The Wellness Bitch

I am forever indebted to my friend Lisa Duggan who in 2007 asked me if I wanted to write a story for her magazine about local massage therapists. The magazine was a start up and while Lisa’s budget to pay freelancers was low at the time, she told me that the massage sessions would be covered.

It took me about five seconds to commit.

Back then, I was a “massage on my birthday” kinda girl. I got my first massage when I was in college; a gift from my parents. It was an uninspiring and painful hour spent in a room off the dark upstairs hallway of the local beauty salon. Fortunately, that experience didn’t turn me off of bodywork forever. I tried a different therapist the following year on my birthday and decided massages were definitely for me.

However, I viewed massage as a luxury item; the second to lowest rung on a ladder that started with pedicures and ended with a Mercedes Benz and a house in the Hamptons. Sure, I giggled with pleasure when my mom would surprise me with a mother/daughter massage appointment or a gift card for my birthday, but I never paid for them on my own and I never considered massage therapeutic or preventative care.

Until Lisa. The story she wanted me to write would feature three of the more “famous” massage therapists in our neck of the woods, and was intended to be a gentle comparison between the three, but mostly a feature on how massage (and bodywork in general) could be integrated into a mother’s wellness regimen. (The core readership of the magazine was local parents.) What were the benefits? How could massage be seen as more than just a well-deserved pampering?

I enjoyed three massages in three weeks. It was pure bliss.

But more than bliss…it was a wake up call.

I realized the true meaning of therapeutic massage. I understood both experientally and intellectually, after interviewing all three, just how much regular bodywork can contribute to our state of well-being.

To be more to the point: Getting a massage, or Reiki, or QiGong Meridian Therapy, or reflexology, or craniosacral therapy can keep you out of the doctor’s office. Or in my case, it could reduce the incidence of migraines; it could alleviate sciatica during pregnancy; it could balance my endocrine system and boost my immune system. It could keep my head and neck moving left to right and lead me to a good night sleep.

It was no accident that the writing assignment was offered to me at a major junction in my life. The moment at which I would choose wellness over illness. It was also around the same time in 2007 that the seeds of Mindful Living NJ were planted; and my journey to educate myself and empower others began.

Today, I’m working towards getting rid of a sinus infection on my own, without the help of antibiotics. I’ve found that antibiotics do me more harm than good (particularly creating major imbalances with yeast in my system), so I try to avoid them whenever possible.

I have been using a nasal wash with saline and grapefruit seed extract. I’ve been drinking Apple Cider Vinegar tea. And I scheduled an appointment with Tamar, who does a combination of bodywork (usually in the water) with the hopes that she could help open up my sinus passages and relieve the tension in my face and head.  My experience with Tamar (which was above and beyond expectations) also made me realize how much my body has suffered without body work since I moved to Israel in December.

When I consider the few contributing factors to why I’ve had more colds and infections since moving here than I’ve had in the last four years in total, I think about the fact that I was getting bodywork on a fairly regular basis — and here I have not been, at all.

Coincidence?

I don’t think so.

I invite you to change your way of thinking about bodywork. Instead of grouping it with the luxury items; the “what I want for my birthday list” or putting it away in the “I will never be able to afford it” file; think of bodywork in the same mindset you consider drinking eight glasses of water a day, or taking your calcium, or exercising, or annual exams. I daresay that regular bodywork, along with a mindful diet and good sleep, kept me out of the physician’s office for four years.

I invite you to make an appointment with a local therapeutic bodyworker.  Not to knock joints like Massage Envy, but I would recommend seeing someone with many years of experience, preferably recommended to you by a friend. I also recommend seeking practitioners through WellnessPossibilities.com, a wellness directory started by my friends Kathy and Dawn.

And last but not least, let me publicly acknowledge the professionals whose hands knew how to heal and who’ve helped my body remember what wellness is: Sue, Diane, Debra, Amy, Maia, Nate, Linda, Andrew, Suhail, Vera,  and any others I may have missed.

Your work is appreciated and valued. Thank you.

This morning I was cleaning out my bathtub with Castile Soap when a bit of my cleaning solution splashed back right into my eye ball.

I flinched, waiting for it to sting, but it didn’t. I quickly rinsed my eye and felt fine.

Then I thought to myself, “Phew! That would have hurt like a M-ther F-er if that had been Clorox.”

But at least my eyeballs would have been ultra disinfected, right?

I haven’t used a harsh chemical cleaner in about five years. I think in that time, we might have used real bleach once or twice to get at some stubborn mold in our basement. But that’s it. For the most part, I clean with vinegar, baking soda, castile soap,  BonAmi, and a few Ecover products, particularly our dish soap, our floor cleaner, and a multi-purpose spray.

And, guess what?

You won’t believe it.

I promise you are in for a huge surprise.

Ready?

My house is just as clean, if not cleaner, than yours.

Yes, my house, wiped and sprayed with non-toxic, natural or plant-derived substances, is CLEAN.

In fact, I think my house is cleaner now than it’s ever been. Mostly, because now that I know what’s inside all those cleaning products my mom used when I was growing up and I used up until a few years ago (ie. Lysol, Pine Sol, Clorox Disinfecting Wipes, etc.) I think of houses cleaned with those products as DIRTY.

Not the kind of dirty you can see or swipe with your hands across a cabinet, but the kind of dirty the clogs up your lungs when you breathe it in. That makes your asthma worse.

That burns your eyes when it splashes back into them.

Those products no longer “smell clean” to me.

They smell like poison.

I’ve been…reconditioned.

Food that comes from nature (as opposed to the laboratory or from laboratory-like processing plants) does not look perfect. Food that hasn’t been genetically modified or tained by pesticides looks irregular.

In fact, when I see big, beautiful, perfectly shaped strawberries, and I don’t know where they’ve been grown, I typically stay away from them, particularly since of all fruits and veggies, strawberries are on the top of the Dirty Dozen to eat organic.

This isn’t to say that all irregular looking food is organic or safe. Take “ugly tomatoes” for example. They sure are ugly, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t grown with pesticides.

This morning, as I was preparing to make myself a sunny side up egg for breakfast, I opened up the carton of organic eggs I had just bought from Eden Teva natural foods market. This is what I found:

 Six brown eggs and six white ones. Yes, they do seem to be a bit ordered (they came exactly as you see them in the picture.) But no one decided at the farm or wherever these eggs are packaged that the eggs needed to be uniform. No one decided that organic eggs needed to look brown or look white. No one indicated on the outside of the packaging that these eggs may be discolored or may be mismatched. All the packaging really says (save for 12 Organic Eggs”) is “Laid by hens free to move, perch, rest and feed.”

Weren’t they worried that when I opened up the carton to make sure the eggs weren’t cracked (which I didn’t since I wasn’t the one to go food shopping this time), that I would put these mismatched eggs back on the shelf?

No, they weren’t. Because educated, organic food shoppers expect their food to look like food, not like advertisements.

Those of you who’ve read this blog for a while, know that I am an IMPERFECT being.

I am a work in progress. I am a WELLNESS BITCH in progress.

A few of the areas in which I still need to work hard include “kicking my nasty sugar habit,” “giving up coffee forever,” and a very broad category known as “getting in shape.”

I am fit for many things. I am fit to eat a chocolate chip cookie. I am fit to write a blog. I am fit to talk smack about doctors, Big Pharma, and the FDA.

But I am not fit.

I am certainly not fit to ride my bike, which I just had fitted for new tires yesterday. My bike hasn’t seen the light of day in six years, since we moved from Tucson, Arizona to Northern New Jersey. This morning, however, with the sun shining here in Israel and the streets finally dry after a week of heavy rain, I hopped on my Huffy and rode like the wind down my street. What a glorious feeling…until it was time to pedal uphill.

[Oh. My. God. I. Can't. Breathe. When. Did. I. Become. An. Old. Lady?????!!!!!???]

Through sheer will (and the prospect of humiliation) I made it up the very steep hill. Not without feeling the heavy burn in my lungs and trembling in my legs following years of inactivity.

WAKE UP CALL: You can eat right. You can even look thin and young. But neither of these means you are healthy or fit. If my life depended on running a mile in ten minutes, I’d surely be dead….within the first five minutes or so.

Are you the unappointed dictator of food in your home?

Here’s a good way to know. Do you find yourself saying one or more of the following sayings on a daily base to one or more of your family members?

“When’s the last time you had some protein?”

“What kind of bellyache? Gas? Crampy? Diarrhea?”

“No, you already had a sugary treat today.”

“Yes, turkey is protein.”

“No, avocado is not gluten.”

“Yes, that soup has MSG.”

“Is it organic?”

“Does it have nuts? Sesame? Gluten?”

“Did you read the label before you ate that?!? Did someone read the label?!? Who read the label???!!!”

You, my friend, are among the burdened, and often despised members of the League of Familial Food Dictators.

You are seen as a freak. As a nut. As a domineering and controlling parent. As a difficult and high-maintenance family member. 

Do not fear, my fellow dictators. There will come a time in the not-so-distant future when our family members thank us for our efforts, for our leadership, and for our commitment to their health, well-being, and safety.

One day, our children (and our children’s children) will see and understand that we were only trying to protect them; our spouses will see we were only trying to help them feel energized and content; our parents and siblings will see we only had their best interest in mind.

One day, we will live in a world where our efforts will be seen as appropriate and socially acceptable.

Until then, my friends, take care. While you are an often unacknowledged and misuderstood leader, you are not alone.

We stand together with you.

Sincerely,

The League of Familial Food Dictators

Hey! You! Big box store!

In addition to the relentless marketing on packaging for “family-friendly” food and in commercials aimed at kids on channels like Nick and Cartoon Network, I also feel pressured by end caps and front of store, eye-level offerings at CVS, Walgreen’s, Target, and other stores where I frequently bring my kids.

You want to sell me something as I’m making my way out of your store?

Don’t distract me with having to yell, “No” at my kids 1000 times. I just might buy the travel pack of tissues or hand wipes you’re selling by the register if I wasn’t trying to hurry my kids past the Skittles and bubble gum.

I’m not offended by the indecent photos on the cover of Vogue or even the headlines on the cover of Cosmo, but I am big-time pissed at you for making me a meanie in the eyes of my children.

Rethink your marketing strategy. Crunch the numbers and let me know how much money you make from all those impulse Twix buys.

Is it really worth it?