I was born anxious. I’ve fretted for as long as I remember. I worried for one and all. Some days it cripples me and I have to disappear for a while. Others, I am able to accept it as part of my character. These days, though, I manage it better. I know what works. What to do when things build up. I’m philosophical about it. And I don’t apologise for it anymore. Those around me get some good kickbacks for being a mate with a worrywart. Like, um, never being kept waiting. And not having to navigate, pack, plan or negotiate when travelling with me.
Yes, so. I manage my anxiety.
And, so. Last week I was at my Chinese doctor getting needled. I’m able to direct her now to the spots that need a-needling. I pointed her to a spot at the top of the shin, just on the outside of the shin, about an inch below the knee joint.
She laughed. “Ah, yes. The chicken soup point.”
She explained: “This point, it does the same thing that chicken soup does when you drink it.” Which is what? “It nourishes your whole body in one go. That’s what chicken soup does.” She makes chicken soup every week and feeds it to her sons to keep them healthy. They get chicken soup for afternoon tea.
The chicken soup point. Feel it on your own leg now, if you can. Press into it. Does it feel sensitive? That kind of “painful” that feels better when activated? I describe this kind of release as “juicy”. And can you see that this kind of almost-orgasmic release is also experienced when you eat something truly nourishing? OK. Well, I do.