trust in their own skills, knowledge and abilities as self-healing entities. I believe that de-centring practitioner power can lead to increased “compliance”, more engagement in the therapeutic treatment, more opportunities for collaboration, communication and transparency. It can decrease the amount of people that discontinue care. I also believe that this takes off the burden of control and power off of ourselves—we aren’t solely responsible for having the answers—decreasing physician burnout. Through de-centring, patients and doctors work together to come up with a solution that suits both, becoming willing partners in creating treatment plans, engaging each other in healing and thereby increasing the trust patients have in their own bodies and those bodies’ abilities to heal.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Feb 23, 2016 | Art, Art Therapy, Balance, Culture, Digestion, Docere, Education, Emotions, Finding yourself, Happiness, Healing Stories, Health, Letting Go, Lifestyle, Listening, Love, Medicine, Meditation, Mental Health, Mind Body Medicine, Mindfulness, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Patience, Philosophy, Psychology, Reflections, Self-care, Self-reflection
Today, I’m 30, working on my career as a self-employed health professional and a small business owner and living on my own. I’ve moved through a lot of states, emotions and life experiences this year, which has been appropriate for closing the chapter on my 20’s and moving into a new decade of life. I’ve experienced huge changes in the past year and significant personal growth thanks to the work I’ve been blessed to do and the people who have impacted me throughout the last 30 years. Here are 30 things this past year has taught me.
- Take care of your gut and it will take care of you. It will also eliminate the need for painkillers, antidepressants, skincare products, creams, many cosmetic surgeries, shampoo and a myriad of supplements and products.
- Trying too hard might not be the recipe for success. In Taoism, the art of wu wei, or separating action from effort might be key in moving forward with your goals and enjoying life; You’re not falling behind in life. Additionally, Facebook, the scale and your wallet are horrible measures to gauge how you’re doing in life. Find other measures.
- If you have a chance to, start your own business. Building a business forces you to build independence, autonomy, self-confidence, healthy boundaries, a stronger ego, humility and character, presence, guts and strength, among other things. It asks you to define yourself, write your own life story, rewrite your own success story and create a thorough and authentic understanding of what “success” means to you. Creating your own career allows you to create your own schedule, philosophy for living and, essentially, your own life.
- There is such as thing as being ready. You can push people to do what you want, but if they’re not ready, it’s best to send them on their way, wherever their “way” may be. Respecting readiness and lack thereof in others has helped me overcome a lot of psychological hurdles and avoid taking rejection personally. It’s helped me accept the fact that we’re all on our own paths and recognize my limitations as a healer and friend.
- Letting go is one of the most important life skills for happiness. So is learning to say no.
- The law of F$%3 Yes or No is a great rule to follow, especially if you’re ambivalent about an impending choice. Not a F— Yes? Then, no. Saying no might make you feel guilty, but when the choice is between feeling guilty and feeling resentment, choose guilt every time. Feeling guilty is the first sign that you’re taking care of yourself.
- Patience is necessary. Be patient for your patients.
- Things may come and things may go, including various stressors and health challenges, but I will probably always need to take B-vitamins, magnesium and fish oil daily.
- Quick fixes work temporarily, but whatever was originally broken tends to break again. This goes for diets, exercise regimes, intense meditation practices, etc. Slow and steady may be less glamorous and dramatic, but it’s the only real way to change and the only way to heal.
- When in doubt, read. The best teachers and some of the best friends are books. Through books we can access the deepest insights humanity has ever seen.
- If the benefits don’t outweigh the sacrifice, you’ll never give up dairy, coffee, wine, sugar and bread for the long term. That’s probably perfectly ok. Let it go.
- Patients trust you and then they heal themselves. You learn to trust yourself, and then your patients heal. Developing self-trust is the best continuing education endeavour you can do as a doctor.
- Self-care is not selfish. In fact, it is the single most powerful tool you have for transforming the world.
- Why would anyone want to anything other than a healer or an artist?
- Getting rid of excess things can be far more healing than retail therapy. Tidying up can in fact be magical and life-changing.
- It is probably impossible to be truly healthy without some form of mindfulness or meditation in this day and age.
- As Virginia Woolf once wrote, every woman needs a Room of Own’s Own. Spending time alone, with yourself, in nature is when true happiness can manifest. Living alone is a wonderful skill most women should have—we tend to outlive the men in our lives, for one thing. And then we’re left with ourselves in the end anyways.
- The inner self is like a garden. We can plant the seeds and nurture the soil, but we can’t force the garden to grow any faster. Nurture your garden of self-love, knowledge, intuition, business success, and have faith that you’ll have a beautiful, full garden come spring.
- Be cheap when it comes to spending money on everything, except when it comes to food, travel and education. Splurge on those things, if you can.
- Your body is amazing. Every day it spends thousands of units of energy on keeping you alive, active and healthy. Treat it well and, please, only say the nicest things to it. It can hear you.
- If you’re in a job or life where you’re happy “making time go by quickly”, maybe you should think of making a change. There is only one February 23rd, 2016. Be grateful for time creeping by slowly. When you can, savour the seconds.
- Do no harm is a complicated doctrine to truly follow. It helps to start with yourself.
- Drink water. Tired? Sore? Poor digestion? Weight gain? Hungry? Feeling empty? Generally feeling off? Start with drinking water.
- Do what you love and you’ll never have to work a day in your life. As long as what you love requires no board exams, marketing, emailing, faxing, charting, and paying exorbitant fees. But, since most careers have at least some of those things, it’s still probably still preferable to be doing something you love.
- Not sure what to do? Pause, count to 7, breathe. As a good friend and colleague recently wrote to me, “I was doing some deep breathing yesterday and I felt so good.” Amen to that.
- As it turns out, joining a group of women to paint, eat chocolate and drink wine every Wednesday for two months can be an effective form of “marketing”. Who knew?
- “Everyone you meet is a teacher”, is a great way to look at online dating, friendships and patient experiences. Our relationships are the sharpest mirrors through which we can look at ourselves. Let’s use them and look closely.
- Being in a state of curiosity is one of the most healing states to be in. When we look with curiosity, we are unable to feel judgment, anxiety, or obsess about control. Curiosity is the gateway to empathy and connection.
- Aiming to be liked by everyone prevents us from feeling truly connected to the people around us. The more we show up as our flawed, messy, sometimes obnoxious selves, the fewer people might like us. However, the ones who stick around happen to love the hot, obnoxious mess they see. As your social circle tightens, it will also strengthen.
- If everyone is faking it until they make it, then is everyone who’s “made” it really faking it? These are the things I wonder while I lie awake at night.
Happy Birthday to me and happy February 23rd, 2016 to all of you!
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Jan 7, 2016 | Asian Medicine, Book, Book Review, Diet, Docere, Education, Evidence Based Medicine, Exams, Healing Stories, Health, Medicine, Narrative Therapy, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Philosophy
A singular narrative is told and retold regarding medicine in the west. The story goes roughly like this: the brightest students are accepted into medical schools where they learn—mainly through memorization—anatomy, physiology, pathology, diagnostics, microbiology, and the other “ologies” to do with the human physique. They then become doctors. These doctors then choose a specialty, often associated with a specific organ system (dermatology) or group of people (pediatrics), who they will concentrate their knowledge on. The majority of the study that these doctors undergo concerns itself with establishing a diagnosis, i.e.: producing a label, for the patient’s condition. Once a diagnosis has been established, selecting a treatment becomes standardized, outlined often in a cookbook-like approach through guidelines that have been established by fellow doctors and pharmaceutical research.
The treatment that conventional doctors prescribe has its own single story line involving substances, “drugs”, that powerfully over-ride the natural physiology of the body. These substances alter the body’s processes to make them “behave” in acceptable ways: is the body sending pain signals? Shut them down. Acid from the stomach creeping into the esophagus? Turn off the acid. The effectiveness of such drugs are tested against identified variables, such as placebo, to establish a cause and effect relationship between the drug and the result it produces in people. Oftentimes the drug doesn’t work and then a new one must be tried. Sometimes several drugs are tried at once. Some people get better. Some do not. When the list is exhausted, or a diagnosis cannot be established, people are chucked from the system. This is often where the story ends. Oftentimes the ending is not a happy one.
On July 1st, naturopathic doctors moved under the Regulated Health Professionals Act in the province of Ontario. We received the right to put “doctor” on our websites and to order labs without a physician signing off on them. However, we lost the right to inject, prescribe vitamin D over 1000 IU and other mainstay therapies we’d been trained in and been practicing safely for years, without submitting to a prescribing exam by the Canadian Pharmacists Association. Naturopathic doctors could not sit at the table with the other regulated health professions in the province until we proved we could reproduce the dominant story of western medicine—this test would ensure we had.
Never mind that this dominant story wasn’t a story about our lives or the medicine we practice—nowhere in the pages of the texts we were to read was the word “heal” mentioned. Nowhere in those pages was there an acknowledgement about the philosophy of our own medicine, a respect towards the body’s own self-healing mechanisms and the role nature has to play in facilitating that healing process. It was irrelevant that the vast majority of this story left out our years of clinical experience. The fact that we already knew a large part of the dominant story, as do the majority of the public, was set aside as well. We were to take a prescribing course and learn how primary care doctors (general practitioners, family doctors and pediatricians), prescribe drugs. We were to read accounts of the “ineffectiveness” of our own therapies in the pages of this narrative. This would heavy-handedly dismiss the experience of the millions of people around the world who turn to alternative medicine every year and experience success.
We were assured that there were no direct biases or conflict of interests (no one was directly being paid by the companies who manufacture these drugs). However, we forget that to have one story is to be inherently and dangerously biased. Whatever the dominant story is, it strongly implies that there is one “truth” that it is known and that it is possessed by the people who tell and retell it. Other stories are silenced. (Author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie describes this phenomenon in her compelling TED Talk, “The Danger of a Single Story”).
Despite the time and money it cost me, taking the prescribing course afforded me an opportunity to step outside of the discouraging, dominant story of the standard medical model and thicken the subordinate stories that permeate the natural and alternative healing modalities. These stories began thousands of years ago, in India and in China, at the very root of medicine itself. They have formed native ancestral traditions and kept entire populations and societies alive and thriving for millennia. Because our stories are not being told as often, or told in the context of “second options” or “last resorts”, when the dominant narratives seem to fail us, the people who tell them run the risk of being marginalized or labeled “pseudoscientific.” These dismissals, however, tell us less about The Truth and more about the rigid simplicity of the singular story of the medical model.
It is frightening to fathom that our body, a product of nature itself, encompasses mysteries that are possibly beyond the realm of our capacity for understanding. It’s horrifying to stand in a place of acknowledgement of our own lack of power against nature, at the inevitability of our own mortality. However, if we refuse to acknowledge these truths, we close ourselves off to entire systems that can teach us to truly heal ourselves, to work with the body’s wisdom and to embrace the forces of nature that surround us. The stories that follow are not capital T truths, however, they can enrich the singular story that we in the west have perpetuated for so long surrounding healing.
The body cannot be separated into systems. Rather than separating depression and diarrhea into psychiatry and gastroenterology, respectively, natural medicine acknowledges the interconnectivity between the body’s systems, none of which exist in a vacuum. When one system is artificially manipulated, others are affected. Likewise, an illness in one system may result in symptoms in another. There have been years of documentation about the gut-brain connection, which the medical model has largely ignored when it comes to treatment. The body’s processes are intricately woven together; tug on one loose thread and the rest either tightens or unravels.
We, as products of nature, may never achieve dominion over it. Pharmaceutical drugs powerfully alter the body’s natural physiology, often overriding it. Since these drugs are largely manmade, isolated from whole plants or synthesized in a lab, they are not compounds found naturally. Despite massive advances in science, there are oceans of what we don’t know. Many of these things fit into the realm of “we don’t know what we don’t know”—we lack the knowledge sufficient to even ask the right questions. Perhaps we are too complex to ever truly understand how we are made. Ian Stewart once wrote, “If our brains were simple enough for us to understand them, then we’d be so simple that we couldn’t.” And yet, accepting this fact, we synthesize chemicals that alter single neurotransmitters, disrupting our brain chemistry, based on our assumption that some people are born in need of “correcting” and we have knowledge of how to go about this corrective process. Such is the arrogance of the medical model.
There are always more than two variables in stories of disease and yet the best studies, the studies that dictate our knowledge, are done with two variables: the drug and its measured outcome. Does acetaminophen decrease pain in patients with arthritis when compared to placebo? A criticism of studies involving natural medicine is that there are too many variables—more than one substance is prescribed, the therapeutic relationship and lifestyle changes exert other effects, a population of patients who value their health are different than those who do not, the clinical experience is more attentive, and so on. With so many things going on, how can we ever know what is producing the effect? However, medicine is limited in effect if we restrict ourselves to the prescription of just one thing. This true in herbalism, where synergy in whole plants offers a greater effect than the sum of their isolated parts. By isolating a single compound from a plant, science shows us that we may miss out on powerful healing effects. Like us, plants have evolved to survive and thrive in nature; their DNA contains wisdom of its own. Stripping the plant down to one chemical is like diluting all of humanity down to a kidney. There is a complexity to nature that we may never understand with our single-minded blinders on.
Studies are conducted over the periods of weeks and, rarely, months, but very rarely are studies done over years or lifetimes. Therefore, we often look for fast results more than signs of healing. This is unfortunate because, just as it takes time to get sick, it takes time to heal. I repeat the previous sentence like a mantra so patients who have been indoctrinated into a medical system that produces rapid results can reset expectations about how soon they will see changes. Sometimes a Band-Aid is an acceptable therapy; few of us can take long, hard looks at our lives and begin an often painful journey in uncovering what hidden thought process or lifestyle choices may be contributing to the symptoms we’re experiencing. However, the option of real healing should be offered to those who are ready and willing.
When we study large masses of people, we forget about individuality. When we start at the grassroots level working with patients on the individual level, we familiarize ourselves with their stories, what healing means to them. In science, large studies are favoured over small ones. However, in studies of thousands of people, singular voices and experiences are drowned out. We lose the eccentric individualities of each person, their genetic variability, their personalities, their preferences and their past experiences. We realize that not everyone fits into a diagnostic category and yet still suffers. We realize that not everyone gets better with the standard treatments and the standard dosages. Starting at the level of the individual enables a clinician to search for methods and treatments and protocols that benefit each patient, rather than fitting individuals into a top-down approach that leaves many people left out of the system to suffer in silence.
It is important to ask the question, “why is this happening?” The root cause of disease, which naturopathic medicine claims to treat is not always evident and sometimes not always treatable. However, the willingness to ask the question and manipulate the circumstances that led to illness in the first place is the first step to true and lasting healing; everything else is merely a band-aid solution, potentially weakening the body’s vitality over time. No drug or medical intervention is a worthy substitute for clean air, fresh abundant water, nutritious food, fulfilling work and social relationships, a connection to a higher purpose, power or philosophy and, of course, good old regular movement. The framework for good health must be established before anything else can hope to have an effect.
The system of naturopathic medicine parallels in many ways the system of conventional pharmaceutical-based medicine. We both value science, we both strive to understand what we can about the body and we value knowledge unpolluted by confusing variables or half-truths. However, there are stark differences in the healing philosophies that can’t be compared. These differences strengthen us and provide patients with choice, rather than threatening the establishment. The time spent with patients, the principles of aiming for healing the root cause and working with individuals, rather than large groups, offer a complement to a system that often leaves people out.
There are as many stories of healing and medicine as there are patients. Anyone who has ever consulted a healthcare practitioner, taken a medicine or soothed a cold with lemon and honey, has experienced some kind of healing and has begun to form a narrative about their experience. Anyone with a body has an experience of illness, healing or having been healed. Those of us who practice medicine have our own experience about what works, what heals and what science and tradition can offer us in the practice of our work. Medicine contains in its vessel millions of stories: stories of doubt, hopelessness, healing, practitioner burnout, cruises paid for my pharmaceutical companies, scientific studies, bias, miracle cures, promise, hope and, most of all, a desire to enrich knowledge and uncover truth. Through collecting these stories and honouring each one of them as little truth droplets in the greater ocean of understanding, we will be able to deepen our appreciation for the mystery of the bodies we inhabit, learn how to thrive within them and understand how to help those who suffer inside of them, preferably not in silence.
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Jul 20, 2015 | Art Therapy, Community, Creativity, Docere, Education, Emotions, Empathy, Finding yourself, Healing Stories, Health, Medicine, Mental Health, Mind Body Medicine, Mindfulness, Narrative Therapy, Philosophy, Politics, Psychology, Relationships, Self-reflection, Treating the Cause, Volunteering
As a child, I was obsessed with stories. I wrote and digested stories from various genres and mediums. I created characters, illustrating them, giving them clothes and names and friends and lives. I threw them into narratives: long stories, short stories, hypothetical stories that never got written. Stories are about selecting certain events and connecting them in time and sequence to create meaning. In naturopathic medicine I found a career in which I could bear witness to people’s stories. In narrative therapy I have found a way to heal people through helping them write their life stories.
We humans create stories by editing. We edit out events that seem insignificant to the formation of our identity. We emphasize certain events or thoughts that seem more meaningful. Sometimes our stories have happy endings. Sometimes our stories form tragedies. The stories we create shape how we see ourselves and what we imagine to be our possibilities for the future. They influence the decisions we make and the actions we take.
We use stories to understand other people, to feel empathy for ourselves and for others. Is there empathy outside of stories?
I was seeing R, a patient of mine at the Yonge Street Mission. Like my other patients at the mission health clinic, R was a young male who was street involved. He had come to see me for acupuncture, to help him relax. When I asked him what brought him in to see me on this particular day, his answer surprised me in its clarity and self-reflection. “I have a lot of anger,” He said, keeping his sunglasses on in the visit, something I didn’t bother to challenge.
R spoke of an unstoppable rage that would appear in his interactions with other people. Very often it would result in him taking violent action. A lot of the time that action was against others. This anger, according to him, got him in trouble with the law. He was scared by it—he didn’t really want to hurt others, but this anger felt like something that was escaping his control.
We chatted for a bit and I put in some acupuncture needles to “calm the mind” (because, by implication, his mind was not currently calm). After the treatment, R left a little lighter with a mind that was supposedly a little calmer. The treatment worked. I attributed this to the fact that he’d been able to get some things off his chest and relax in a safe space free of judgment. I congratulated myself while at the same time lamented the sad fact that R was leaving my safe space and re-entering the street, where he’d no doubt go back to floundering in a sea of crime, poverty and social injustice. I sighed and shrugged, feeling powerless—this was a fact beyond my control, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
The clinic manager, a nurse practitioner, once told me, “Of course they’re angry. These kids have a lot to be angry at.” I understood theoretically that social context mattered, but only in the sense that it posed an obstacle to proper healing. It is hard to treat stress, diabetes, anxiety and depression when the root causes or complicating factors are joblessness, homelessness and various traumatic experiences. A lot of the time I feel like I’m bailing water with a teaspoon to save a sinking ship; my efforts to help are fruitless. This is unfortunate because I believe in empowering my patients. How can I empower others if I myself feel powerless?
I took a Narrative Therapy intensive workshop last week. In this workshop we learn many techniques for empowering people and healing them via the formation of new identities through storytelling. In order to do this, narrative therapy extricates the problem from the person: the person is not the problem, the problem is the problem. Through separating problems from people, we are giving our patients the freedom to respond to or resolve their problems in ways that are empowering.
Naturopathic doctors approach conditions like diabetes from a life-style perspective; change your lifestyle and you can change your health! However, when we fail to separate the patient from the diabetes, we fail to examine the greater societal context that diabetes exists in. For one thing, our culture emphasizes stress, overwork and inactivity. The majority of food options we are given don’t nourish our health. Healthy foods cost more; we need to work more and experience more stress in order to afford them. We are often lied to when it comes to what is healthy and what is not—food marketing “healthwashes” the food choices we make. We do have some agency over our health in preventing conditions like diabetes, it’s true, but our health problems are often created within the context in which we live. Once we externalize diabetes from the person who experiences it, we can begin to distance our identities from the problem and work on it in creative and self-affirming ways.
Michael White, one of the founders of Narrative Therapy says,
If the person is the problem there is very little that can be done outside of taking action that is self-destructive.
Many people who seek healthcare believe that their health problems are a failure of their bodies to be healthy—they are in fact the problem. Naturopathic medicine, which aims to empower people by pointing out they can take action over their health, can further disempower people when we emphasize action and solutions that aim at treating the problems within our patients—we unwittingly perpetuate the idea that our solutions are fixing a “broken” person and, even worse, that we hold the answer to that fix. If we fail to separate our patients from their health conditions, our patients come to believe that their problems are internal to the self—that they or others are in fact, the problem. Failure to follow their doctor’s advice and heal then becomes a failure of the self. This belief only further buries them in the problems they are attempting to resolve. However, when health conditions are externalized, the condition ceases to represent the truth about the patient’s identity and options for healing suddenly show themselves.
While R got benefit from our visit, the benefit was temporary—R was still his problem. He left the visit still feeling like an angry and violent person. If I had succeeded in temporarily relieving R of his problem, it was only because I had acted. At best, R was dependent on me. At worst, I’d done nothing, or, even worse, had perpetuated the idea that there was something wrong with him and that he needed fixing.
These kids have a lot to be angry at,
my supervisor had said.
R was angry. But what was he angry at? Since I hadn’t really asked him, at this time I can only guess. The possibilities for imagining answers, however, are plentiful. R and his family had recently immigrated from Palestine, a land ravaged by war, occupation and racial tension. R was street-involved, living in poverty in an otherwise affluent country like Canada. I wasn’t sure of his specific relationship to poverty, because I hadn’t inquired, but throughout my time at the mission I’d been exposed to other narratives that may have intertwined with R’s personal storyline. These narratives included themes of addiction, abortion, hunger, violence, trauma and abandonment, among other tragic experiences. If his story in any way resembled those of the other youth who I see at the mission, it is fair to say that R had probably experienced a fair amount of injustice in his young life—he certainly had things to be angry at. I wonder if R’s anger wasn’t simply anger, but an act of resistance against injustice against him and others in his life: an act of protest.
“Why are you angry?” I could have asked him. Or, even better, “What are you protesting?”
That simple question might have opened our conversation up to stories of empowerment, personal agency, skills and knowledge. I might have learned of the things he held precious. We might have discussed themes of family, community and cultural narratives that could have developed into beautiful story-lines that were otherwise existing unnoticed.
Because our lives consist of an infinite number of events happening moment to moment, the potential for story creation is endless. However, it is an unfortunate reality that many of us tell the same single story of our lives. Oftentimes the dominant stories we make of our lives represent a problem we have. In my practice I hear many problem stories: stories of anxiety, depression, infertility, diabetes, weight gain, fatigue and so on. However, within these stories there exist clues to undeveloped stories, or subordinate stories, that can alter the way we see ourselves. The subordinate stories of our lives consist of values, skills, knowledge, strength and the things that we hold dear. When we thicken these stories, we can change how we see ourselves and others. We can open ourselves up to greater possibilities, greater personal agency and a preferred future in which we embrace preferred ways of being in the world.
I never asked R why the anger scared him, but asking might have provided clues to subordinate stories about what he held precious. Why did he not want to hurt others? What was important about keeping others safe? What other things was he living for? What things did he hope for in his own life and the lives of others? Enriching those stories might have changed the way he was currently seeing himself—an angry, violent youth with a temper problem—to a loving, caring individual who was protesting societal injustice. We might have talked about the times he’d felt anger but not acted violently (he’d briefly mentioned turning to soccer instead) or what his dreams were for the future. We might have talked about the values he’d been taught—why did he think that violence was wrong? Who taught him that? What would that person say to him right now, or during the times when his anger was threatening to take hold?
Our visit might have been powerful. It might have opened R up to a future of behaving in the way he preferred. It might have been life-changing.
It definitely would have been life-affirming.
Very often in the work we do, we unintentionally affirm people’s problems, rather than their lives.
One of the course participants during my week-long workshop summed up the definition of narrative therapy in one sentence,
Narrative therapy is therapy that is life-affirming.
And there is something very healing in a life affirmed.
More:
The Narrative Therapy Centre: http://www.narrativetherapycentre.com/
The Dulwich Centre: http://dulwichcentre.com.au/
Book: Maps of Narrative Practice by Michael White
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Mar 24, 2015 | Balance, Diet, Digestion, Docere, Education, Fitness, Food, Health, Naturopathic Philosophy, Naturopathic Principles, Nutrition, Preventive Medicine
Many health complaints are common, but not normal.
“I take migraine medicine everyday,” boasted L. She then went on to describe her plenitful medicine cabinet that, at the age of 23, she’d stocked quite well. “I get headaches when the weather’s bad, when I forget my glasses, when I’m hungry-” she went on. I repressed my immediate impulse to give her a list of supplements she could take and dietary changes she could make to never have another headache again, and simply said, “Well, L, you know I have a practice in the West end. If you want any more support…You can call—”
“—No, I’m good”, she responded, hurriedly. “I just need to find out how to get more of my medication.” The medication she referred to was high dose acetominophen, or Tylenol. She was taking 1 g pills and her doctor had told her that she could dose up to 4 g per day. Since 4 g will cause immediate liver failure, I was happy to learn she hadn’t needed to get that high… yet. What’s more, she wasn’t treating the cause of her condition. She was just addressing the symptoms, and consequently negatively affecting her health.
To use the car dashboard analogy, when your fuel light comes on and makes a noise while you’re driving on the highway, what do you do? Most people, without giving it another thought, will pull over to address the root cause of the chaos by adding more gas to the car. Very few of us will take out a hammer and smash the dashboard in. In fact, most of us cringe at how ridiculous the thought is. Imagine the entire naturopathic community cringing when they hear about someone swallowing several grams of Tylenol to smash out their migraine.
Pulling the car over to refuel and smashing the dashboard both serve to stop the annoying blinking and beeping of the fuel light. One of them is addressing the root cause and actually paying attention to what your car needs. The other is, well… I’ll let you come up with an appropriate adjective.
So this begs the question: why do we insist on smashing our symptoms away? The fuel light may be annoying, but drivers value its presence as a tool to let us know that we need to refuel lest we end up stranded on the highway without gas. The blinking light lets us know what is going on inside our car.
Why don’t we view our body’s symptoms in the same way?
I have patients who think that their depression is a part of them, or that the painful distention under their belly buttons after eating is “normal”. Sometimes we identify with our physical ailments to the point where they define us, as if it’s our lot in life to have acne or poor digestion or to be overweight—it’s not.
Dandruff, painful menses, seasonal allergies, aches and pains are not “normal.” Sure, they’re common. No, they don’t necessarily mean you have some life-threatening disease, and therefore your family doctor probably doesn’t have a reasonable solution for them, besides smashing at them with the hammers in their toolbox from time-to-time.
When I saw my first ND, I was excited at the idea that, even though my doctor assured me that the random, annoying symptoms I was suffering from were “normal”, they were in fact not normal and something could be done about them. From the ND’s standpoint, the symptoms were an indication of budding imbalances and treating them was preventing more serious conditions down the line. Feeling cold all the time and excessively full after meals weren’t just annoying symptoms, they were important messages from my body that things weren’t all right and that something needed to be done.
Is there an annoying symptom you’ve been experiencing that you’ve come to accept as something you just have to live with?
Contact me to find out what we can do about it!
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Feb 23, 2013 | Balance, Docere, Education, Family, Finding yourself, Happiness, Health, Holidays, Philosophy
So, although I’m still in Guatemala, thanks to scheduling posts, I can still celebrate my birthday on this blog.
It’s been 27 years since I’ve inherited this body of mine and I know for me, like the rest of us, the lessons began on day 1. I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve had, the lessons (I think) I’ve learned thus far and the ones I’m about to receive. It’s become my responsibility through my training in this profession to look after this body that I’m borrowing and help others look after theirs, thus we feel well enough, happy enough and strong enough to work through and learn our many lessons, and to find the answers we’ve been searching for.
On behalf of my birthday, February 23rd, have a great day!
by Dr. Talia Marcheggiani, ND | Nov 28, 2012 | cancer, Community, Crowd-sourcing, Docere, Healing Stories, Health, Naturopathic Philosophy, News
What if we were solely responsible for our own health and well-being? As of late, I have been intrigued by the recent news story of Italian engineer, graphic artist and computer-hacker, Salvatore Iaconesi, and his novel approach to patient-centred healthcare.
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