On sabbatical, and why

As a reminder, I will be on sabbatical until August 2.  I’ve never taken time off from Poke before (that wasn’t relative to an apocalyptic quarantine); I’m really quite proud of myself for doing it now.

If you'd like to get acupuncture while I'm gone–and you should–here is the contact information for the other practitioners who will be at Poke. I really recommend any of them, and encourage you to seek a variety of styles of treatment.  

Portia and Kate are in Wed, Fri & Sun:
https://www.deepergenius.com/make-appt

Rachel is here Mon and Thurs:
https://day-acupuncture.janeapp.com

I'm not sure yet if I'll be answering emails or off social media or what; I'm not really one for grand predictive declarations.  Except I will say this:

I am not taking this sabbatical to rest, or reset, or "recharge my battery." That's just a thing people say.

I am taking it because the world is breaking my heart–and has been for a while now–and I need to just be with that sadness for a bit.

To allow myself to be sad, without interrupting it, or enforcing it to a work schedule where it shrinks to the other parts of me that are more convenient and therefore lucrative.  I need to pause and exhale in my grief for a minute.

This is how I care for myself: to say my feelings and memories are real; that it hurts, just to be in the world right now and that hurt deserves room for its depth and its weight, even if it detracts from my bottom line or burdens my business rubric.

I care for myself by honoring my fragility and advocating for my tenderness without secretly scolding myself for being too sensitive or hysterical, or ungrateful for my privilege if I find myself unwilling to positively affirm or gratitude it away.

Both things are true: I am privileged and grateful– and I am still sad.

It is a very sad time–the very least of which is that 6 million people have died of Covid, which we are all expected to act like is nothing, like it's taken nothing from us.  When of course it has.

I hope you allow space for your grief–to feel, to cry– because that is the truth of it, and because desensitizing to it, or calcifying over it serves no one: not your patients, not your family and least of all you.

I hope on some warm night this Summer, you’ll take a moment and step outside and offer yourself the grace to turn toward your pain–to exhale and just be with it; really see it, see what it can turn into–and embrace it as an intrinsic portion of your completeness, the fullness of your humanity.