#selfcare

When a dread shows up, write one line: the single piece of evidence you actually have for it. Not the fear. The evidence. Then put the pen down.

Most dread cannot produce a receipt. It arrives dressed as a conclusion and hopes you won't ask for the paperwork, and when you ask, it thins out into what it always was. The ones that can produce a receipt have earned your attention — and now you know which ones those are.

Tha do chorp a' cuimhneachadh — your body remembers.

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Face down. Forehead on your stacked hands or a folded towel. Belly on the ground, no pillow under you.

This is not a stretch. Six slow breaths, letting the belly press into the floor on the inhale instead of lifting the chest.

You can't fake a diaphragmatic breath against a hard surface. The position removes the option — the floor gives you resistance you cannot argue with, and after four or five breaths something in the low back lets go that you didn't know was clamped.

What changes first is the jaw. That's strange, and you'll notice it around breath four.

Tha do chorp eòlach air an rathad — your body knows the road.

This isn't relaxation. It's returning your weight to something built to hold it.

Where does the day land in you first — jaw, shoulders, or gut?

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Two tennis balls in a knotted sock. Ninety seconds. That's the whole protocol.

Lie on your back and set them under the ridge at the base of your skull, one either side of the spine, on the soft shelf above the neck bone — never on the bone. Let your head's full weight go down into them.

First thirty seconds feel like nothing. Second thirty feel like an ache with an opinion. Somewhere in the last thirty the shelf gives and your eyes water for no reason you can name.

Tha do chorp a' cuimhneachadh — your body remembers. Those are among the smallest and most overworked muscles you own, and they've been braced since Monday.

Where does the news land in your body first?

#Somatics #Selfcare #ChronicPain #BodyWork #Gaelic #Gàidhlig #Herbalism #Druid #MentalHealth #Photography #Wellness #Solarpunk

For the tooth that starts up on a Friday night, when every dentist in the county has gone home until Monday.

One or two drops of clove oil into a teaspoon of whatever carrier's in the cupboard — olive, coconut. Cotton ball or the corner of a clean cloth, held against the gum by the sore tooth, a few minutes. Never neat from the bottle. Never swallowed. Not for children.

Clòbha — clove. The compound is eugenol and it's a real topical anesthetic; dentists were using it long before anybody patented anything, and a diluted version is still in dental cements.

It doesn't repair a thing. It buys you the weekend. That's the honest claim, and a tooth that goes quiet is not a tooth that healed.

What do you reach for when the clinic's shut?

Today's issue → https://thistleandmoss.com/p/new-letterhead-same-fuckin-leash-a-rebranded-cure-an-all-caps-siege-with-a-limp-dick-and-water-gives#the-nurturing-food-as-medicine?utm_source=PixelFed&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=fedica

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Two tennis balls in a knotted sock. Ninety seconds. That's the whole protocol.

Lie on your back and set them under the ridge at the base of your skull, one either side of the spine, on the soft shelf above the neck bone — never on the bone. Let your head's full weight go down into them.

First thirty seconds feel like nothing. Second thirty feel like an ache with an opinion. Somewhere in the last thirty the shelf gives and your eyes water for no reason you can name.

Tha do chorp a' cuimhneachadh — your body remembers. Those are among the smallest and most overworked muscles you own, and they've been braced since Monday.

Where does the news land in your body first?

#Somatics #Selfcare #ChronicPain #BodyWork #Gaelic #Gàidhlig #Herbalism #Druid #MentalHealth #Photography #Wellness #Solarpunk