I will never get annoyed at a patient’s “lack of compliance” again.
Health care is scary, even when you know what you’re doing. When it’s your own health, putting yourself in the hands of a professional is not easy.
Yesterday I had an initial consult for myself with a nutrition specialist. She’s well-known in her field, super-academic, in her 70s, and has published books and papers.
She knows her stuff. She’s also really helped a friend of mine and the referral came from him. I had every reason to trust her and feel good about putting myself in her hands.
However, I was nervous getting ready to see her. I filled out a diet diary… what would she think? What would she say about my blood work? Would she be nice? Would she be understanding? Would we get along?
Survival instincts kick in.
We talked about a few things in the first visit (which cost an arm and a leg, but will be worth it if I’m left feeling great) and she prescribed some supplements for me to take.
I left, kind of satisfied. Ready to get on with our journey, with a list of things to pick up, dosages to tweak, things to consider and instructions to book again in 3 to 4 weeks.
Ok.
I woke up this morning, in the early hours tossing and turning, thinking to myself, “I don’t want to take vitamin E!” And “Did she truly understand my concerns?” And “what are all these supplements treating?” and “did she really hear me out?” And, “is all this going to actually help?”
The impulse to not trust, to run and hide, to override her assessment and recommendations with my own were overwhelming. (And, of course, as someone who does what she does for a living, the struggle to overcome this is real, we’re “experts” on the body, but it’s nice to let someone else give direction for a change, especially someone with 30+ more years’ experience).
Still, trusting is hard.
Being aware of the impulse to run and avoid, while also resisting the impulse, is hard.
I have people who neglect booking a follow-up even when they know that we still have lots of work to do.
I have people who don’t fill out diet diaries for fear of actually taking a hard look at their food intake.
I have people who email me that “nothing is working” when in fact they haven’t started taking their nutrients and supplements yet.
And, guess what, as frustrating as that may be (because ultimately, I want people to have success! I want people to heal), I’m doing the same thing.
Jeez, being in the patient chair is mighty humbling.
I highly recommend it to all my health practitioner colleagues out there.
And, yes, now I’m taking vitamin E. I’ve decided to just trust. (But I’m still taking my own multi-vitamin… hey, doctors make the worst patients… amiright?)
Someone, I think it was Eckhart Tolle, once said that when it comes to mental illness, anxiety is about worry for the future, while depression is concerned with regret for the past. While, I’m not entirely (or even nearly) convinced that this is true, there is little doubt that those with both depression and anxiety can get caught in the paralysis of going over past events and regrets in their minds. Therefore, healing regret becomes important for reframing our past experiences and present identity and improving mood and self-esteem.
Regret is a sticky emotion. It reminds us of who we once were. It’s the cold hand on the shoulder and the voice that whispers “remember…” in our ear when we’re getting a little too confident, when we’re actually feeling happy with who we are now.
My patients will often tell me that when they find themselves in a spiral of low mood, their minds are often playing and replaying past events over and over. They mull over painful memories until they are distorted, painting themselves as the villain the more they rewind and press play. Remembering in this way smears grey over their entire sense of self, and discolours the possibilities they see for themselves in the future and, worse, their abilities to take meaningful action in the present. It leads to deep feelings of self-hate and worthlessness. It causes feelings of hopelessness. And so I tell them this:
Regret, while painful, is not always bad. It is a reflection, a comparison between two people: the person you are now and the person you used to be. When this comparison is particularly vast, when the you you used to be is particularly painful to remember, then know this; you have changed. Regret comes with looking back with pain, wishing we’d taken a different course of action than the ones taken. However, when we flip this concept over and examine its shinier underbelly, we realize that in order to feel regretful about past events we are acknowledging that we (present we) would not have performed the same action or made the same choice now. The flip side is not that we’re bad, it’s a reflection of our goodness. We have learned and evolved. We’re different.
Looking back is different from looking forward. Our lessons are what shape us. The fact that we regret is proof that we learn, we grow and we change into better, preferred versions of ourselves. If we sit in the experience of regret, we can feel proud that, if faced with the same situation today, we’d be better. Regret doesn’t mean that we are bad people, it’s proof that we’re good people. In order to regret the past we’ve had to have changed.
To transform mulling over painful life choices and past actions, I recommend a writing exercise, inspired by Narrative Therapy. In every story of regret and “badness” there is also a story of values, skills, preferred identity and goodness. The next time you find yourself cycling through feelings of regret grab a pen and paper and answer the following questions:
1) What happened? What were the events that transpired? What did you do? What did other people in the story do? What were the events leading up to the action you and others took? What was the context surrounding you at the time? What influenced your decision to act as you did?
2) Looking back, what would you have done differently? What parts are particularly painful to remember? What actions or events do you regret?
3) What might these regrets say about you now? What might it say about you to know that you would have acted differently if you were faced with the same situation? What values do you embody that enable you to recognize that what you did in the past was regretful for you?
4) Looking at these values, how have you shown you have this value in the past in other situations? Do you have a particular story you remember?
5) How has that value or skill made an impact on the lives of others? In the story that you remembered, what might the actions you took in #4 have meant to the people around you?
6) How do you embody this value in the present? Where does it show up in the actions you take today? How might you embody this value in the future? What actions might you take while remembering this value? What does remembering this value and the story from #4 make possible for the future?
Going through this writing exercise can help us look back with more compassion for the person we were, who was growing into the person we are now. It might make possible ways that we can rectify anyone or anything was impacted in the past, if it means an apology, paying forward a good act, taking different steps in a similar present situation or even moving on and letting go of our tendency to hold onto the memory.
It seems like the world is falling apart. These days more than ever.
Race wars, weapons, war, wealth concentrated into the hands of a few, and violence, Facebook is filled with videos that fill our heads and hearts with a complicated mixture of sadness, anger, anguish, confusion, frustration, enrage, injustice and a deep-felt sense of powerlessness. We struggle through these events to go on living—to go about our lives in a dignified fashion, to pay our rent, to engage our relationships, to find happiness and satisfaction in our lots in this world. It seems like the world is ending, and yet we still have our daily responsibilities. Our cynicism is engaged; our idealism is crumbling. Many of us feel hope leaving our bodies. Many of us feel frustration morphing into despair.
Stress is estimated to be the number one cause of disease. As a naturopathic doctor, my role often involves cleaning up the debris from chronic, long-term stress responses gone haywire. Oftentimes my patients don’t even perceive the stress they’re under. “I’m type A! I thrive under stress and pressure”, some will tell me. Other times the people I work with are so far in a state of overwhelm it’s all they can do to keep moving forward with their daily routines.
The World Health Organization estimates that 75-90% of doctor’s visits are attributed to by stress. I would estimate that 100% of the people I work with have on-going stress in their lives.
We doctors know that some people, the “Type B’s” in society, are more susceptible to stress. We know these people, we may even be one of them ourselves: the sensitive individuals, the intuitives, the feelers, the artists, empaths, activists and light-workers. We are individuals who are often drawn to artistic and healing professions, who care deeply about relationships, people, feelings and soft-ness in this world. We often find ourselves pushed up against hard edges, struggling to pay bills and cope with cruelty and injustice. We face daily struggles and the pain of living a disconnected, yet intricately interdependent life in modern-day society. Some natural doctors have terms us “parasympathetic dominants”—people whose nervous systems tend to get stuck in the parasympathetic (as opposed to stress-fuelled sympathetic) arm of the autonomic nervous system (the “automatic” nervous system).
We often feel overcome with a sense of overwhelm when faced with packed schedules, high stakes jobs that affect others, achievement-oriented striving and the prioritization of money and numbers over people. In this world of deadlines, assertion, aggression, fear, war and material wealth, we can often feel like we don’t fit in. We can suffer from burnout.
Burnout, “adrenal fatigue” or “parasympathetic dominance” happens when our stress response becomes depleted. It is characterized by naturopathic doctors as fatigue, excessive needs for sleep and quiet, lack of motivation, disrupted sleep schedules, difficulty losing weight, sluggish digestion, bloating and IBS, headaches and brain fog, poor memory, hormonal imbalance resulting in heavy or irregular periods, PMS, infertility and acne. Mental illness can begin to surface or worsen in this state, resulting in depression, anxiety, or even bipolar disorder and psychosis. The narrative of the mad, artistic genius, burdened by the weight and troubles of the world, surfaces to mind—the creative genius who is too sensitive for this world. We run the risk of becoming irritable, and losing some of our natural compassion as we drift off into exhausted survival mode.
Many of the people I work with are these sensitive individuals, myself included, and I’m proud to help this population. Through healing the sensitive feelers, we heal the world. The world needs a little more softness and more compassion. It needs people who can pick up on emotional nuances and care deeply about others. It needs people who listen, who feel, who create and share their versions of the human experience to teach others. Through the artists, we experience the depths of our own humanity. Through the artists, we see our pain and, through seeing our pain, we can begin to heal it. It is important that we can find fulfilling work and lives that nurture us, so that we may have the energy to extend our gifts to the world.
Healing parasympathetic dominance in my practice often manifests first as establishing a therapeutic relationship. We crave openness, time and space to explore emotional nuances and engage our natural sense of curiosity. We crave being deeply heard and felt. As a doctor, I do my best to listen, not just to the words, but the space between them, and the symptoms of the body. We look for root causes to issues so that we can establish lifestyle patterns that nurture us.
Creating a clean, nutritious diet: With lean protein, usually meats that stimulate metabolism and manage stress, healthy fats, anti-inflammatory nutrients and lots of fruits and vegetables, especially berries and leafy greens, we can begin to re-feed ourselves and heal inflammation.
Gentle, nurturing movement: I often suggest exercise that blends into the lifestyles of my patients, that works with them. Slow, meditative walking for an hour a day is a wonderful, scientifically proven method of bringing down stress hormone levels. It also creates space in the day for contemplation and integration.
Restful sleep: Through sleep hygiene and some strategically dosed supplements, improving sleep allows the body to repair itself and rest. Those suffering from burnout may need more sleep. Dealing with the guilt that can arise through sleeping in and saying no to non-essential activities to prioritize sleep is often a psychological hurdle in those who feel best when they are nurturing and giving to others, and not themselves.
Self-care: Journalling, meditation and engaging in creative pursuits are helpful armour in allowing one to integrate, express and stay open, energized and creative.
Nurturing mental health and emotions: Speaking to family and friends or a trained therapist or naturopathic doctor can allow us to dive more deeply into our own psyches. When we explore the corners of our mind we are able to heal mental-emotional obstacles to health and learn more about ourselves and others and alter the way we engage in the world. Opening ourselves up to deep-seated anger, fear and sadness is essential to clearing this repressed emotions and improving our experience in the world. My favourite forms of talk therapy are Narrative Therapy and Coherence Therapy. Both involve openly engaging the emotional and mental experience of the other to alter core beliefs and narratives and explore possibilities for living a preferred life experience.
Through the times we are facing, I urge us all to band together, embrace the healers and artists among us and engage in deep, nurturing self-care. Journal, spend time with friends and create. Take time from your activist pursuits and political readings to reflect, to meditate, to get some healing acupuncture and to cry or express anger. Feel the emotions that arise during this time. Take the time to listen to the narratives that emerge. Eat a diet filled with protein, try to keep to a sleep schedule, if possible. Nurture yourself and the complicated emotions that are arising within you and others.
We need you to help us through this time. It is people like you who can heal others, but only if you strive to heal yourself as well.
We all have a critic inside of our heads. Through talking to people, I’ve been able to form more complete pictures of what these critics look like. I’ve found them to be as varied as the heads they inhabit, with personalities and characteristics of their own.
Some critics speak in fragments, muttering key words in people’s ears: fat… failure… loser… always…be… alone. Some are quite articulate, forming complex arguments. All inner critics, however, are sharp in their cruelty and ingenious in the way they intrude into our thoughts and convince us of our lack of worth.
Our inner critics were born out of a need for protection. The inner critic’s job is to spare us shame and pain. If it criticizes us before we have the chance to say or do the “wrong” thing, it can help us avoid social humiliation, rejection and isolation. However, the disparaging, constant stream of criticism often leads to depression, low self-esteem and negative identity conclusions in many people–a strong critical voice has the power to convince the person it talks to that he or she is wrong. The critical voice in our heads has the power to poke holes in the social armour of our self-esteem, diminishing the good feelings we have about ourselves and destroying our sense of personal value, self-worth and resilience.
There are many ways to develop a healthy relationship with the critical inner voice and address issues of low self-worth and low self-esteem. One of these ways is to strengthen other, more positive voices, that serve to give us a balanced view of ourselves. Self-help books and feel-good memes emphasize the importance of positive affirmations.
“Write down ten things you love about yourself before you go to bed every night!”
“Recite ‘I am beautiful, healthy and happy’ five times each day!”
“Write ‘I love you!’ and ‘You’re awesome!’ in lipstick in the bathroom mirror and look at it every morning before you to go to work!”
“Paper your workspace with feel-good Post-it notes!”
The suggested ways of talking to ourselves are endless. A sample:
According to Guy Winch, PhD and author of Emotional First Aid, research shows that positive affirmations can be very effective at raising self-esteem. However, their efficacy only applies to a certain group of people (like Jessica here). Affirmations can boost the morale of those who already have high self-esteem and a high sense of self-worth. In people who struggle with strong critical voices, depression and feelings of self-loathing, positive affirmations only result in making them feel worse.
Science tells us that we accept statements and ideas when they fall into our current belief system. Therefore, people with healthy levels of self-worth, who already believe that they are loved, good at their jobs and successful, will reinforce those feelings through reciting positive affirmations about themselves. However, my patients struggling with issues of self-esteem will comment that when they feel unattractive, unloved or unworthy, reciting the opposite sentiments as affirmations (“I am beautiful, loved, worthy!”) only reinforces their current feelings of unworthiness and unattractiveness. When a positive affirmation doesn’t overlap with the beliefs we hold about ourselves, we will reject it, thereby failing to convince or persuade ourselves to feel otherwise. Trying to force oneself into feeling a positive emotion can often only serve to remind us of how unhappy we are actually feeling.
Dr. Winch offers an alternate 3-step exercise, which reminds me in many ways of Narrative Therapy as it aims to build on one’s preferred identity. The exercise is based on increasing the aspects of our identity we already believe of ourselves. It takes about 20 minutes and requires writing. Writing helps us process the information on both sides of the brain, properly integrating and enforcing these more balanced thoughts about ourselves. The exercise only works when you write your thoughts down.
Step 1: Choose a specific situation in which you feel bad or unworthy. Perhaps you have a test coming up and feel unprepared or convinced that you’ll fail. Perhaps there is a date you’re going to go on but you feel ugly and unworthy of someone’s time or attention. Maybe you feel unpopular and have come to the conclusion that you are a bad friend. Using context is important for creating an alternate voice to that our the critic.
Step 2: Once the context has been selected, write down a list of things—traits or behaviours you exhibit—that you have to offer that you believe are valuable to the situation. This list should be exhaustive. Perhaps you would make a good date because you are generous, always offering to pay. Perhaps you’re loyal or you care about others. Perhaps you remember important dates and make your partner feel special on his or her birthday. Perhaps you’re a good student because you get to class on time or study for an hour after class instead of watching movies. Perhaps you always take notes in class and often share them with others. Focussing on even the tiniest detail of what you have to offer the situation will help you in the creation of your list. If you can’t think of anything positive about yourself, pretend that you are writing it for a friend. What would your friend have to offer if he or she were faced with the same context and self-defeating thoughts as you?
Step 3: Choose one of the items on your list and write a short essay on why these traits or qualities are important to the context you are in. Why is being thoughtful (remembering birthdays, for instance) important for dating? How have you managed to manifest this trait in the past? How will you manifest this trait or behaviour in the future? Write about how this trait has been valued by others or might be of value to others in the context that you’re in. Focusing on specific details helps to flush out the narrative of how this trait has helped shaped your identity. Again, if you are unable to write about yourself, continue to write as if it were about a friend, sticking to more general ideas. Then put the paper aside, pick it up 24 hours later, and read it as if it were about you.
Writing a short, detailed essay about what we know we have to offer and why these offerings are worthwhile can help to build a more balanced view of ourselves and the qualities we bring to the world. Narrative exercises serve to strengthen what we already know about ourselves, thickening the preferred identity stories that either fail to get told or get drowned out by the dominant stories of negative labels and personal failings. The aim is not to shut up the inner critic, but to strengthen the voices that oppose it, balancing and creating a dynamic sense of self.
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.
I was in an emotional crisis. My partner and I were fighting. It was my fault and the anxiety I endured from the confrontation was compounded by a deep sense of guilt and shame. I felt powerless as I waited for him to reach out to me so we could fix the problem while at the same time dreading the future confrontation we’d have. I felt isolated. My nerves were shot.
I texted the problem to my friend, A, the psychotherapist, while sitting on the couch in my pyjamas. At the time I remember wanting to include others in my misery, so that people would ask me about it and tell me everything would be alright, that it happens to all of us—it wasn’t that bad—and that I’d get through this thing.
A tells me, “There is nothing you can do now but wait. Waiting takes courage. So, while you’re waiting, don’t forget to self care.”
Self-care: the illusive term we’d often hear tossed around in naturopathic medical school. The hyphenated compound noun referred to anything from applying castor oil packs to getting enough sleep. In my mind, it brings up images of spa-like indulgences: bubble baths, candles, a junky novel—guilty pleasures. True self-care, however, is far from simple self-indulgences. Audre Lorde owns the most powerful definition of self-care I’ve heard, which is this:
“Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation. And that is an act of political warfare.”
Rather than being a commercial phenomenon—involving trips to the spa, chocolate binge-eating and shopping sprees—self-care is political. Self-care challenges the inequality and oppression of race, gender, class and sexual orientation in society, by providing us with a means to improve our strength and ensure our survival.
When I read Lorde’s quote, I think of my Italian grandmother Nonna. Barely sitting down to enjoy the dinner she had prepared, she dedicated herself to the service of her family’s well-being. Like many other women, especially Italian Catholic women from her generation, she had been taught that any care for herself was selfishness—a symbol of the highest level of vanity and self-obsession. Nonna, like other women of various colours, religions and socioeconomic statuses, was taught to live a life of self-sacrifice. Any attention paid to her own well-being was regarded as an indulgent after-thought. Women are denied a societal sense of self-worth, which is then paradoxically medicated by advertisers telling us to “treat ourselves” to expensive perks because we’ve “earned it”. We are taught not to love ourselves and then instructed how to remedy this lack of self-love with expensive gifts.
Self-care is about finding ways to cultivate and feel deserving of self-love.
True self-care is essential for moving us forward. Because it prioritizes the health and well-being of a person, it affirms self-worth. This has the power to challenge the oppressive forces of racism, misogyny, classism, homophobia and other prejudices. Self-care helps with trauma recovery. It helps heal.
Self-care builds resilience.
We commonly fall into the thought-trap of regarding self-care inaccessible to certain populations; we assume it requires time, money and energy that not all of us have. Katherine from “I Am Begging My Mother Not to Read This Blog” accurately expresses the sentiment with an ironic twist:
“Make time for yourself. After you’ve run that 5K, started a load of laundry, harvested your organic vegetable garden, run to the bank, paid the bills, dazzled everyone with recipes that are cost-effective, healthy, and delicious, thought of something witty and clever to share with your social networking site, caught up on current events and politics, and cleaned all of the house, that special hour set aside just for you is so critical to your well-being.”
While she certainly has a point, something essential is missed in the definition of self-care. Self-care isn’t about shutting out the sound of your screaming children while you pour yourself a martini and fill the tub with hot water. Self-care is about intention, balance, mindfulness, self-awareness and, above all self-love. It is about taking responsibility for one’s own health and well-being. It is about recognizing your physical, mental and emotional needs and ensuring that those needs are met. Self-care is about reducing stress levels. If a pile of dirty laundry is stressing you out, then mindfully washing those clothes while watching the stress leave your body is self-care.
Self-care is an attitude. You can wash your dirty laundry with the frenzy of a thousand cortisol molecules and your mind on the massive list of other things yet to get done, or you can savour the positive feelings of achievement that comes from checking an item off the to-do list. You can breathe the scent of fabric softener, feel the warmth of the clothes that are coming out of the dryer and acknowledge that you are caring for yourself by ensuring you have clean clothes to wear the next day. It’s perspective and intention that creates self-care. That being said, laundry doesn’t necessarily have to be your thing either.
I have a patient who works 6-day weeks. When I asked her what she does for self-care, she looked at me, puzzled. “You know, self-care—how do you take care of yourself?” I tried to clarify. There was still no dawning of realization on her face. I silently chided myself for asking such an insensitive question.
And yet, my patient was taking care of herself. She was drinking more water, eating more vegetables and exercising. She was coming to see a naturopathic doctor and investing in her health. She was doing plenty of self-care; she just didn’t know it.
The SCaR Foundation outlines the BACE method of self-care, which helps us draw awareness to the simple acts we can engage in to care for ourselves.
Body Care involves exercising regularly, eating healthy food, taking medications and herbal supplements as prescribed. It also encompasses getting up to stretch while sitting at a desk, drinking water, getting enough sleep.
Achievement consists of finishing the daily tasks you have on your to-do list, laundry among them. It also includes working towards goals, like studying for a test or doing your work.
Connecting with Others includes spending time with friends, family, or a pet. Social connection is one of the reasons why we’re alive. Being able to reach out to others for help is one of the strongest manifestations of courage and resilience.
Enjoyment encompasses hobbies, favourite pass-times and indulgences. What activities bring joy and happiness to your life?
Self-care should not be pre-determined. When it becomes someone else’s prescription, it is no longer self-care.
Self-care is not always pleasurable. Sometimes it can be quite uncomfortable, such as making the decision to change careers, end a relationship or get in shape. It can be transformative, such as standing up for yourself. Self-love is a revolutionary act and revolutions aren’t always won peacefully. However, learning to listen to the body allows us to determine which decisions are coming from a place of self-love and not anger, hatred or fear.
My particular self-care story ended well. The very act of reaching out to a friend had already begun the process of self-caring (connection). After talking to A, I got up, changed out of my bathrobe, exercised, showered, and put on a homemade face mask of yogurt, honey and avocado (body care). I read fiction on the couch with a hot mug of cinnamon tea (enjoyment). I did yoga, meditated (body care) and went to a friend’s house for lunch, then another friend’s for dinner (connection). I took a course on a subject I love and met other healthcare practitioners while developing a new counselling skill (achievement). A part of me craved isolation, but I intuited that wouldn’t be a restorative act for me at that time and so I forced myself to move on with my activities, knowing that they would improve my positivity and resilience. In the end, because I took care of myself, I was able to face the situation from a place of strength and compassion for both me and my partner. Self-care helped me move past the shame and connect to the most powerful and loving version of myself.
That was my approach to self-care, because it was what I needed. At that time, I needed to feel healthy, strong and social. I needed to be reminded of who I was. Others in similar situations may decide that they need to grieve alone while watching When Harry Met Sally and devouring wine and popcorn, their faces stained with tears. Self-care is about knowing yourself and recognizing and honouring your needs.
Contrary to what we’ve been told, self-care isn’t selfish. It is the highest expression of connectedness. We can’t take care of others if we are not healthy. And we can’t be healthy without taking care of ourselves.
Also, check out this Self-Care Journal, by Rachelle Abellar. It has sections for personal affirmations and action plans for when you’re feeling low. You can buy a copy at lulu.com.
I woke up in the middle of the night to find the dragon lying in my bed. Snoring politely, he looked very small, about the size of a beagle. He was staying on his side of the bed, so I tried to get back to sleep. I’d met this beast before and knew he often brought with him ominous feelings of death and despair, but sometimes he would show up at night only to be gone in the morning. Maybe this time I wouldn’t need to worry.
The next morning, though, the dragon was still there. It rolled over and looked at me with its yellow lizard eyes. Its grey, shiny scales were smooth and glistening. I felt a sharp shiver of fear run through me. I wondered if this time he was here to stay. I worried about what he might do.
If you’ve ever participated in the medical system somewhere in the world, chances are there is a medical chart out there with your name on it. I have one in my hands now and I task myself with the job of getting to know it. It is based on a true story: a patient who has entrusted me with his case. I read through the 200-page document, transfixed as stories in the untidy scrawl of half a dozen interns – some of them now well-immersed in practices of their own – unfold on the white pages. These pieces of paper, bound together by a fragile cardboard shell, capture snapshots in time of the encounter between these young practitioners and the patient. I read between the lines. Coffee stains represent early mornings that followed late nights, plainly stated observations reflect the colour of different lenses with which these young naturopaths-in-training saw the world at that time. Their pens tell 6 versions of the same story. Their treatment plans tell the story of emerging practice styles and personal healing philosophies.
A classmate recently lent me a book that introduced me to the intriguing field of “narrative medicine.” The book is called Narrative Medicine: Honoring the Stories of Illness, written by Rita Charon, MD, an internist practicing in New York City. Narrative medicine combines the practice of medicine with simultaneously learning to recognize, absorb, interpret, and be moved by the stories of illness.
According to the book, the practice of narrative medicine builds empathy and compassion for patients by giving meaning to their experience through stories. It allows doctors to bear witness to the patients and their suffering and to enable those who are suffering to be heard, thus making their care more effective and, by virtue of the doctor’s presence and ability to testify to the patient’s pain, the pain is lessened somewhat.
The Need for Narrative in Modern and Natural Medicine
Rita writes, “the medical impulse toward replicability and universality has muted doctors’ realization of the singularity and creativity of their acts of observation and description.” In medical school we come to learn that, when asked to choose between a) b) c) d) or e), all of the above, there can only be one right answer. Through these educative measures, we are led to believe that there is no room for creativity or individuality in medicine. Narrative medicine, however, begins to challenge that belief. According to Dr. Charon, there is a struggle in medicine to balance the need to properly observe the phenomenon of the individual patient and his or her particular clinical presentation before us, with the need to fit people into diagnostic categories. Oftentimes, the scale tips to the latter, simply by nature of patient volume or ease of the encounter. When we fit people into categories we can ease the anxiety that comes with uncertainty. We are soothed by the security of being right, the same way we are soothed by correctly choosing c) on a multiple choice exam. Patients, however, have come to resent this aspect of modern medicine. Rita writes, “patients complain that doctors or hospitals treat them like numbers or like items on an assembly line. They lament that their singularity is not valued and that they have been reduced to that level at which they repeat other human bodies.” In Rita Charon’s eyes, however, we are beginning to see a new emergence of both doctors and patients taking back the right to patient individuality in medical care. We naturopathic doctors hear this often, when asking why a patient decided to come to see us in lieu of a medical doctor, and hearing that they were driven by the need to be treated “like a person”, not just a disease.
Our bodies and our health are integral parts of the narratives of our lives. And so a personal medical history that, in the case of a medical school exam, takes about 8-10 minutes to complete, actually carries in it the patient’s life story. Everything that the body have been through the self has also been through and whatever has happened to the body remains ingrained in the self and forms a part of the patient’s narrative. Kathryn Montgomery, a colleague of Rita Charon’s once said, “you can accomplish an entire medical interview by simply asking a patient, “tell me about your scars.'”
Dr. Rita Charon writes, “without doubt, the teller and the listener in the clinical setting work together to discover or create the plot of their concerns. The better equipped clinicians are to listen for or read for a plot, the more accurately will they entertain likely diagnoses and be alert for unlikely but possible ones. To have developed methods of searching for plot or even imagining what the plot might be equips clinicians to wait, patiently, for a diagnosis to declare itself, confident that eventually the fog will rise and the contours of meaning will become clear.” Narrative, we learn, is essential for understanding illness.
Receiving a Patient History
Sir Richard Bayliss, another colleague of Charon’s, writes, “not only must the physician hear what is said but with a trained ear he or she must listen to the exact words that the patient uses and the sequence in which they are uttered. Histories must be received, not taken.”
Rita Charon’s current method of “receiving” a patient history is described eloquently in her book. It differs so much from the style we are taught in medical school, that I feel it is worth sharing. She writes that, when she first meets a patient, she begins by saying, “tell me what you think I should know about your situation.” She then makes the commitment to listen, without speaking or writing anything down. In medical school we are taught to organize a chart by history of presenting illness, past medical history, family history, etc. However, Charon realized that, by allowing the patient to direct his or her own clinical interview, the information all comes out eventually. She believes it is crucial to allow the patients to narrate their own history, allowing the information to take its own order, to formulate itself into not just a coherent plot but also a literary form, so that the entire story becomes apparent, and free from her own bias and internal or external editing. While the patient tells his or her story, Dr. Charon listens as intently as she can, registering diction, form, images and the pace of speech emitted from the patient’s mouth. She tries not to interrupt or confer signs of encouragement, pleasure or disapproval. She refrains from asking questions. And, she takes the time to absorb the metaphors, idioms, accompanying gestures, plot and characters involved in the patient’s narrative.
Once her patient has finished with his or her telling, Dr. Charon proceeds to the physical exam portion of the clinical visit. She tries to capture what has been said by writing the story down in her chart while the patient changes into his or her gown and readies for the physical examination.
Dr. Charon writes that it has taken her a while to perfect this form of receiving a patient history. As unorthodox as it may seem, she writes that she has come to thoroughly enjoy the individuality and humanity of the stories that come from each person, each one so different from any other and each belonging to a singular person and body. It has helped her understand her patients, maintain empathy for them and provide them with what she believes is more effective care.
The Parallel Chart
Rita Charon believes that, not only is the use of narrative helpful for the doctor-patient relationship, it can be used to help physicians and other healthcare practitioners digest their experience as well. In one of her years as a clinical supervisor, she developed a practice called the Parallel Chart. As medical students and doctors, we are required to write our patient’s stories in the form of medical charts, following a specific format, creating what can be viewed as an entire literary genre used solely among medical professionals. Medical students and doctors alike are expected to learn to write and maintain a coherent medical chart, according to the standards of this genre.
However, as a clinical supervisor, Rita Charon also has her young precepts write a Parallel Chart, one that will not be filed for reference but that is just for the benefit of the practitioner, written in plain language, about one of his or her patients. She tells her students, “every day you write in the hospital chart about each of your patients. You know exactly what to write there and the form in which to write it. You write about your patient’s current complaints, the results of the physical exam, laboratory findings, opinions of consultants, and the plan. If your patient dying of prostate cancer reminds you of your grandfather, who died of that disease last summer, and each time you go into the patient’s room, you weep for your grandfather, you cannot write that in the hospital chart. We will not let you. And yet it has to be written somewhere. You write it in the Parallel Chart.”
After giving her students these instructions, Rita Charon meets with them in a group once a month and gives everyone the chance to read a Parallel Chart entry of their choice out loud. After the reading, she proceeds to comment on the genre, temporality, metaphors, structure and style of the text that has been written, using her literary background as a guide. The other students then have a chance to respond to the text, creating a dialogue surrounding their clinical experiences.
She reflects that her students in the past have written about their deep attachment to patients, their feelings of helplessness in the clinical encounter in their role as mere medical students, the rage, shame and humiliation they experience in the face of disease as well as their awe at patients’ courage. Dr. Rita Charon claims that the students who undertake the task of keeping a Parallel Chart have found that they are more in touch with their own emotions during the clinical encounter, feel deeper empathy for their patients and fellow colleagues and are able to understand their patients more fully. Research is even being conducted at Columbia University to evaluate the effectiveness of Parallel Charting, finding that physicians who engage in this practice are more proficient and effective at conducting medical interviews, performing medical procedures and developing doctor-patient relationships with patients.
In many ways, naturopathic medicine already acknowledges the importance of patient story-telling when it comes to healing from disease. We treat people as individuals and look for the root cause of illness, taking into account the story behind each of our patient’s “scars”. However, as our school curriculum becomes more medicalized and primary care-focused, I believe that our need to conduct efficient medical interviews and develop effective treatment plans is in danger of displacing our inherent philosophies. Taking the time to read Rita Charon’s book opened my eyes to the importance of patient individuality and respect for patient narrative. To understand illness, it is essential to integrate narrative into the framework of the clinical encounter by giving patients the space to tell, while also giving ourselves, the practitioners, the space for our own telling with the intention of becoming better, more empathetic doctors.
I can’t really say that I’m a creature of habit. I easily tire of routine and consistency. Maybe it was for this reason that I felt the need to take off from Canada for a few years and travel, why I remain a perpetual student (no two days are the same and we get a 4-month summer of something radically different). The student life serves me well in breaking up the routine.
