Sharing Needles 

Today I’m laid back in a lazy boy, sharing needles with half a dozen other humans at my local community acupuncture clinic. Each of us in our butt palaces, drawn up around a circle, with a doctor of Chinese medicine floating counter clockwise to put needles into us. I will look like a porcupine in a few minutes when it’s my turn. But before my hands are covered in needles I thought I’d put down some thoughts. 

My first treatment in a community acupuncture clinic was a couple of weeks ago. Unlike every other setting I’ve visited for treatment of my neurological issues in the past 21 months, I don’t meet with a medical professional in the seclusion of a tiny, sterile room. Here you come into the circle of other people who also need care. The doctor doesn’t close the door on the strangers before asking how I’m doing, what my pains are. As I whisper about my tinnitus, sciatic pain, and biceps tendonitis, a handful of people are resting with needles in their bodies. 

I thought I’d hate it.

My hearing sensitivities have developed a strange aversion to groups of people. My sensory issues have done what they can to program a panic reaction in me to the unpredictability of other people (dogs, doors, and machinery too). For the first time since my issues began (since before COVID really), I sat surrounded by other people and watched them get gently cared for, listened to, and allowed to rest as their bodies worked to relax, heal, and recover as aided by tiny needles expertly placed by a warm-hearted therapist. I got cared for, surrounded by other humans, and it did something powerful I hadn't expected at all.

My sister warned me that people often have weird emotional reactions to being “needled” the first time. But as I felt my eyes fill with tears on my first visit, they weren’t tears of personal overwhelm, sadness, euphoria, or relief. My heart felt full because those needles knitted me into a community of humans needing – and getting – cared for. Surrounded by people dealing with cancer treatment side effects, postpartum symptoms, nerve pain, and chronic suffering in half a dozen other flavors I was reminded I am not the only person floating in a sea of “normal people” who “are all fine.” 

As a coach, I’ve noticed people in my profession can get hyperfocused on helping our clients become exceptional individuals. Each human has unique potential, strengths, and a life path that can shine in their own powerful way. As someone’s thinking partner I get to help them dynamite barriers, shave off friction, and grease their wheels to work on helping their lives sing on that individual, personal destiny. 

But what happens when the chaos of life throws gravel in your engine, kneecaps your clarity, or siphons your resources? All that radical individuality can trap you in an isolation chamber as you slog back toward your shiny personal destiny.

As I melt into my acupuncture treatments, I sense that more is being stimulated than my central nervous system. Each needle stabbed into my skin carries a thread to the humans around me. I don’t know names, and weirdly even with the open nature of the clinic somehow everyone’s privacy is honored even as details of their needs can be heard by their nearest neighbors. 

Sometimes the solution to our individual pain needs to be more communal. Healing me can’t just be about myself. The hyperfocus on my self in the healing locks me into hyperfocus on my symptoms, my pains and fears for the future. But in the hour I rest for the space of each treatment, I do at least one round of mindful meditation, visualizing the people around me, and by extension all the other people in my neighborhood who are struggling with something…and just as I wish to receive rest from striving, ease from pain, and hope for future wellness, I wish it for them. 

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Just as I need it, they need it. And somehow wishing it for them eases the navel-gazing toward my own pain. Eases my pain.

As I let myself long for them to be eased, I am eased. 

I don’t think I’ll ever go to a private acupuncture session again. 

~Coach Morgan

Oh and PS. You’ve probably guessed that we don’t exactly “share needles.” I promise the doc gives us fresh needles from those nifty,  individually-sealed packs every time. 😀