26 September 2015

On Reaching Out for Care

Fifteen years ago, I fell sick for the first time away from the warm and caring arms of my mother. I had left home to go to university abroad. I didn’t particularly feel bad about being sick; what upset me was that there was no one there to take care of me. It was just a cold, I could handle it, but for the first time, I had to handle it alone.

Fast forward to the present moment, I have been suffering on and off from a sore throat for a few weeks. Refusing any allopathic medicine, the process of natural healing is slow. I am giving my body the time to figure out how to gather its strength on its own and clear itself off whatever is in it, using nothing to help but honey, lemon and a few natural herbs and spices.

Within this slow healing process I’ve had much space and time to study myself and behaviour. I am being reminded to slow down and not work my physical body too hard. I am reminded to close my mouth and retreat to home to rest my throat, despite the tempting invitations to go out with friends. I am reminded to listen, most importantly to myself. It turns out, while listening, there’s a faint voice in the back of my head that still wants, rather expects, to be looked after when I am unwell. So is this voice coming from somewhere healthy? Or is this a new issue I have to “deal with”?

Could this be one of the main signs of being an independant mature adult, when you finally stop expecting others to look after you, heal your wounds or take initiative to help you out of trouble? What’s peculiar is that, growing up, I have often suffered for feeling lonely and unloved, yet simultaneously continued to act as independent as possible, fixing things on my own and rarely reaching out for help from others. I am recently finally learning to let go and receive love in all its forms and shapes without feeling weak or dependant for doing so.

What about this, though? For some reason I expect that half of my physical pain from this illness would fade if I felt a warm hand stroking my hair and a loving chest holding me close, if I even just knew that someone out there cares. Love is healing, emotionally and pranicly. Love is nourishing and essential to our existence and it is as important to experience it externally as we do internally (bearing in mind both expressions are one, only illusionary separated by the mind).

However, I still remain confused as to where the line is drawn between healthy dependency (which is part of our natural coexistence in this universe) and unhealthy expectations. Should I pick up the phone and call someone to come over and massage my back? Or should I let go and drag myself to the nearest Ayurvedic doctor? I don’t know. Taking it moment by moment, nevertheless, I shall keep observing my thoughts as I sip on fresh ginger juice, lemon and honey mix and chamomile tea.


Amal - Sep 2015

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